Well, mamas, here we are.
Dropped into a wilderness without trail maps—or even trails—we're bushwhacking through the undergrowth of parenthood in hopes of making it to higher ground.
Here we are, with our remarkable bodies, creating and nurturing these entirely new beings, bringing them forth in pain and awe.
Here we are, with our hair tangled, awake again, covered in spit-up, wondering how, exactly, such a wee little belly can manufacture so much shit.
Here we are, with our best intentions, toiling like Sisyphus, fighting the good fight to give the world intelligent, creative, down-to-earth, compassionate human beings.
Good on ya, mamas. ‘Cause, as a poet once wrote, there are no trails. Trails are made by walking.
Here we are.
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