Your Children Are Not Luggage
I thought of all the times Brian had stood in my garage drinking coffee while Lily drew chalk flowers on my driveway and Mason asked him to play catch.
I thought of all the times I’d explained his impatience away.
Work stress. Money stress. Marriage stress. New parenting stress.
There’s a point where explanation becomes permission. I had reached that point and walked past it too many times.
At 4:06 a.m., my phone rang. Brian.
Everyone in the room looked at it. I answered on speaker.