Mama, It Is Enough
There is a height chart on the wall reminding me that I didn’t do the “parenting thing” I planned to do.
There is a height chart on the wall reminding me that I didn’t do the “parenting thing” I planned to do.
I stood among the rubble after a particularly bad explosion and screamed in my head, “HOW MUCH LONGER DO I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THIS?”
I thought that as an adult, I was done with panic attacks. I was cocky, hadn’t had one in years, I was so obviously over them. But when your life is somehow upended, the dormant ways float back to the surface.
I started wondering about the accountability of personal trainers. What if I didn’t tell Tim about my health, followed his diet, and wound up in the hospital?
“So is motherhood worth it?” asks my colleague somewhat skeptically from across the cafeteria table.
I sound like a broken record, even to myself. But what is my alternative? I need to teach my children how to speak to me so I can hear them.
Whether they are little or big, they take our breath away. When they stumble. When they soar. It never really changes. It never gets easier.
Parenting a child with hemophilia means learning how to separate fear from love; they are so intimately bound together in a parent’s heart.
It’s my turn…but somehow I can’t get over my body. Does he notice?
Yes, some parents are the sole parent 100% of the time. But I would argue that single parenthood includes a wider cross-section of parents.