
Working Momma Blues
This morning started like any other Monday morning. Frantic. Rushed. Yelling “I’m turning off the TV if you don’t put your socks on! We need to go!”
This morning started like any other Monday morning. Frantic. Rushed. Yelling “I’m turning off the TV if you don’t put your socks on! We need to go!”
Her words, I hate you, kept playing over in my head. I could feel her hostility towards me, the mere fact I was standing in her room, had her head spinning.
College applications are pretty much finished and submitted. Now the waiting starts—the agonizing waiting to hear did your teen get in or not?
Side by side, we’ll walk home, shadowy branches swaying gently overhead, their claws finger painting the constellation of a runner darting across the sky.
I know 13 is weird. I know some changes are happening at warp speed and some are taking their sweet time.
Fine, I’m not EXACTLY totally finished. There are slots in my daughter’s baby book for photos that are sitting empty that need to be filled. I have to remember what she was given for her fifth birthday party, even though I could confidently guess “princess stuff” and “My Little Pony nonsense” and that would pretty much cover it.
After three babies, I’ve seen it all. And by all, I mean that there’s a continuum that new moms don’t know about as they head into the unchartered territory that is diaper changes.
I think that empathy helps make me a helpful, compassionate mother. But it’s also really freaking exhausting.
The box invites you to see Puppy Surprise make weird panting noises. It is not the sound of a happy dog. It is the sound of a dog mid-panic attack.
I bought my teenage daughter Plan B. Then end. It’s no one’s business. She’s under 18 and made the decision to be sexually active.
This morning started like any other Monday morning. Frantic. Rushed. Yelling “I’m turning off the TV if you don’t put your socks on! We need to go!”
Her words, I hate you, kept playing over in my head. I could feel her hostility towards me, the mere fact I was standing in her room, had her head spinning.
College applications are pretty much finished and submitted. Now the waiting starts—the agonizing waiting to hear did your teen get in or not?
Side by side, we’ll walk home, shadowy branches swaying gently overhead, their claws finger painting the constellation of a runner darting across the sky.
I know 13 is weird. I know some changes are happening at warp speed and some are taking their sweet time.
Fine, I’m not EXACTLY totally finished. There are slots in my daughter’s baby book for photos that are sitting empty that need to be filled. I have to remember what she was given for her fifth birthday party, even though I could confidently guess “princess stuff” and “My Little Pony nonsense” and that would pretty much cover it.
After three babies, I’ve seen it all. And by all, I mean that there’s a continuum that new moms don’t know about as they head into the unchartered territory that is diaper changes.
I think that empathy helps make me a helpful, compassionate mother. But it’s also really freaking exhausting.
The box invites you to see Puppy Surprise make weird panting noises. It is not the sound of a happy dog. It is the sound of a dog mid-panic attack.
I bought my teenage daughter Plan B. Then end. It’s no one’s business. She’s under 18 and made the decision to be sexually active.