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Tag: love

True gratitude includes being thankful for the stuff that sucks too.

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We all know the things we are supposed to be thankful for. We celebrate them as often as we can- having food, shelter, family, love, good health etc. That’s the easy part.

True gratitude and insight, I believe, comes from being thankful for all the things that suck too. Without the dark there is no light, so to speak. After a three year stretch of navigating rough seas, I am trying to find light in the darkness, and understand how to be grateful for the things that haven’t been easy.

Today, I am thankful for suffering multiple losses in a short period of time. The grief was a testament to the fact that I am a well loved human. I had grief to wade through because I knew love. I knew companionship and support and joy through others, both human and animal. I loved sincerely. I am grateful that even though the loss is painful, it is there to remind me of love, and not everyone has that.

I am thankful for the lessons that the stress and uncertainty of this pandemic has offered. It showed me that we are capable of doing hard things together for the sake of others. I am grateful for the people who disappointed me during all of this, because it helped me reevaluate relationships that were draining me and helped me to better appreciate the ones that filled me up. It allowed me to learn how to say no. It gave me strength to stand up for the things that I think are important to stand for, and the tenacity to see them through.

I am thankful for pants that are too tight, or feeling guilty for not exercising enough because it means that I always have enough to eat. It means that my children don’t know what it is to be hungry. It means that my dogs eat better than some humans.

I am thankful for balances on credit cards and lines of credit and sometimes having to wait until next payday to make a purchase, because it means that I have appreciation for the things we have. It means that I understand the value of hard work and the value of privileges we enjoy. It means that I value the time of others, and don’t take them for granted. I am thankful for the lesson it teaches my children of having to work for what you have instead of expecting it to be handed to you.

I am thankful for illness and injury because it gives me empathy for others who are suffering.

I am thankful for mistakes because without them we would never learn anything new. I am thankful for doing it wrong a million times before getting it right because it teaches us perseverance and hope and determination.

Today, I want to be thankful for the things we usually wouldn’t want to acknowledge, because it’s been a rough few years, and I think the next few are likely to be challenging, and finding the calm among the storms fills me with hope.

Happy Thanksgiving.

9/11: 20 years later and it feels like we’ve learned nothing

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20 years ago today most of us remember exactly where we were and what we were doing when we heard the news. We watched the footage of airplanes hitting the Twin Towers in New York City, at first believing it was a horrible accident and tragedy, and then the horrific realization as the following planes hit that it was an intentional act of harm set in.

I was in my early twenties, not particularly interested in politics or world events as I lived the life of a young adult tempting freedoms and poor decision making and figuring out my place in this life. I remember the shock and grief I immediately felt as I pulled over on the side of the highway and sat there, stunned and in tears, trying to make sense of how you could have enough hate in your heart to want to kill not only thousands of people, but sentence whole families to a lifetime of questions and sorrow while causing an irreparable change to the world. I sat there and silently mourned the loss of life and the naive belief that most of the time, good prevailed over evil.

And yet, we also witnessed some of the most heroic and selfless acts of love of all time. We watched how sometimes, even during our worst moments we are able to push away our differences and support one another the way we should be. We watched people put love into action when that was the only way to get through the most challenging moments of their lives. It always amazes me how humans are capable of rising above all the bullshit and coming together during times of acute crisis.

As I reflect on September 11, 2001, I think about our pattern of behaviour and wonder if we have truly made any progress or learned enough from that day. In a lot of ways, the opportunity of what is one of the biggest tragedies to ever occur in the world to become better as humans seems lost.

9/11 showed us exactly what the results of extremism of any kind results in. It showed us what intolerance and hate does and the following destruction that seems inevitable. It showed us what while we are capable of unity and compromise and love we are somehow incapable of sustaining it.

We were shown so many things, but we weren’t really watching, were we? Not all of us anyway.

Have we really learned anything in 20 years? Have we done any better?

