Pregnant Chicken

Sleep Deprivation Isn’t a Contest but Someone Get Me a Prize

Me to my friend, “I’m so tired. I haven’t gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep in 13 months.” Random person (who was totally eavesdropping), “Oh, I know how you feel! I haven’t slept for more than 30 seconds in 375 months.” And so begins the “who has it worse” game that isn’t a game. On good days it becomes a jovial back-and-forth of the outrageous ways our brains are drained like your phone when you let your big kid play Minecraft or Pokemon Go.

Anxiety - An Invasive Species

It starts as scattered seeds — kernels anchored by anxiety and waiting for the right conditions to sprout. Some days they are fertilized by memories. Some days by fear. Most often they germinate themselves, arriving with a lunchbox of sunlight and water as they feed one another. They don’t grow up and out, freeing themselves and me, instead they grow in twisted, circuitous paths around my body. From a seed into an invasive vine. Most of the time I have no idea why I feel anxious.

How Mama Gets Her Groove Back

“I know it’s only 9am, but can I have a do over?” We ask this when our days spin out of our control and we haven’t even managed to feed everyone breakfast. We beg for this on the days when we can’t understand how every side of the bed can be the wrong side, when our skin aches from the internal pressure that is simmering as we try to keep the lid on. I get to the end of the day and wonder, “how did this day get so far away from me? When did I lose sight of my good intentions?”

Dear Mom Who is Totally Screwing Up

Dear mom who is totally screwing up, Today my five year old daughter screamed the whole way home because I would not buy her a pottery wheel. Today I lost my patience. I will lose my patience again tomorrow. I sometimes clean up her messes, because I can’t deal with the potential meltdown, or the calm presence it would take to walk her through how to clean it on her own. I let her watch kids’ shows with obnoxious characters who whine a lot and lack depth.
Preemie Babies 101

To Belong as a Preemie Parent

“I don’t think I’ll ever identify as a preemie parent.” I remember saying those words to my best friend upon the early arrival of my son. It was not a label I felt entitled to wear, or a phrase I thought I would ever use to describe myself. If you’re thinking it was because I had a late-term preemie who only barely qualified as “early” you’d be wrong — my son was born at 31 weeks, weighing 3 pounds 3 ounces. Very premature by any standards, and yet I felt as though I didn’t belong in the world of of isolettes and measurements in grams rather than ounces.
The Huffington Post

It's Not All Hand Washing And Light Switches

The line between quirky and weird seemed to be stuck between my fingers. That feeling when you eat a donut or an ice cream cone and the residue makes your fingers so sticky that you desperately want to find a sink? That's how they felt. Licking them would help -- for a few minutes. Little kids are sticky, and I spent a lot of time licking between my fingers for momentary relief. It drove my parents crazy -- we'd be in a public place, and there I was licking my hands like a compulsive cat.