Motherhood changes us. Celebrate the ups and downs with these honest, insightful essays about becoming—and being—a mom.

Thirteen weeks since I've held my husband's hand. Thirteen weeks since our daughter has hugged her father.

I am asking them to not be scared or worried about the virus, even though I am every single day.

The idea of my son being outside the safety of our house—and isolation—is giving me so much anxiety.

Our maternal-fetal medicine doctor came in suddenly—and I knew that something was wrong.

I love knowing the majority of my time is with him. That when he asks me, "Mommy sit down with me," I can do it and not care about the pile of dishes

I'm a Black mom in the Twin Cities. Here's how I'm talking to my kids about the protests.

We're expected to do it all, and then a big glass of wine will make everything better—but we know this isn't true.

I love it because I get to see a glimpse of the person he will be.

I have two beautiful, healthy babies after infertility and I think about my nine remaining frozen embryos every single day.

My once quiet area, free of distraction and interruption, is now the communal space for all child activities.

It's a lonely, raw, heart-wrenching kind of pain to be without her.

"I was listened to. I was recognized and taken seriously."

Having a subsequent loss doesn't change that.

Parenting through a pandemic means So. Much. No.

We are not meant to live in isolation.

I would obsess over news reports and death rates and the endless cycle of bad news. I decided—I can't live this way.

And you know what? You are my hero.

"I kept begging the nurse to tell me that I was OK. I kept saying over and over again, “I don’t feel alive. Am I alive?” The nurse kept asking me if I knew that I was repeating that over and over again. I didn’t care though. I didn’t feel like I was in my body. I was so detached from reality and the world around me..."

I am here to listen, comfort—and not judge.