“My sobbing husband pulled me close and choked out, ‘Don’t EVER let me be a vegetable. Do you hear me???’ The weight of his words shattered my shock. My face crumbled. ‘It’s recommended you never procreate again.’ We’d accidentally gotten pregnant the last month it would ever be possible.”
“‘All fixed up! You’ll be pregnant in 4 months tops!’ I was taking medicines, arguing with my husband. Our hearts were breaking. Coming off the infertility rollercoaster, God told me it was time to change our plans. ‘The birth mother is also pregnant.'”
“While my friends were dreaming about their future careers, I was dreaming about booze. I’d carve words into my legs just to feel something. And then I got pregnant. The only thing I wanted for this child is to not feel how I felt.”
“But your children, they grow right before your eyes. Their tiny voices change overnight. Their giggles and tears start and end with you…until they don’t. Everything else can wait. Parenting is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“I’d sit on the sidelines during PE while my peers played and had the time of their lives. I felt envy toward able-bodied children. I was that awkward girl in a wheelchair who didn’t know anybody. I didn’t fit in. One morning, I awoke to muscle loss in my hands. ‘But how will I create my art?!’ I had to find a way to make life happen.”
“This sweet little 3-year-old also had a 2-year-old sister. They were looking to have them adopted together. ‘How could I adopt just ONE?’ I decided to drown out the noise of others.”
“I don’t know about letdown or leaking when a baby cries. I don’t know about raw or chapped nipples. I don’t have battle scars or badges of honor that are inscribed with, ‘Breastfed my baby until 2.’ None of it. But tell me, my sweet baby, did I love you any less?”
“I just hope you know how grateful I am for you even when I’m tired, worn down, and I don’t show it. Most of all, I hope you know I love you big even in those I-don’t-like-you moments.”
“My family had a good thing going pre-COVID. Now, our lives have been thrown into a figurative blender and turned on with the lid off. No one can feel stable wiping a kid’s butt when you’re on a conference call while the pasta is boiling over.”
“We sat in a circle on a bedroom floor. ‘Last night daddy went swimming. His body died. He won’t come home ever again.’ One week after the funeral, I received a call: ‘You have cancer, and not the run-of-the-mill kind. It travels distantly and doesn’t always respond to treatments.’ The rubble of my life had just caught fire.”
