“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.”
“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.”
“‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ I remember looking for clues. Nobody else did. Not the midwife, not our health visitor, not the doctors. Nobody. I didn’t want it to be true.”
“My youngest is 15 months old, and I wear compression socks. My 7-year-old calls my tummy ‘squishy,’ and I can’t hide the stretch marks. I struggle with hormonal swings and anxiety that made me message two doctors and a nurse friend today. No calendar date or finish line can return anything to how it was before.”
“I was a child learning I would never carry a child. I had the option for treatment. I would be upstairs doing this painful and intrusive act, while my family was desperately pretending I wasn’t. I felt defected and apologetic for not being ‘complete.’”
“Laugh. Giggle. Hum. Squeal. Never stop. No matter what. Just keep being you.”
“‘Well bud, I’m black. My Dad is black and my Mom is white. So, if I am black, you are black. Do you understand?’ He scrunched up his nose again and had this determined look in his eyes. ‘Mom, I’m not black.’ He said it so matter-of-factly and with no room for argument.”
“The last thing I wanted was for a student to end the school year with a D or F. Every time I crossed a student off my list, I’d do a little victory dance in my kitchen. It’s been a mixed bag of emotions.”
