From the Editor: March/ April 2026

Every to-do list that I made in January reflected an almost absurd horror: 

1. Buy baby Tylenol, dog food, ingredients for husband’s birthday cake, and whistles

2. Call state reps and demand abolition of ICE

3. Complete active shooter training for my university

4. Research how to prepare for unprecedented ice storm and power outages

5. Ask OB if post-miscarriage periods are usually this late or if it’s probably just delayed because of stress 

6. Send article about measles outbreak at Disneyland to California relatives

The juxtaposition of the banal and the dystopian seemed like a bad joke. Like every parent I spoke to—our exhausted pediatrician, similarly stressed-out moms buying non-perishables at Costco, overseas friends who were checking in because they couldn’t believe what they were seeing—I felt paralyzed by fight-or-flight. 

Every decision that once seemed simple was complicated by staggeringly huge considerations. How can we effectively protest and protect our neighbors and advocate for sweeping change? What daily choices can we make to practice ethical capitalism (if that even exists)? Should we keep my immigrant husband’s passport in our car in case he gets pulled over? Should we continue trying to move closer to family in North Carolina, or should we seriously consider moving to my husband’s country of birth? How can we offer physical support to the mothers of our newborn niblings without inadvertently bringing disease into their homes during cold and flu season? How do we tackle what feels like an insurmountable to-do list while still being present parents?

The latest release of the Epstein files coincided with my toddler, husband, and I contracting norovirus. While my son, exhausted from vomiting, slept in my arms, I scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled. I was a different person before I read them, but I also felt obligated to be informed, to know the extent of the horrors, because anything less than that felt like a disservice to the victims. 

Deciphering the horrors of the Epstein files feels like a massive group project for moms who were always the ones doing the heavy lifting in group projects. We cannot rely on the authority figures who have “concluded” that this unprecedented global empire of evil doesn’t actually exist. 

As always, we will perform the invisible, necessary labor. We will work together and make connections and construct arguments based on tangible evidence. We will use our humanity to read critically and process information in a way that AI will never achieve. We will channel our rage and offer justice as reparations to the victims who deserve more than we will ever be able to give them. 

I hope that by the time this issue is published, there will be more to give us hope. For now, these silver linings are preserving what’s left of my sanity: Mayor Mamdani’s historic 2-Care initiative, Bad Bunny’s spectacular celebration of love and diversity, Miss Rachel’s dedication to advocating for children, the mothers of Minneapolis forming a grassroots organization to provide groceries and breastmilk and protection and care. 

I keep returning to a quote from Dan Savage: “During the darkest days of the AIDS crisis we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced all night, and it was the dance that kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for.” As mothers, we check on our neighbors and cut pancakes into fun shapes in the morning. We protest and go to the playground in the afternoon. We read bedtime stories at night and promise our babies that Mom will always protect them from the monster under the bed.  

We will continue to fight, write, read, march, protest, petition, offer assistance, be a good neighbor, question institutions, find tangible ways to help, pursue micro and macro changes, and be a mom to every child who needs someone to love and protect them. We will scream until our throats are ragged, and then we will read bedtime stories.