These days, most of my time is divided between wishing my toddler would talk more, and silently willing nearly everyone else to shut the f*ck up. You see, my beautiful, bright, sweet little boy has a speech delay – which, while both common and curable, is not without its own set of trials and tribulations.
Most of the New Year’s resolutions I’ve made in the past have had something to do with eating healthier and exercising more (or at all). With a new year comes a new opportunity to become an even better version of myself and I decided to focus on something a bit different this year – polishing my mommy tools.
No, no. Not in that “let’s have a good time!” sort of way. More like that, “I’ve had just about enough of everything and I’m at my breaking point” sort of way. I am so tired of people droning on about the weather (myself included), but I’m really hoping that endless days of cold and
The first few years of a child’s life are generally associated with fresh little nicknames: Terrible Twos, Threenagers, Effing Fours. But somewhere between those threes and those fours lies a dark, dark place confusing stage. All I can do is sit back and watch while this sweet little girl in a tutu is trying to figure
My wife and I share “that look” across the kitchen. You know the one, the one that says “I’m sorry, were you talking? I’m not sure, I can’t hear you over… EVERYTHING!” That look. Do we resign ourselves to yet another unfinished conversation, or insist, again, on some respect for the fact that every now and again
Something really important happened on the day my daughter turned 97 days old. I was nearing the end of her bedtime routine as my husband looked on from our bed. Baby smelled fresh (only a faint sour milk stench), was in clean, soft PJs, had a full belly, and was passed out, heavy and warm
“I don’t have patience,” was my retort when my spouse and I would talk about having children. I wanted children, dearly. I was simply afraid that I would irreversibly screw them up in a way years of therapy couldn’t fix. I started my children’s “therapy fund” before they were born, and long before the college fund.
I yell. A lot. I feel like it’s an autonomic response now that I’m a mother of three. I feel so horrible for my youngest who is 18 months old. She sometimes looks at me like, “what the hell is your problem!” And my son gives me looks like, “mommy, you’re going to yell now?”
The day I found out I was going to have a little girl was a glorious one. I envisioned someone who would share the same interests, beliefs, and hobbies as her mother. I imagined a little girl who would inherit her parents’ good qualities because we would always be on our best behavior –
1. When your toddler rips your earring from your ear during a screamy tantrum in her car seat, it’s incredibly hard to distinguish the difference between a dried-up raisin and your lost earring back on the floor of the car. Especially when the only time you have to look for said earring back is after