My husband and I can’t quite agree on whose idea it was to open our marriage. He recalls a couples therapy session where he broached the subject. But I think it was me.

The sound of her voice is so nerdy and determined and yet still, somehow, eager to please. It cuts through the clattering morning and squeezes my chest with a swift brutal twist.

“Shoot your vagina up to the ceiling” one male doctor helpfully suggested as your head inched forward and back into my body again. Limp I stared into the bright white hospital light above me where I saw a vision of my own blood and guts floating on the ceiling. I learned later that this particular delivery room was famous for having a tinted convex light that reflected the labor in detail if you knew to look.

I have experienced mental health challenges for most of my life. My first panic attack was when I was 11 years old, and I found myself paralyzed and hyperventilating in a public restroom on a family outing. Some periods, like the ones when I have been in talk therapy, have been better than others. But anxiety, and its shadow-twin depression, have always been there.

I like parenting more the older the kids get. Babies and toddlers are tough for me — it feels like a non-stop, low-grade panic aimed mostly at avoiding disaster. Once kids can communicate and — even better — share their hot takes on the world, I’m sold. So far, five is my favorite age. My son is all tightly wound curiosity and wild questions I’m sprinting (or furiously Googling) to answer. How many miles around the earth? (About 24,000.) Why don’t adults like candy? (Lol. We do.) Why are you on your phone so much? (Mind your business.)

Our new Chevy van is tan. It has four hot, sticky houndstooth plastic seats and a nest of wool blankets that smell like antique wax and alcohol solution. My dad uses these blankets to protect furniture he repairs and delivers to rich people. He makes fun of these rich people by saying their names in a fake British accent and drawing out the syllables (“The Noooooordtroms” and the “McCaaaaaaaws”).