For lots of reasons, I figured we were just done. Chief among those reasons is the fact that I’m not enthusiastic about becoming a mom of a newborn, again, at the age of 38.
He has taught me that I cannot control everything (or everyone) in my life. And not only is that okay, that is exactly as it is supposed to be, because it is usually somewhere in the unexpected chaos that is life with my son, that I make mistakes, or actually get it right, and either way, we learn, and we grow. Many days are spent yelling like a crazy woman, and many nights after he has gone to sleep are spent longing for a chance to do better tomorrow.
It started out innocently enough. We had a playdate with a few kids and moms I’d been wanting to see at the trampoline park Lili had been… Read more “Shove your f***ing orange socks!”
“What a cute little boy!” says an unfamiliar voice behind me in the cereal isle. I turn to see an older woman peering into my baby carriage.… Read more “Toddler underwear is bullshit”
Every evening when I’m ready for bed, I turn off the hall light and push my bedroom door open with just the right amount of pressure so… Read more “Good news, sleep-deprived parents: It’s not you, IT’S THEM”