My husband told me to stay upstairs during his promotion dinner because I wasn’t “back in shape” three weeks after giving birth to twins — I agreed, but he had no idea what I’d left beside his plate

I polished eight wine glasses that no one had touched since before I went into labor.

I roasted chicken, made potatoes and salad, and somehow baked a chocolate cake while our daughter slept strapped to my chest.

Our son screamed through most of the frosting.

By six o’clock, my lower back hurt so badly I had to brace one hand against the kitchen counter whenever I bent down.

I hadn’t showered.