It was midnight, and my son, Zade, was three months old in his crib, crying. I would rock him to sleep while singing “Hush Little Baby” and “You Are My Sunshine,” while begging the universe to quiet him down. Around two in the morning, he finally fell asleep, and I passed out on top of the covers.
I woke up two hours later to my baby crying again. This time, he was kicking his feet as if trying to get them through his footie pajamas. I narrowed my eyebrows, got scissors, and carefully cut them