Burned-Out Mother Seeks Personal Assistant

I recently found myself standing in Target, unable to move. I stared intently at the boxes of pasta, trying to appear deep in thought on the relative merits of angel hair vs. rotini and hoping nobody noticed that I was no longer sure how to put one foot in front of the other. Exhaustion had spread into the very core of my being, and I could no longer power through—I am a burned-out mother. I glanced at my shopping list and wondered when I’d learned to write in a foreign…

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