We continue to divide ourselves out of selfishness and greed and the prioritization of our individual beliefs over the best interest of our communities. We impose extremist views from both sides of the political spectrum on one another and refuse to concede a single fucking thing. We choose personal hills to die on that harm others because we are more concerned with being right than doing what’s right.

9/11 was a tragedy of epic proportions. The loss was monumental and despairing and preventable. It didn’t happen in a vacuum, we just didn’t really notice because the pot of water was heating slowly ( thanks for that analogy Margaret Atwood). And here we are, 20 years later, with a different sort of tragedy unfolding over the last 2 years and we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes as humans over and over again.

As we watch memorials today and see the images of the heroism and love mixed in with the sorrow of that unforgettable day 20 years ago, remind yourself that we have a chance to live up to the way we temporarily came together back then. We can take care of one another and remember how to put others ahead of ourselves in a crisis. We can choose to love above all else or we can choose idealism and selfishness.

Choose well, be well. Don’t let trauma of all those that survived New York City, those that didn’t make it, and the pain of their loved ones be another empty lesson that we continue to ignore.

Luke Prokop’s announcement is bittersweet in some ways

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Over the past week I’ve seen so many posts supporting and talking about Luke Prokop, the Nashville hockey player who is the first ever active NHL player to come out as gay.

Like so many of you, I applaud and celebrate this man’s ability to live as himself authentically, and visibly, lending himself to those that haven’t yet found their voice. Role models that are representative are so, so important in all fields-sports, science, government, arts, education and the military.

This little voice inside me felt sad though, because the world is still in a place where someone’s sexual orientation is still a potential “scandal” that needs to be preempted, in fear of someone “finding out” your secret. We’re still there. Love is love, gays can legally get married, but we still need to announce to the world where we get our orgasms from.

There are still many people actively fighting against same sex unions, adoptions, roles as educators. Anything other than white picket fence, heterosexual missionary lovemaking is considered dirty. We have lawmakers and representatives refusing to acknowledge Pride events or to support efforts that afford the same human rights to all, based on archaic laws or fanatical religious excuses.

My heart is aching for a world where nobody needs to make an announcement about who is dicking who, or lack of dicking, or multi dicking in their bedrooms. I want to live in a world where when teenagers go on their first date there is no big “coming out” conversation with their families and they just introduce the human they have chosen to temporarily or permanently partner with to their parents and they go to a movie or dinner or whatever.

I want to live in a world where the Luke Prokops get to just play hockey and don’t spend their time worrying about who they love and how that affects their career. I want the Luke Prokops to simply show up with their boyfriends and not even make the news.

It’s really on us, the parents of this generation to simply talk about things like homosexuality, transgenderism, bisexuality, pansexuality in the same fashion we would heterosexuality. Making phrases like “John and his husband” or “John and their partner” as accepted and as regular and “John and his wife”.

I mean, I prefer dark haired men and big arms who make me laugh and tolerate my bullshit. But last time I checked I didn’t need to announce this to my employer or anyone else. What I keep in my bedside dresser is not something I have to share with anyone except who I share my bed with. My sexual activities don’t require an announcement, because I am in a heterosexual relationship.

I want us to get there. Where diversity and representation of EVERYONE simply exists, and nobody has to live in any sort of closet. I want us to live in a world where fear of being who you are and consequences of your personhood doesn’t exists, and love can actually be love no matter how different love looks like for all people.

In the meantime, I applaud all the Luke Prokops in the world for blazing the trail and helping us get there. Skate on, brother.

Still In Love……

I’ve been seeing this Valentine’s Day challenge all over Facebook this week. Everyone keeps telling us the “details” of their relationship- how they met, where they first kissed, who said I love you first. You know, all the important memories.

It’s fun to go down memory lane like that.

Husband and I met at the Olive Garden. The Fucking Olive Garden. We both worked there…it’s not like he fucking picked me up over some all you can eat pasta fagioli and salad or anything. I was fresh out of a really yucky relationship that ended two years too late, and he was absolutely not interested in dating whatsoever.

