teething
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When sleep would not come, she wrapped two tired daughters into a stroller and carried their exhaustion outside to meet the moon.
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Laundry, made beds, stocked cupboards, and careful little chores become a countdown to the sound of her boys coming home.
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A sleepless Sunday moves slowly through teething, cold coffee, drawn curtains, and the mercy of not rushing anything.
Between Bruises & Blooms 