I want another baby. And, no, not just in the hypothetical, “wouldn’t it be nice if…” type of way. I want another baby in the practical, full desire to grow my family, “I long for a baby in my womb now and am no longer taking active steps to prevent it” type of way. There.
I first discovered the magic of horses at five years old, and, as the saying goes, we were off and running. By age seven, I (literally) landed my first pony-related concussion and sutures. Undaunted, I climbed back into the saddle the moment the doctor gave the OK. My parents were initially in some form
By the time my mother was my age, she was a bit of a homebody. She would decline most out-of-state invitations, explaining that since she worked for herself, there was no money earned when she was away. While true, my mother liked being in her own space, doing her own thing, on her timetable. I
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a private person. You won’t catch me posting photos of my family on Instagram, I keep my birthday to myself, and I would never upload sappy messages to my husband on Facebook. Not that there’s anything wrong with this kind of sharing; it’s just not my style. In
Hi blog readers! From time-to-time we open things up here at CT Working Moms and put out a call for guest posts. If you enjoy writing and have a personal experience to share with our audience of moms, we invite you to submit a piece of writing for consideration by our leadership team. You are
If I knew these things, would I have signed up to be a mother? If I knew that I would have moments (days, weeks…) that I felt to the core of my being that I was failing my children… If I knew that nothing in my house or car would ever be clean – truly
My perfectionist streak means that I often try to be everything to everyone. I am Super Mom. The one who always volunteers to bring snacks for soccer practice. And bakes her own bread, muffins, and pie every weekend. And makes applesauce from scratch. From apples that she picked herself. And tomato sauce from the tomatoes
My Sweet Child, We are finding ourselves once again in a familiar dance. The catalyst being the bruising of your tender places and the grand finale undoubtedly containing quite the bang. When you were young, I would sit in the middle of your room as you spiraled and raged around me. Silent and still, just sitting…waiting.
“Why are you still single?” “Have you tried online dating?” “You should get yourself out there; hasn’t it been long enough?” “Don’t you want someone to be with on your kid-free nights?” “Do you think you’re being too picky?” I have been asked all of these questions by well-intentioned friends but whenever I respond, I
In the past year I have read several articles about the “emotional labor” and “mental load” of motherhood. Moms plan/coordinate everyone’s schedules, arrange carpools, schedule doctors appointments, research and schedule contractors/repairmen, plan vacations, arrange teacher conferences, locate missing household items, keep track of homework due dates, plan/coordinate meals, manage clothing needs, and even make