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Month 20: A Sunday short story

Parenting disasters happen so fast you don’t even realize you’re in one until it’s over and you step back to assess the damage. Or in this Sunday tale, the poop stains. My toddler had been a terrorist all day. My husband finished mowing the grass and we planned to go have a nice Sunday brunch as a family. But, as John Michael shrieked and howled over whatever new tragedy had befallen his toddler body (I’m pretty sure it was the wrong version of Baby Shark playing. Not the lack of the song, just too upbeat of a rendition). We realized brunch was a terrible idea. So, we warmed leftover pizza. And, I told my husband I was about to leave for a pedicure or shopping during nap time, I hadn’t decided which. He’s the best, so he insisted on both. And, after zero persuasion time, I said. Okay! (In my head it was more of a Cardi B inflection.) As we were finishing up lunch, and I’m planning to get out of there faster than you can upload all your pictures to Russia, our toddler starts poi

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