Sex becomes so mechanical and monotonous when it's demoted to just one sole purpose.
The boy you raised grew into a strong, loving man. A supportive, equal partner. And a next-level dad.
"I wasn't a bad mother, just one that needed help."
Hi, my name is mom. Some days I forget what my given name is.
My mental illness does not define me.
"The crying didn't worry me as much as the rage. Having struggled with depression before, I knew the crying pretty well. I knew to let it out. I knew to take care of myself. But I had never experienced anything like the rage before."
I know you won't be little for much longer.
This is two.
"I’ve been through this. How am I struggling so much with my second baby? Shouldn’t I have more control of the outcome?"
"'I’m sorry, it sounds like you may just have the baby blues,' were the words that came out of the nurse’s mouth at my OB’s office when I called every day for a week begging for help at one-week postpartum."
We quickly realized that the life we had held onto so tightly, the one we thought we wanted and needed was not compatible with our new lives as parents of three under 3.
"I thought as a mental health professional myself, I would be more aware of what I was going though and of the impact it had on me, but I was so lost, so sucked into the pain and loneliness and suffering, that I couldn't see through the fog."
My own daughter's tantrum taught me an extremely valuable lesson.
It's pregnancy-safe, vegan, cruelty-free and packaged in a 100% recyclable amber glass bottle that preserves freshness.
"I have always been a hypochondriac with an obsessive fear of dying. I used to get blood work quarterly just to make sure I was OK. If you know anything about depression, you know obsessing over death is a major symptom. Covid knocked the wind out of me."
I'd expected that my new puppy would fill a baby-shaped hole in my life, but instead, she gently revealed that perhaps, babyhood wasn't all that appealing to me anymore.
When my son finally stopped using his pacifier I knew I was saying goodbye to his last bits of babyhood.
I amaze myself at what I can accomplish while the clock is ticking.
My 4-year-old has adapted. It's time for grown-ups to do it, too.
Am I still a great mother because I am sad? Yes, I am. And so are you.