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Byline: Rene Steinke
After the birth of my son last winter, I was mostly confined to the house. With snow banking the streets and the biting cold, I was reluctant to take a newborn outside. Before I became a mother, there had been nights out with my friends, time for jogging and for practicing keyboard, long hours of quiet and solitude for writing. Suddenly there was this tiny person whose body felt no more substantial than a sack of water, who awakened me so many times during the night it felt cruel, and who cried every time I put him down. I was speechless with love for my son but hardly recognized myself. My body was still 20 pounds heavier than usual, my ...