The truth is that my son does not fit out there, in your world, with most other children. There are few places for him to go where he can truly flourish. He suffers from a syndrome I’ll call “being different.” I suffer too.

It’s plain to see that all we need is more balance, but that’s a problem much easier acknowledged than solved. We’re on our way though, with baby steps, as I learn to enjoy our little moments and you clean more floors and bottles than you used to.

We sat on the couch, side by side, like we often do, her hand in my hair for comfort, while she chatted about her time at her nannies, her friends, …

“You’re a boy?” Lauren finally understood. Almost. “But…you’re wearing a dress.” Before Max found the words he wanted to use, Evan, Brave Knight Evan, put his arm around his little brother’s shoulders.

“No one in the family would ever hurt him.”

It’s incredible, how effortlessly I trusted her. I let her opinion win and as a result I fell into the unforgiving hands of postpartum anxiety – because, of course, that destructive friend was me.

Kindness is contagious. Kindness dissolves anger, rage, and violence. Even when kindness is beaten down, it finds a way to prevail. All we have to do is look for it.

hat a dresser. Somebody really cared about him, you know? Someone paid attention to his clothes. 

As I hear my oldest say she wishes she didn’t have a sister I wonder how to explain to my daughters, now 3 and 6, the importance of being friends. They don’t understand that one day they will rely on each other as much as they rely on me now.

My childhood was mine; my experiences exist as a narrative. What she gleans from them is her choice. She does not need to replicate my life. Religion, rituals, clothes, music, spirituality, cultural conflicts – I will lay it all out in front of her and she can weave them together in a way that makes sense to her.