“Your vagina and stomach are in a world of pain. More often than not, there’s been a cut somewhere. You struggle to get comfortable in that hard hospital bed. You can barely sit, stand, lie down, or walk. A picture really is worth 1,000 words. This is me, roughly 24 hours after giving birth. I have no idea who took the picture, but you can tell how I feel just by looking at it.”
“‘So I’ll only have a baby brother?,’ my daughter asked, confused. I woke up at 5:24 that morning and went to check on her, in Matt’s arms. I was grateful it happened peacefully. I woke him up. ‘She’s gone.’ We each held her, then one another, before calling the nurse in. We kissed her perfect little cheeks. ‘Goodbye, sweet girl.’”
“I went for a walk in the snow the other day. My children insisted they could walk themselves, that they didn’t need the sled. But I pulled it anyway. After we walked a bit longer, they both grew tired and climbed in. Sometimes, they climbed out. But they always returned. And I always kept pulling. This is what motherhood is. We keep pulling the sled of support. Even when they don’t need it, we are there to help them keep going.”
“People always give me unasked advice about my kids. I often hear, ‘You’re spoiling him. He’s got to toughen up and be a man.’ BREAKING NEWS. I am a WOMAN. No matter what I do, I could never raise him to be a ‘man.’ I know nothing about being one. Every chance I get, I will always hug him and feed him affirmations. I want him to always know he is loved.”
“She continued to scan my belly and remained rather quiet. I had no idea what to expect during an ultrasound but I thought that was kind of odd. Jokingly I asked, ‘There isn’t twins in there, right?’ She looked over at me and smiled. My heart dropped and I sat up quickly.”
“My imagination was running wild. I was definitely assuming she was going to tell us something bad. But no. No. No. No. ‘Do you kids know what song they are singing right now?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied (still confused). She began to lightly pat her hands on the bed, beaming with pride.”
“I had offered to help my then-boyfriend unpack boxes for his new home. Knowing I was still sensitive to items from the life he had before me, I offered to unpack the living room. I came across something which stopped me in my tracks. I immediately felt sick to my stomach. ‘Am I as pretty as she is?’ I began to feel extremely insecure.”
“Christmas, when I was 5-years-old. I remember in the back stood a box approximately 3-foot-tall with MY name on it. Of course, my brother couldn’t help but tease me there is only a small gift inside, and the big box was just a trick. But I knew.”
“A miracle came just days before he passed away. At just 20 months old, our son had only verbalized one word. Dog. Yet, he responded to my wife and I as we laid over his crib, tears falling from our cheeks, expressing our love for him. With absolute perfect clarity, our little boy looked up at us. I held him for the last time. I crave his smile. I miss seeing his eyes light up.”
“Ty threw his hands over his ears and started to rock back and forth, moaning. I shot up quickly. This was the start of a meltdown. I tried to get my son to his feet, but it was too late. Ty slid off the bench and onto the ground. I fell beside him, my heart aching. My son never cries, yet here he was, sobbing in front of his dream: the train.”
