It was Tuesday, our weekly date night. A cold winter night in the Midwest felt on par with the season I was in as a nine month postpartum mother of two. Exhausted, over-touched, and certain that my own body wasn’t mine anymore—you can imagine that I wasn’t feeling cute. I craved convenience and casual. I wanted to eat, be basically invisible to the general public, and enjoy maybe twenty minutes of letting my nervous system take a breath from the relentless demands of keeping tiny humans alive.

So naturally, we went to Subway. Don’t judge.

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