But “I” was irresistible, OBVIOUSLY, and he showed up one night when I was working late and he was off with a case of beer and an invitation to go to a party. The party consisted of a bunch of the guys who worked in the kitchen and a whole lot of pot and some of the funnest times I have ever had.

Our relationship was instantaneous, but oddly evolved slowly at the same time. We were the best of friends, reluctant to say boyfriend, but eager to say I love you. It was easy and we were opposite in every single fucking way but somehow always ended up in exactly the same place.

I remember our first kiss on the doorstep of my parent’s house, and our first apartment, his marriage proposal after me explaining that it was time to get married, and all of the important milestones that couples everywhere document in their stack of photos and memories.

Perhaps more importantly though, I remember being this crazy girl that refused to be controlled and how he never ever tried to control me. He let me pound bottles of gin and dance on tables and slam on the brakes in the middle of the highway to look at a bird or get out and pat some horses in a field.

He always picked me up and fed me bites of his dinner across the table and made me laugh and walked right into my house without ever knocking.

And along the way we had our troubles. We both struggled with mental health and career changes and heavy, repetitive loss. We fought. We cried. We yelled. We swore we were not meant to be.

We had our babies and things got harder. We were tired. We neglected each other in order to survive individually. We almost gave up so many times.

But we didn’t.

A true love story isn’t about who is stubborn or drives better or falls asleep first and hogs the covers. It includes all of those things, but our story is about the things that brought us together and almost tore us apart,and the life that we have built.

In my forties, I realize that true love is not about butterflies and first kisses. It is about patience, commitment, tolerance and gratitude. It is about sacrifice and compromise. It is about acceptance and loving all of the parts of someone even when you don’t like them.

It’s about taking turns lending strength and letting shit go. Love means taking good enough care of yourself so that you can give the best of you to your partner.

And so we’ll carry on. I’m sure that I’ll be an absolute ridiculous bitch about something and he’ll tell me to go fuck myself and we will not speak for an hour sometime again in the really near future. Because we’re human. And it’s really, really ok.

We’ll still be in love after.

That is what a love story is.

Still being in love after…..

The Stages Of Gratitude

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I’m not entirely sure about this, but I feel like getting older makes you more thankful.

When you’re a child, you have this completely reasonable expectation that all of your shit is just taken care of for you.   You assume that the world just revolves around your happiness, and for a while it seems like it certainly does.  Gratitude isn’t on your radar, because you just require your needs being met since you aren’t able to meet them on your own.   It’s your responsibility to grow and learn and become.  

And then you’re a young adult, and you are thankful for some things, but you also feel this insane sense of invincibility that makes it hard to pause and be grateful for the people in your life, and your health, and the ability to stay out drinking all night, nap for an hour, brush it off and go to work at a reasonable functionality the next day.

And then you become middle age, and you maybe have children of your own, and you start to learn what it is to appreciate something just for existing.  Or maybe you see your grandparents and parents starting to age, and you realize that time is no longer infinite like it was in your youth.  And that you need to soak in the moments around you and be thankful for the time you have to love and be loved on this earth.  Or maybe you start to see your friends struggle with their health, or their relationships, or addictions, or traumas, and you start to feel this quiet gratitude for the simplicity of your own life.  For the lack of adversity. For the lack of conflict or illness or things to be afraid of.

You read the news and start to realize how important your civil and human rights are, and how they can be at risk in an instant.  You are thankful that you have the privilege of living in the community you do, with basic comforts like running water and electricity and too much food on your plate.

Maybe it’s a maturity, or maybe it’s perspective that leads to this gradual understanding of what true gratitude is.   When I ask my tiny humans what they are thankful for they think it relates mostly to *things*, but in my world it relates more to *them* and feelings and purpose.

