Svetlana Repnitskaya/Moment/Getty ImagesIt was supposed to be another ordinary-not-ordinary pandemic morning. Zoom school. Sourdough. Aggressive doom scrolling. Instead, we opened the back door for some fresh air and found a puddle of blood.We’d failed to bury the placentas.Left outside overnight, they were an open invitation to wildlife. There should have been carnage — shredded remains, a trail of gory paw prints. But the thick plastic freezer bags sat untouched, the only proof of our forgetfulness a dribble of blood, leaking politely down the back steps.Our oldest son was born fourteen year...
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