Not with music playing in the background.
Not because I was brave.
I was terrified.
But that night, I carried three infant carriers into my tiny apartment.
And somehow, none of them ever left.
The first year nearly killed me.
There is no polite way to say it.
I was awful at being a parent.
I once drove halfway to work before realizing I had put Brooke’s shoes on Lily and Lily’s jacket on Sophie.
I learned that babies could throw up farther than seemed biologically possible.
I learned that silence was more dangerous than crying.
I learned that one child getting sick meant all three would be sick within forty-eight hours.
And I learned that sleep was apparently something I had experienced in a previous lifetime.
Mrs. Coleman saved me more times than I can count.
She taught me bottles, baths, diaper rash, teething, temperatures, and the difference between a baby crying because she was hungry and crying because she was simply furious about being alive.
