Just two days before the baptism, I had gone to my obstetrician and begged for help. I was frightened.
Like Jekyll coming face to face with Hyde, I realized this nighttime hellcat was me – the me that existed at 3 A.M.
I watch you struggling to hold the pieces in a puzzle that is being not only turned upside but physically shaken by life and what it has offered you.
I thought the guilt and confusion was normal. I thought the tears were normal. I thought I was just adjusting my new mommy role.
Having died when I was just a child, my mom was never going to meet my son.
Life with Irish twins. What were we thinking?
Breastfeeding gave me, my boobs and my babies so much more than just milk.
She was strong for admitting her depression to me. She was strong because she loved her family and herself enough to try and find help amidst her pain.
As mothers, we’re conditioned to believe that self-care is selfish and your children always come first. My children are two of the most important people in my life, but they’re not the only people in my life.
I often think, Am I squeezing every last bit of goodness, of wonder, of memory out of this amazing life I’m living right now? Am I remembering enough, savoring enough, loving him enough?