I wonder now why it came as such a shock to me that friends would get married, that wild nights out would become sleepless ones at home with a baby. By Claire Lynch
My mom took off her scarf and revealed her bald head. We all braced ourselves, but the woman at the shop didn’t flinch. By Kandace Chapple
“No offense Mom,” my oldest said to me a few years ago. “But you could have been so much more.” By Laura Pochintesta
We had a ritual that I honored until she outgrew the need for it. It occurs to me now that I needed it just as much as she did. By Tracy Tambosso
On carrying grief forward, not getting over it. A Motherwell interview with Nora McInerny.
My parents grew up in the shadow of the Holocaust. Neither one of them knew how to tell me what had happened, so instead they said nothing. By Elissa Jacobs
I always thought depression came like a fog. Postpartum depression came on differently, like an 18-wheel truck slamming into a cement wall. By Laura Cline
I worry with the other moms about whether we’re good at it. Raising another person. By Marni Berger
So much of who we are has to do with how we think about our own parents and our own childhood.
I didn’t have my therapist hat on when my son went through his grief—I was just his mom, muddling through it alongside him. By Lori Gottlieb
I keep waiting for the perfect moment to tell him about his true relationship to Dave. I hope he’ll understand. By Philip Langdon Ross
My father was an every-other-weekend dad, then a once-a-summer dad and, finally, a phone-it-in dad. Then we lost touch. By Stephen J. Lyons
In the summer, I put my sunbaked arm down next to his hoping he will notice it’s not so different. By Adrienne Sciutto
A mom created the sign-up sheet. Two moms were listed as the contact people. Moms filled in every slot. By Marya Markovich
My daughter collapses after an endless tantrum and says, I wish I wasn’t adopted. By Tanya Friedman
I hesitated because I am a product of my society, just like everyone else. By Fiona Leary Boucher
These words by Joan Didion summed up my twenties, but they also capture the predicament of my current midlife crisis. By Elizabeth Newdom
Because the new story is a bit of a sequel, I leaned towards using the same boy character again. But I remember thinking, “Why do I have to choose?” By Denise Barry
I arrive at the office. I mime professional. Am I a professional? For months my identity was pure and unquestioned: mother of an infant. By Janelle Ward
We asked, you answered. In three words.
Kisses really mean love. When we kiss you goodnight, we told her, it leaves your cheek and travels straight into your heart. By Rosanne Ullman
As parents sometimes it’s a struggle to carve out even a few minutes to breathe. By Steph Auteri
The mental space freed up by not giving a shit? It’s delicious. By Sophfronia Scott
This year is different. Maybe it’s because I’ve had the miscarriages. Maybe it’s because we both recently turned 42. By Angela Kidd
It’s not that my boys don’t need motivation. It’s that for their gender, empowerment is always readily available. By Annie D. Stutley