That night, after the boys finally fell asleep, I sat alone at the kitchen table with my aching arm resting gently on a folded towel. Earlier, Liam had reached up for me to hold him, and I had been forced to ask Mason to lift his own child because I could not risk dropping him.
I opened my paper notebook with my good hand and began writing down a short list:
- Baths.
- Evening bottles.
- Carrying the boys upstairs.
- One nighttime waking.
I stared down at the handwritten list. These items were not favors or special requests; I physically could not do them safely on my own right now.
The next evening, I slid the handwritten page across the dining table toward him. Mason glanced down at the paper.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“What needs to change while my arm heals,” I said.
He read the first few lines quickly. “You made me a schedule?”
