Despite my conversation with the doorman—“very important package”—despite my incessant refreshing of the DHL tracking page, and despite the clerk’s assurance that I’d purchased enough dry ice to keep the breast milk frozen during its journey from our surrogate in California to our home in New York City, everything is melting. Milk drips down my arms as I carry the box to my apartment. After a Google search, my husband stares in horror while I empty ten Ziploc bags filled with milk intended for our eight-day-old daughter down the drain. This, I think, is what failure smells like.
Brad Snyder’s writing has appeared in HuffPost Personal, Hippocampus Magazine, River Teeth’s Beautiful Things, Under the Gum Tree, and elsewhere. www.bradmsnyder.com Instagram: @bradmsnyderwriting