"I had managed to keep my composure in the grocery store, and even when I was putting away my cart back to get my quarter back. But as I drove home, the tears came. I began the ugly cry."
“Baby, I need you to stop crying about everything,” I say to my 4-year-old son, followed by a heavy sigh. Another day, another sob fest about something that broke his little heart. He is my sensitive soul, my middle child, my gentle spirit.
