“When her head hits the pillow, her mind suddenly wakes up. And then, it gets really freaking mean. ‘Why aren’t you in better shape?’ it hisses in her head. ‘Your husband is aging better than you.’ By two, she’s exhausted from the thoughts, the Googling, and the tears.”
“‘We need your permission to do whatever it takes to save your son’s life.’ I took one look at him and vomited. All I can remember is watching the nurse methodically pump a bag, breathing life into my son one squeeze at a time.”
“A scrumptious little boy was placed on my chest. I felt heart-stopping panic. ’This canNOT be my baby.’ I had prayed specifically against this. I thought things a mother should NEVER think.”
“I was convinced there wasn’t anything ‘wrong’ with my son. I would have been called a ‘refrigerator Mom,’ meaning I was cold-hearted and had ‘thawed out’ long enough to reproduce, then not showing my child love, resulting in a diagnosis.”
“Instead of creating spaces to come together, I’m thinking of ways to keep us apart. I’m used to letting students know what the year ahead will be like, but this year not even the teacher knows what to expect. Kindergarten is coming and it feels nothing like it should.”
“My contractions started suddenly, like five-minutes apart. I froze and went into shock. I remember my nerves taking over and my body shaking uncontrollably. ‘This baby needs to come out NOW.’ My heart became so heavy, it felt like it sank, and we just held hands and cried together.”
“My phone rang. ‘You’re a match!’ I stopped breathing for a brief moment. My BMI was still too high to donate. I tipped the scales at 297 pounds. The surgeon told me, ‘You need to lose more weight.’ I’d been searching for my ‘why’ for months. She needed me, and I needed her. Someone else’s life was now in my hands. I was called to save her.”
“The world will try to pressure you to hurry it all up. Good meaning people will chime in with advice on how to do your job better. As the world reopens and all the pressures start to return, remember, motherhood is not a sprint. It’s a marathon.”
“I got a text. ‘We left the gnomes on your porch. Thank you letting them keep my daughters company through the pandemic. It was very hard for them to say goodbye. They were well loved.’ What had I done?! Tears started running down my face.”
“One day, she stopped eating and cried most of the morning. I thought they would send me home with Tylenol. The doctor came in and said, ‘Pack a bag and go to the hospital.’ I had to go full steam ahead.”
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