Juniper POV
The next two years unfold in a relentless montage of blaring alarm clocks at 5 a.m., half-finished coffee going cold on the kitchen counter, and Noah’s steady, miraculous growth that somehow keeps pace with my own. I wake before the sunrise most mornings, slipping out of bed while he’s still curled in his crib like a tiny comma, his breathing soft and even.
Laptop balanced unsteadily on the edge of the counter, I write articles in soft stillness before he stirs—recapping local games I attended the night before, weaving in player interviews I squeezed in between feedings and naps. My sports journalism program demands everything from me and then some: late-night lectures on ethics that run until ten, hands-on reporting at freezing local arenas where I balance a notebook and a
