We worry so much about babies talking. Then we spend the rest of their childhoods wishing they would hush.

These past six years have been a slow, painful peel of two things once joined.

We all deserve to see heroes that look like us and – for whatever reason – Santa is his hero.

Our younger two children will always and forever have a road not taken. And that’s confusing.

Have so much fun.

With the butts gone, I can see that the majority of Paige’s pictures are actually of June’s face.

It’s not a vacation, it’s a slow-motion train wreck that will make us some memories.

Because sometimes, a sprig survives the winter.

Full of dread, you grab the kids (they’ve been in their swimsuits for hours), pile into the car, and head to the pool.

In Real Simple houses, blankets are neatly folded or artistically piled on unstained sofas. Your sofa has pencil illustrations, marker streaks, and blood stains.

It’s not that I didn’t want our fourth. I just wanted to know that my husband and I weren’t the only ones who thought 4 > 3

Alternate title: WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?

After all, it was true. Whatever our hearts said, whatever we’d been through, we were not legally their parents. And when it comes to paperwork, legality is the whole point.

I can’t help but fast-forward to high school competitions where she’ll be, I guess, slathering herself with fake tanner, donning a 5-pound curly wig, and dousing herself so thoroughly in gender norms that the stain will never come out.

I’ve been an unwilling participant for seven years in a study about the physical and psychological impacts of sleep deprivation and mess.