It’s November in San Francisco. We’ve had our first rain, a light sprinkling just persistent enough that I moved a socially distanced backyard hang into the garage, where a few wonderful women sat six feet apart, wearing masks and drinking tea amid the drizzle, and talked nonstop for two hours.
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It's been quite the transition to motherhood or, as I like to call it, Mom Eats Last. Some days it feels like SJ and I are killing it: We get enough sleep, we eat, we shower, the house gets cleaned, the bills get paid, and we leave the house and return to it, all without killing the baby.
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