I worry with the other moms about whether we’re good at it. Raising another person. By Marni Berger
Author: Motherwell
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