The night my wife and I brought our prematurely born daughter home from the hospital in 1998, I fell asleep with the baby in my arms. In a recliner. In suburban Chicago mid-March. In a poorly heated family room addition to our house. When I woke up, freezing, she was no longer in my arms but lying beside me, uncovered, in the oversize chair.
She was fine, but that’s when I realized that I had no business being a parent — and she was our second child.
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“Dad is Fat”
$25, Crown Publishing