My Five-Year-Old Still Uses a Pacifier
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
He’s become quite the Houdini lately with taking off his diapers—despite them being duck-taped for better security. And his most recent escape was from a diaper full of poop. This is why special needs parenting is emotionally and physically exhausting.
By the time my divorce was over, I didn’t feel the huge sense of loss I expected would come with losing someone in your life in that way.
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.
My mom was the type of woman who exuded class. She got up every morning and went through the ritual of “getting ready” even when we had no plans to leave the house.
I’ve dropped the weight. My belly looks lumpy and is the antithesis of flat. But I’ve dropped the weight that matters.
You know that feeling when you wake up like a shot, mind alert, heart pounding? It’s anxiety.
One in eight women will deal with infertility – which means at some point or another going to need to help a friend or family member through these emotions.
This one felt different. It was closer to home than ever before. This time, my children are old enough to see the news and ask questions.
It’s been a rough year, and although I try to stay positive, some days I hit the pandemic wall.
Yup. You read that right. I let my 5-year-old use a pacifier. Cue the judgment.
He’s become quite the Houdini lately with taking off his diapers—despite them being duck-taped for better security. And his most recent escape was from a diaper full of poop. This is why special needs parenting is emotionally and physically exhausting.
By the time my divorce was over, I didn’t feel the huge sense of loss I expected would come with losing someone in your life in that way.
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.
My mom was the type of woman who exuded class. She got up every morning and went through the ritual of “getting ready” even when we had no plans to leave the house.
I’ve dropped the weight. My belly looks lumpy and is the antithesis of flat. But I’ve dropped the weight that matters.
You know that feeling when you wake up like a shot, mind alert, heart pounding? It’s anxiety.
One in eight women will deal with infertility – which means at some point or another going to need to help a friend or family member through these emotions.
This one felt different. It was closer to home than ever before. This time, my children are old enough to see the news and ask questions.
It’s been a rough year, and although I try to stay positive, some days I hit the pandemic wall.