It was so much easier to ignore my own pounding heart amidst the turbulence when I was worrying about my son’s instead. By Lauren Apfel
Motherhood has become so consuming to me that I find it hard not to project onto others a desire for the sense of purpose it offers.
By Lauren Apfel
By stuffing my backpack with toys and dolls, I realized I was trying to control my children’s adventure.
By Andrea Hannah
I love my baby, but I miss my relationship with my husband terribly.
By Abigail Rasminsky
Photographs suggested a future, a future in which we would look back at this moment, but a future where our baby might be gone.
By Yvonne Spence
I couldn’t let my child have carte blanche access to my body for as long as she saw fit, the way I had originally thought I would.
By Doña Bumgarner
Any guilt or reservation about a “failed” birth plan was replaced by an unwavering commitment to my son.
By Stephanie Noll
Seven years on, my son is still a sucker, thumb mostly, but also occasionally sleeves, zippers, the pointed snout of a stuffed animal.
By Daisy Alpert Florin