Time always seems to move at two speeds, warp or slower than a snail, and the following week is no exception. My hours are insane. The cases run the gamut of textbook births to a fifty-six-year-old woman wanting to be a surrogate for her daughter, and everything in between. And I fucking love it. I’m here for it all and I’m grateful every day that I get to do this job and get paid to do what I love. But some days . . . some days, when the exhaustion is running high and the sleep is at a minimum, I still question my sanity. Today is definitely leaning toward one of those days. I drop my face
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