Ten years ago, this month, I left my last job. It’s been that long since I worked for a real paycheck—hard to believe. But I was pregnant with Izzy and unable to do a lot of the things my boss needed me to do, like guard an alleged domestic abuser, run for any length of time, and deploy to a war zone again. After 10 years, you’d think I’d be used to the stay-at-home, regular life.
I’m not.



