“Exhausted doesn’t fully describe this photo. I was sneaking in a nap while healing from 2 types of births: Baby A vaginal, Baby B cesarean. My body was working non-freaking-stop to make all the milk for these boys. People ask, ‘How do you do it with 4 kids?’ I shrug and respond, ‘Moms always figure it out.’ Even when we have no clue how, we make it work. We’ve got a drive within us that is unstoppable. The funny thing is, I’d do it all over again.”
“Hey mama, did you get up last night? Was it once, 3 times, 20? Just know you’re not alone and there are many mamas up at 3 a.m. yawning, just like you.”
“Pinterest Pam is shoving her perfectly-staged lemonade stand in our face. Even when we don’t mean to compare, we do. Society tells us to suck it up, work full time, be the perfect mother, work out daily, prepare a home-cooked meal every night, and keep our husbands happy. And if you fail at any of those things, you’re a crappy mother. Instead of talking about it, we try to do more. Well, mamas, I’m calling BS.”
“Scott went in for his surgery and FaceTimed me when he got out. He said in his hoarse post-surgery voice, ‘I’m so sorry I am not there to help you and your mom right now. A few hours later, I got a text from his brother. ‘Mel, I’m so sorry. Scott didn’t make it. I’m so sorry.’ Huh? I didn’t know what he was talking about.”
“My husband and I decided it was time to get rid of some NASCAR memorabilia. Within 10 minutes of putting it up I got a message that someone was interested, but they wanted to send a check. I guess it was a good thing I said, ‘Yes,’ because the guy sent me a check for over $2,000. My item was just 50 bucks! The name on the package was not the same as the check.”
“Getting a third child dressed: A Batman cape and swim diaper are perfectly acceptable for Christmas Eve brunch. Hurry up and get dressed, we’re late.”
“I slumped down into that grey, padded chair and I thought to myself, ‘These people think we have it all together. We walk in here with our Sunday best on, hair done and a fake smile across our faces, and they have NO CLUE the gates of hell that have unleashed on us the last two days.”
“You smell like sweat and tears for days at a time. You don’t get breaks. You lock yourself in the bathroom and scream into a towel while crying because you need a second to breathe, all while a child is banging on the door to get in. You forget what it means or feels like to be an individual. I was one of those people who judged SAHM’s. But I get it now. We are lonely and alone.”
“I can still remember her sitting in the white vinyl rocker next to the refrigerator, a wrinkled moisturizer-soaked hand on her forehead, shoulders slumped, trying to figure out how to raise a teenager long after she’d intended to raise a teenager. She sacrificed a lot by taking in her troubled, slightly drug addicted, disgruntled, often absent from class, foul mouthed, rebellious grandson.”
Kylee thinks she’s participating in a family photo shoot. In reality, she’s about to receive her dream come true, courtesy of her mother’s boyfriend.
