The first month with two kids was like drowning in slow motion.
Emma had thought she was prepared. She'd survived Grace's newborn phase. She'd read the books about sibling adjustment. She'd meal-prepped and organized and planned.
None of it mattered.
Oliver cried. Constantly.
Not the occasional fussing Grace had done. Full-throated, inconsolable crying that lasted hours. His little face would turn red, his body would go rigid, and nothing—not feeding, not rocking, not walking, not singing—would calm him down.
"I think it's colic," Emma said at three AM, walking circles around the living room with a screaming Oliver while James tried to comfort Grace, who'd woken up from the noise.
"Maybe call the doctor?" James suggested over the crying.
"I did. They said some babies are just fussy.
