I’d raise my family differently, not because of the mistakes I made—though I certainly made my share—but because time means so much more to me now. By Melissa T. Shultz
They arrived. One after the other. In snowstorms. On holidays. From foreign countries. In succession—as inevitable it seemed as midterms and finals. By David Joseph
I’d been craving more one-on-one time with my kids for so long and now, thanks to those pesky parasites, I had it. By Kate Lemery
My eyes focus on my abdomen, the bulge pregnancy has left behind. My inner critic opens her mouth…but then I take in the whole picture. By Chrissie Dunham
Hearing “nonviable” is heartbreaking. Having to ignore that in front of 32 smiling second graders is even harder. By Caitlin Cherry
We would take a million pictures of our child but none of us. Forget to schedule date nights because we never needed them before. By Elizabeth Newdom
“Why is she like that?” my son asks. I hesitate. There’s no denying my mother’s passive aggressive disdain towards me. By Elizabeth Maria Naranjo
Is there any better teacher of life for a kid on the spectrum than a brother or sister? By Marya Markovich
Cell phones do not work here, and on a good day it takes only ten minutes to open email. By Mindy R. Roll
How do I deal with my child’s social issues when I still haven’t worked through my own? By Amy Kline
“You’re a different person,” my husband said. This was years ago now. Thank god he was right. By Samantha Shanley
They are part of my life’s topography. Tiny specks on my map of choices, loves and losses, hurts and heartbreak. By Jordan Namerow
“I built it myself. What do you think?” My father didn’t look up, he just took a drink from his bottle and kept staring at the television. By John Graham
There’s Cooper, she’s at least a full head shorter than every other child on stage. This causes both attention and confusion. By Carina McLaughlin
Losing my mother, especially at a young age, was like losing my compass. By Gina Luongo
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