To all of my people, I am thankful for you.   For having you in my life and for the things I’ve learned from loving you all.   To the ones I’ve lost, I am thankful that I have grief to remind me of love.  To the ones who are struggling, I am thankful for the reminder to appreciate and invest in the important things in my life.   To the clock of life that seems to be moving faster, I am thankful for the reminder to love each moment and for all the memories that creates.

Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches. x

I’m Pretty Sure God Would Rather Have A Heaven Full Of Gays Than The Rest Of The Assholes Out There

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“Gays Belong in Heaven Too” by Maverick Mista Majah P

I’ve been having this fight on the internet with some shitlicker who has declared that gay people, and anyone who supports their rights as human beings are not actually Christians.

Ummm, WHAT?

It was in response to a video that I had posted and a dear friend of mine re-shared about many pastors who had changed their view after careful study of those Scriptures which at first glance seemed to condemn homosexuality, but after deeper thought and insight perhaps were giving a different message.

Now I am no great Bible Scholar. I won’t pretend like I sit by candles every night researching verses and how they apply to me today.  But I do know God’s love.   I know what it feels like to be part of a loving community founded in faith.  I know personally how that affects your life and how thankful I am for a community of people who love and accept each other for what and who they are.  I know what its like to observe and listen to people who demonstrate such grace in their life that it is impossible not to want to be a better human being.

And for me, that is the core of Christianity.  It is building communities of people who love and support one another, instead of trying to out-awesome each other by pointing out all the ways that you fucked up life or broke the rules.

Here’s the thing that is beyond frustrating:  The people that basically don’t believe that folks who are part of the LGBTQ community deserve to be recognized as human beings, let alone be part of a Christian circle get hung up on like 6 verses in the entire Bible that even remotely discuss it.  Its like some golden special rule that cannot possibly be interpreted in any other way that they get all fucking wet about and can’t let it go.

Yet they cherry pick what other rules no longer apply from the Old Testament.   They forget about the ones that tell you not to be greedy, or a dickhead, or what kind of meat you can eat, or how many slaves you can own or how many wives you can have.  Us girls even speak in church now and then, which Paul specifically said is a no-no.   So if all of these laws have evolved to make sense in today’s society, why is the gay thing such a big deal?  Why is that the one law that transcends all time and is not applicable to today’s society where people just love each other regardless of sex, gender identity, race, etc?

You know what I think?   I think Homophobia runs wild in the world still and people who are insecure in their own faith have to find a way to feel superior to others. Its easier to  point out what’s wrong with everybody else so they don’t have to dig in and deal with their own bullshit.  Fear and insecurity are a dangerous combination.  And if you can point out how wrong somebody else is, then you must be right? Right?

Look.  Nobody here gets to determine the validity of another person’s faith or relationship with God.  Unless you’re God.

Anybody out there God?

I didn’t think so.

So the next time any of you bible thumping, self righteous, haters of  love, judgy-judgertons decide who can and can’t be a Christian because of some sort of backwards criteria that you have set do me a favour.

Go find a bag of dicks and beat yourself in the head with them until you realize what your actual fucking job is.  Then go and feed the hungry, give away all your money, and learn what it actually means to love your neighbour as yourself.

And yes.   I am a Sweary Christian.   But trust me, I’m sure God has bigger fish to fry these days than to count the fuck-o-meter on my mouth.   Don’t worry about me….me and God are good.

Motherhood Isn’t For Everyone, And That’s Ok.

I read this article over tea this morning and I have to say it struck a bit of a nerve.  It’s a bit long, but it describes how many moms ( and dads too) secretly resent and hate motherhood.

And I don’t blame them one little bit.

Here’s the raw truth, no Facebook filters or sneak peeks into how amazing our days are.

Motherhood is the shits a lot of the time.

It actually really fucking sucks a good chunk of the time.

I can see how so many women are just not interested in participating in something that literally sucks the life force out of you and spits you back out in an effort to still be a moderately well functioning member of society.

