A woman who gave up her career to raise a baby at home feels her thwarted ambition and rage building up inside her, until it gradually turns her into a literal werewolf. Hilariously, her newfound lycanthropy doesn’t actually change much about her relationship with her mostly-absent and cheerfully oblivious husband (“I’m sure you’re not growing a tail, how silly. Are you sure it isn’t some kind of cyst? Have you made an appointment with your doctor?”), or the other mothers that she sees at baby activities (“I love your new look, very boho, very Mother Earth”). Her worries are also very mundane, as she searches for her symptoms on Google and stresses over the possibility that activities like chasing squirrels and eating raw meat might have a negative impact on her son’s development. Yoder’s character is really good at detailing her resentment and stress caused by modern motherhood (so many personal flashbacks to raising young children!), while never reflecting that resentment onto the baby that put her in this position. The lycanthropy thing actually happens pretty early on in the story and then the book’s pacing kind of flounders around in the middle, before abruptly finding its way to a satisfying ending.