Raising Children in America Means Living in Fear That They'll Be Shot
Briefly

When my daughter was a newborn, I read an essay about a toddler who died after a loose brick fell from a building onto her head.Devastatingly random, impossible to parse for meaning.I added loose brick to the litany of ways my baby could die.The list was ever-expanding.When I sat with her in the bathtub at night as she fed from my breast, I imagined falling asleep, both of us sliding down into the warmth.
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