The Nursery, by Szilvia Molnar.
You know when you go to a new restaurant that you’ve heard amazing things about so you expect to be wowed by the cuisine but none of the other people’s experiences with the food match yours that evening (the food is really bad) so you end up trying to leave by 9:30PM so you can make it to Whole Foods before they close to have a look around what’s left of the hot bar, maybe grab a couple pizza slices, and definitely several of those decadent cookies they leave out for grabs? This book was the restaurant; my current Kindle read is the Whole Foods.
Admittedly, this restaurant was incredibly gifted in its ability to describe—viscerally—the feelings of impending motherhood and new motherhood, and I always respect an establishment that’s willing to lay bare the weight of the responsibility of humanity. Preparing for, delivering, sustaining, loving, and enjoying a person is—collectively—so hard, and any art that is made in spite of that or because of that will always find a home on my shelves.