When I think of the sidewalk full of blood and the broken bones and frightened faces in Boston, I now also think of one scared little girl who is absorbing too much of the world. A little girl who still lets me hold her in my arms and tell her that she will be okay.
I lived in a heightened state, because any little sign could have meant my baby was slipping away from me.
Isn’t this picture the most telling of motherhood? How we run out/around/through whatever it is when we’re worried for our kids, when, sometimes, we’re worried for things that seem really scary in the moment but resolve just fine.
By Chrissie Howe. My baby has been awake for days. We’ve spent weeks in this unbreakable pattern.
By Elke Govertsen. I spent most of the summer on my couch working very, very hard to breathe.
Somehow the word threesome had crossed his path, but we were navigating.
Strength has no gender. That’s what my mom showed me; with her words, her actions, and the way she could pick up a hay bale and toss it in the truck.
I wanted to help women find strength, endurance, confidence, and compassion. There is not a single woman who could not find personal success in this program.
One of my favorite things to do is make connections. In Montana, where I am convinced there are only two degrees of separation, it is especially fun.
We are all fools, survivors, incorrigible badasses, goddesses. In the end we are an infinite army of mothers, doing the best we can.
