Between the hours of one and six by Heidi Stuber

Do dishes. Push in chairs. Tidy dining room into acceptable messy genius range. Put towels in wash. Sweep up pet hair. Add pet roller to shopping list. Straighten shoes. Tuck away medical bills and IEP documents. Hide other egregious markers of motherhood. Check couch. If peed on by dog, clean with wet vac. If not, brush off pet hair and turn off lights to make less conspicuous. Calculate budget for new couch. Dry towels. Pluck errant facial hair. Text best friend about feelings of pointlessness. Trim muff. Take bath. Shave legs. Take care not to cut knees. Contemplate ways in which feminism has failed you. Towel dry hair. Fume at hairdresser who screwed up haircut. Put on bra; push-up if first, second, or third date. Unearth sexy underwear from bottom of drawer. Exchange glasses for contacts. Remember your place as an object. Change pants. Change shirt. Look in mirror. Change shirt again. Fold towels. Put towels in linen closet. Fluff hair. Add expensive gel to hair. Make bed. Start putting away clean clothes. Decide laundry is tedious and hide basket in closet. Ponder the phrase diminishing returns. Walk dog. Feed dog and cat. Brush teeth. Open door. Smile.

Heidi Stuber spends her days at a homemade treadmill desk and her free time as a warrior and neurodiversity advocate. She writes in order to love fiercer. Heidi lives in Seattle with her red-headed son and their modest menagerie.