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I SPENT THE NEXT FOUR DAYS MAKING MY LIFE LOOK LIKE A DAYCARE CENTER

I bought a used seven-passenger SUV.

Not glamorous.

Not new.

But safe.

Then came five car seats.

I had no idea car seats were so expensive.

By the time the salesperson finished explaining infant seats, convertible seats, boosters, expiration dates, weight limits, rear-facing regulations, and cup holders, I briefly considered fleeing the country.

Instead, I bought five.

I converted my downstairs office into a bedroom for Mason and Theo.

The upstairs room became Grace and Evie’s.

Baby June would sleep in the small room across from mine.

I built bunk beds.

Not because anyone asked me to.

Because woodworking is what I do when I’m scared.

Some men drink.

Some run.

I build furniture.

At two in the morning, surrounded by sawdust, I carved five small stars into the side rails.

Then I painted over them because I thought it might look too sentimental.

Then I regretted painting over them.

Then I sanded them back out.

That should tell you what condition my brain was in.

I childproofed every cabinet.

Covered outlets.

Installed gates.

Locked chemicals in the workshop.

Added another smoke detector.

Bought enough plastic cups to open a cafeteria.

Then Elena visited.

She walked through the house with a clipboard.

Opened closets.

Checked windows.

Measured railings.

Looked at my refrigerator.

“You own no food children eat.”

“I eat food.”

“You eat eggs, vegetables, steak, and things labeled protein.”

“That’s food.”

“Where are the crackers?”

“I can buy crackers.”

“Cereal?”

“I’ll buy cereal.”

“Apple juice?”

“Children require juice?”

She stared at me.

“We have work to do.”