Owen and I were holding hands as we walked back to the car along the sidewalk from dropping off Nora for school. Drop-off is always hard for him and today was the first time, after a month, that he didn’t cry. He loves his sister so much but he shows it in ways that are… Read More HAVE A GOOD DAY!
I’m done hating the mirror. My dumpy forty-something ass is as done with you as I am. Stare at it all you want. It doesn’t talk back but I will. I’m a mom, a writer, an educated woman who cusses, and that woman is all out of &^%#$ to care about your opinion on how… Read More My ass and I don’t care if you stare.
I’m so top heavy I can’t lay on my back without suffocating or creating armrests in my armpits. My cleavage seems to start at my chin. (This is my super flattering selfie to illustrate.) Running feels like parts of my body are being ripped off by unseen forces. When I have to chase after my… Read More My boobs: a love-hate relationship
I don’t want to be here today. I don’t want to be anywhere. It’s too hard to be a mom today. It’s too hard to do this in my internal solitary confinement any longer. I wish I wasn’t myself. I wish I was that mom. The mom society expects me to be. A mom who… Read More The mom paradox: internal solitary confinement
“What’s So Terrible About Two?” The benign article asked. My brain screamed, “Really? REALLY, assholes?!” They meant to be uplifting in their message, they meant to give people hope, to show that it isn’t that bad. At least I think so but I had trouble reading it as Owen was busy pulling a skintag off… Read More Toddlerhood: A test of a parents love
“It’s madness.” My friend, Molly, texts me to ask how I’m doing and that was my response. She’s my life-line to the outside world at times and always manages to make me smile. Our virtual conversations brighten my life and go back some seven plus years now online and started the day I pretended to… Read More The marrow of joy.
Downton Abbey will always remind me of the early days with my babies. Of cluster feedings, the agony of tongue-tiedness, colic, croup; long hours of trying to sleep sitting upright and the relief and responsibility all at once while snuggling warm little bodies that filled me with every type of emotion and worry. So it’s… Read More An end of an era.
You wouldn’t expect someone with a broken leg to ride a bike, so why would anyone expect someone mentally ill to function normally? Then again, since most of us are ill to some extent, should we all just cut each other some slack? Where do you establish your boundaries, your baseline level of tolerance, your… Read More I’ll be crazy, you say when.
It’s the small moments of letting go that are the closest I come to feeling like maybe I have this mom-thing figured out for once. It’s the moment when Owen climbs into bed and blankets my head with his body and I chuckle in rare, surrendered delight instead of annoyance at being awoken yet again throughout… Read More 2 years and 4.9 years
Owen had three procedures to fix his posterior tongue tie beginning at two weeks, I was a complete mess struggling to manually express milk into his mouth while he attacked my boobs like a rabid animal, recovering from an unplanned c-section and traumatic birth, trying to recover from bronchitis and an ear infection at three… Read More Childbirth, motherhood, and other torture
Kelso Kids 
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