They say that borrowed means you have to give it back. We don't have to give the moments and memories back, but our children were never ours to keep.
I envy their father. I envy the fun he gets that I don't usually get to have. I envy the front-lines because like many of us, I'm in the background doing anything but "fun."
The flash burn ravage of having the story of my husband's newly revealed affair told in the media will never leave me.
This is my confession of mothering naked. Disrobe if you dare.
Don't tell me not to be sad. Tell me it's okay to be human, because humans get sad.
Then when we do cross paths, our connection is filled with all of the wrong things. It’s void of anything having to do with bringing us back together.
I have to see their face. That’s where the truth lies. It’s beneath what others don’t see, so I search like an investigator of emotion I refuse to miscalculate.
I laid in a hospital bed with my family one morning, while most of you slept, I said goodbye to my love, my daughter. I saw her stop breathing, I saw her eyes close… I miss her but she built me.
Just before or no soon after I want to call a truce or hire the closest stranger off the street to get some respite, they do something to turn things around.
I received a response in the form of a sentence letting me know I had been banned from the stay at home mothers site. I cried. I was stunned. Banned? I cried quite a bit. I was sad.