I remember the moment a few years ago, as one of my daughters was going through a health crisis, when I felt like I was falling apart. Harsh words coursed repetitively through my head… I am not cut out to be a mother! I am not cut out for this job! As I heard myself screaming this, I had a
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When I was very young, I heard that when workers finished painting the Golden Gate Bridge it was time to begin painting it again–that it was a never-ending task. That fact boggled my mind. I remember having a hard time wrapping my brain around the idea that there was no actual completion of the job; it went on forever. And
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“Why is that flag only halfway up?” I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my seven-year-old son tapping on the glass and pointing at a flag pole outside the retirement community near our house. “That’s called ‘half-staff,’” I said. “They do that when something sad has happened.” He stayed quiet for a few beats, leaving me thinking that maybe
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Once upon a time–eight years ago, if you’re counting–I was a glowing fairy princess. At least that’s what it seems like when I look at old pictures. Such smooth skin. Such bright eyes. Such a defined jaw. Back then, in addition to being in my 20s, I wasn’t a mother. Sleep was bountiful, stress and worry were minimal, and I
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Since last spring, we’ve been on quite the KonMari kick in our household. Well, to be more accurate, my husband has been on quite the KonMari kick, and when he’s on a kick, it’s best to just go with it. For those of you not familiar with KonMari, it’s shorthand for a method of decluttering–and then organizing–your belongings, as described
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I’ll never forget the first time I got a truly negative, punch-in-the-gut comment on a parenting article I wrote. “I feel really sorry for your son.” Other writers who share their parenting experiences online have gotten much worse than that, but…dang. The internet can be a rough place for parents. That constant influx of information and opinions (and, with those,
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This past weekend I had the privilege of attending a co-ed, kid-friendly party to celebrate the impending arrival of a dear friend’s baby girl. There were biscuits, some booze (for the non-pregnant, non-underage attendees), and not an awkward shower game in sight. It was great. As I wrangled my family when it came time to leave, my friend thanked me
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I pulled the fitting room curtain shut and removed my dress from the plastic covering it’d been hiding under for the last few months, waiting to be altered. I was six months post-partum and just weeks away from serving as a bridesmaid in the wedding of two dear friends—the first “real” event I’d be going to after having our son.
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I’ve had a heavy heart the last few days. I’m really, really missing my baby. You see, somehow my baby has turned into a kid. I’m sure it was a gradual change, but it’s hit me very suddenly. It feels like I put him to bed one night as a chubby, babbling toddler, and he woke up the next morning
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Parenting a young child is very much about “firsts.” First smiles, first laughs, first steps, first words, first day of school—all wonderful and important moments in your little one’s life. I love those big milestones as much as anyone. Hey, take one glance at my Instagram and you’ll see that I document the hell out of them. But watching our
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