I consider the ways in which I have struggled to love my own body, and the ways in which I have been careful about not voicing my unhealthy thoughts around my daughters.
I’ve lost the handle on how often my kids eat treats. In fact, the word “treat,” which conjures up images of special occasion for cakes, ice cream sundaes, and hard-to-get confections, has been rendered meaningless in our family. In short, opportunities for treats happen too often.
We want our daughters to be confident. We want them to feel strong. To feel bright. To feel capable.
By Gililan Kessler. The only physical activity I've been really confident about for most of my life has been dancing.
By Emily Gallo. Who taught me that word? Who taught me that idea? Was it in a board book of opposites I read once?
How do I put makeup on my four year old?
How can we possibly feel that this man, Donald Trump, values that which we painstakingly endure in the course of Motherhood?
Let’s be defined by the love we pour out, not the way our pants hug our thighs.
Our time is too valuable to pick apart the width of our bodies instead of embracing the pieces that make up the width of our days.
“Yes, honey. I do have a squishy belly.”