“We don’t know who was in this photo, their tiny features are far too difficult to differentiate at less than an hour old. Just moments after my husband took this picture, our two babies were rushed up to the NICU. We never had that picture-perfect moment in the delivery room, the one where a smiling family shows off their precious newborn. Instead, this is our photo.”
“I hear you complain to daddy you have ‘huge bags’ under your eyes. I assume it’s because you’re tired. You were up with me again all last night. I really love the way you cuddle me in the middle of the night while the rest of the world is quiet. You make me feel so safe. You may not love the sleepless nights, Mama, but I do.”
“I am SO burned out. My kids don’t respect my needs. My clients push me around. It’s time to show everyone, including myself, where the standard is for how you treat ‘Meg.'”
“Years ago, I was married to a different man who cared more about material possessions than his family. We had a big house with an incredible view, nice vehicles, a boat in the driveway. We were, in fact, the Joneses. But inside the front door, life was filled with drug abuse, infidelity, and violence. Two children who never saw their father, or only saw him screaming at their mother. From the outside, we were the envy of neighbors and friends. Inside, it was a nightmare.”
“Today I got breastfeeding support in the most unlikely of places.”
“For some reason, I wanted to be a young mom–fit, fashionable, and in the prime of life. I was doing all the pregnancy math. If we get pregnant at this time and it takes nine months to cook, then we’d have the baby at this perfect time. After several months of trying, I started to get a little worried.”
“We didn’t know when we went to bed, and you told us you loved us, it would be the last time we saw you alive. You didn’t know either. You only wanted care from the VA. Did you know the priority mail envelope that contained your hearing appointment was finally delivered to me, 4 months after you died? Yeah, you can’t make this up. We applied because of your pain.”
“I immediately thought I must not have heard her incorrectly. No one would think this, let alone say it out loud. She continued without fear. ‘My son has the whole act down. He covers his ears, repeats words, and even does a hand twitch! He has the flap down perfectly.’ My stomach dropped. I started repeating to myself, ‘Do not cry. Do not cry.’ I willed myself to hold it together. My son covers his ears. My son’s hands twitch. My son flaps his hands. And one of my greatest fears is he will be bullied for it.”
“No one can see if I’m on the phone, cooking, sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner. Some days I’m only a pair of hands, nothing more! ‘Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?’ I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ A satellite guide to answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m the invisible mom.”
“This is your reality. Your mother is more like a long distant cousin. Your friends bond with their moms over ‘The Bachelor.’ They could talk for hours about decorating the same way Joanna Gaines does. But you can’t do that. Your mom barely has a maternal bone in her body. She dropped you off at college and barely hugged you goodbye, thankful you were finally out of her house.”