Your whole life now revolves around managing unreasonable, moody, nonsensical tiny humans and keeping them alive every day.   You are blessed with the task of trying to take these maniacal little dictators who push you to the very limit of your humanity every 90 seconds and turn them into someone who will not end up contributing to the general assholery of the world.

It complicates everything.   You can’t just take a class, or go back to school, or volunteer your time, or make yourself a better human in any way without having to figure out who is going to step in and do your mom job for you while you are out making yourself less of a shit.

All while not sleeping, managing household tasks, cleaning, managing what’s left of your career and generally just trying not to fucking explode into one of the 17 directions you are being pulled in on a daily basis.

It’s not for everyone.

And like anything else, sometimes you don’t know that until it’s too late.  And I can understand why some women just can’t.

Some days I feel like that too.

And yes.   I know I wanted this.   I know that I CHOSE this.   I know that so many women can’t have children and probably hate everything about what I am saying.   But Bitches.

Motherhood is really hard.   And just because it was my decision to make this my life doesn’t make it go away and doesn’t take away my right to say so.

BUT.

There is this nagging thing for me that makes it all ok.   And that nagging thing is a love so strong that not only would I step in front of oncoming traffic to save my babies, but I would do so repeatedly, every goddamn day  for the rest of my existence.   I would sacrifice my own growth for them a thousand times over so that they can become twice the person I am.

And yeah.   Sometimes it’s hard to see women around me doing all these amazing things professionally and socially and fucking just generally while I am at home trying to convince my three year old to eat his lunch and that licking ketchup off his fingers doesn’t count.

But I don’t care.   I count my successes in smiles and hugs and successful trips to the potty.  I can’t do it all and won’t try to anymore.

But for some of you out there that feel like you’re drowning and you wish that your life was something other than what it is……I see you.   I get you.   I could be you.

It’s not for everyone.   But hang on if you can, and hopefully one day that will change.

And for the rest of us……find your people.   Support your people.   Don’t mom alone….there is strength in numbers!

 

 

I’m Pretty Sure I Invented Mom Guilt, But You Can Share

A good friend of mine posted a little video about mom guilt on Facebook this morning. A bunch of mom’s talking about the things they could take back from the day, lies they told their kids, things they wish they hadn’t said.

And here I thought I invented Mom Guilt.  Turns out that deep down, a lot of you Bitches feel like you suck balls at this gig too.

I suffer from this guilt thing a lot.  Husband works long days, and by the end of his rotation I usually feel ready to either sell my children to anyone who likes repeating themselves over and over again with no results, or literally filling the bathtub up with tequila in hopes that is a pleasant way for me to drown.

In this stupid day and age of being hopelessly busy and being pulled in 5000 directions at once, I simply cannot deal with the amount of time it takes my children to accomplish one task. Why is it SO HARD to put your fucking shoes on?   Why is that always the wrong hat?  Why can they not pay attention for long enough to put on their jacket and for GOD”S SAKE how come nobody can stand straight and face me when I try to zip it up?

Sometimes I cannot handle the random crying and drama that occurs seemingly every second without justification.  The fights about nothing.  The tattle-taling.  The whining.  The constant needing.  The mess making.

The pants shitting.

And so I do what every mother out there has done for generations.

I yell.  I threaten.  I punish.

And.I.Get.Nowhere.

Besides feeling horrible and making them feel horrible, that is.  I also get one step closer to needing therapy and detox and a new liver.  But that’s a whole other post.

And then I put them to bed and think “Tomorrow is a new day.  A better day.  I will be more patient and try to spend more time just hanging out with them.  All they really want is more attention.  I can do this.”

And then, the next day happens and I am so busy feeding them and cleaning up after them and doing laundry and working that time runs out again and I left with the mom guilt for another day. I never, ever, ever, feel like it’s enough.  Like I’m enough.

Thankfully, every now and again, we have a day where everything goes just right.  I put all my bullshit aside and focus just on them.  I say “yes” more often.  I let the schedule go.  I let the dishes sit.  I make all the things that are usually such a big ass deal no big deal, and just fucking let it stay where it is. We stay up past bedtime.  We get dirty and eat junk food and just never mind about all the things that really aren’t that important after all.

