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
Our bond is like entangled particles—if he feels something in his heart, I feel it too, instantaneously. By Darcie Whelan Kortan
I want my son to see the value in committing to something because it’s beautiful and worthwhile, not because he’s certain to succeed. By Daisy Alpert Florin
Be bold. The book you suggest could save a kid’s life. By Melissa Hart
Next to Orion’s Belt are two dimmer stars. These are the babies I lost, one before each of my sons. By Julia Pelly
We already lived paycheck to paycheck, how in the world would we scrounge up the money to stay in even a cheap hotel near our daughter? By Anna Whitlock
So many parents speak of this transition period with promise and enthusiasm. But I loved nothing more than my kids walking through the door every day at 2:35pm. By Randi Olin
I’m a third grade teacher. No amount of cursive writing instruction is going to bridge literacy gaps or resolve comprehension deficits. By Michelle Riddell
Every day she’d come home and say, “today my friends called me peanut, and it makes me sad.” By Lori Orlinksy
I am a woman who sometimes needs a glass of wine or two in the evening, because even though her boys are no longer babies, five to six o’clock is still the witching hour. By Fiona Leary Boucher
Actions speak louder than words. Take your kids to the library once a week or make regular outings to your local bookstore. By Regan McMahon
Why in the world had I even brought the kids to the store? I just wanted to go home, have a good cry and forget about autism for a while. By Jennifer Jones
Our daughter asked good questions—what about the other baby? Were we sad? Why did it happen? By Cynthia Nuara
“Baby, it might be a mistake,” my mother said. “Sometimes they accidentally send these things out to the wrong people.” By Rebecca Potter
When you blow out the candle for her, be prepared: it will feel like blowing away her first year, your first year of motherhood. By Kaitlin Barker Davis
We can try to compare miseries, heartaches, injustices but, in the end, it becomes impossible. By Diana Kupershmit
Our married life was no longer comfortable. There was no indulgence, no whispered promises of sweet dessert. By Hannah Grieco
I now hear regularly about girls who are so fearful of disappointing their teachers that they skip sleep to do extra-credit work for points they don’t need. By Lisa Damour
Stephanie Land’s daughter learned to walk in a homeless shelter. In her debut memoir, she tells the story of how they survived.