My daughter collapses after an endless tantrum and says, I wish I wasn’t adopted. By Tanya Friedman
motherhood
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.
As parents sometimes it’s a struggle to carve out even a few minutes to breathe. By Steph Auteri
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
Next to Orion’s Belt are two dimmer stars. These are the babies I lost, one before each of my sons. By Julia Pelly
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
Our daughter asked good questions—what about the other baby? Were we sad? Why did it happen? By Cynthia Nuara
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