The hardest-working object in my life right now is my C-shaped nursing pillow. It’s been handed down through several babies — I got it from my sister, then I used it for my daughter, and then it was briefly relegated to play room object, but now it’s back to doing the work it was meant to do. My son was born in March, and as I find myself again mired in the tedious meditation on the present that is early motherhood, the pillow is there with me, an ugly and dependable helper.