And it’s all ok.  Everybody is still alive the next day.

So far.

And then I feel guilty that I don’t do all that more often.

But you see Bitches.  Mom guilt is just this thing that happens when you love something so much that you set up this impossible standard for yourself.  It’s when you love something so much you can’t possibly ever do enough because there is no action that could ever possibly declare just how much you actually love it.

We will always have mom guilt because we won’t ever be done trying to give our children every single thing they need to be nice humans and smart humans and happy humans.  We have the mom guilt because even though children need to be corrected, and moms are allowed to get frustrated, we don’t want our kids to ever for one second think we aren’t on their side.

We feel guilt because we want more for them than is possible to give.  So we never feel like it’s enough.

So, chin up Bitches.  Tell a few lies that helps to avoid a temper tantrum.  Yell at them when they are assholes, because sometimes love involves teaching them that being an asshole is not a desirable endeavour. Drink the wine and vow to love them JUST AS MUCH TOMOROW  as you do today.  Not more, because that’s hardly possible.

And have a “free day” sometimes where you just lower your expectations and give yourselves a goddamn break.

 

 

 

 

 

You’re So Pretty.

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Sorry I’ve been kinda absentee lately, Bitches.

I’ve been at the beach.

Literally.  We have spent the summer in and out of the city and hanging out as a family.  We are super lucky to have a family cottage where we can just escape from all the people and all the things and just decompress.

In theory anyway.  It’s not completely stress free spending 24 hours a day with your children with no work or grocery store or girls nights to escape to.

But that’s another post.

Do you know how many bathing suits I own?

7.

Of the seven, five are bikinis, and 2 are one pieces.

The one pieces I hardly ever wear and actually bought for doing the baby swimming lessons when I was still pretty post partum.  Like they hid something.  Like anybody cared.  I just felt like a one piece was a little more appropriate for that environment.

But once outside?  Fuck it.  I am not spending a day peeling a one piece bathing suit on and off to use the bathroom.  And anybody who’s had a baby knows how often that happens once you have kids, right?  Let’s just say that if I lived in the US, I could probably sue them for the damage they did to my bladder. And that’s not even including the whole “cross your legs when you sneeze” thing.

And of the 5 bikinis, 3 of them are cheap suits that look good, but are starting to get a little stretched out or see through, but are good enough for a private beach.  Because nobody gives a fuck out there.

I bought one ridiculously expensive suit two years ago that helped to “disguise” the wreck that was my lower abdomen after Buddy was born.  It’s one of those ones with a little skirt.  Beautiful, but sometimes the extra material on the skirt is fucking aggravating.

And the last one was a suit I bought years ago, before my breast reduction and way before we had kids.  I’ve kept the bottoms all these years because they were really good quality, fit well and were black, but the top was useless. So yesterday, I went on a quest to find a beautiful, high end top that I could pair with the bottoms.  Think of those cute mismatched suits.

I found one at the specialty store. The place with the fancy French lingerie and bathing suits where the saleslady can’t wait to get in that change room with you and wrestle your titties into a fancy bathing suit top or bra.  They also love to shatter your dreams when they look at you and just by eyeballing your tits through a sundress, guess your bra size and it was nothing like what you thought it was.

Did you know that titties can grow back after you have a breast reduction?  Because babies?

Because always babies.

They ruin everything.  Even your titties.  Sigh.

So anyway.

I bought this beautiful top to pair with the bottoms I had and came home to try the ensemble on together.

The pre baby bottoms with the post baby top.

And Bitches, a little self doubt crept in.

And then you know what happened?

My little Buddy came over to me and said “You’re so pretty Mama.”

“Your hair is pretty. And your eyes are pretty. And your arms are pretty.  And your tummy is pretty. And your lips are pretty. And your legs are pretty. “

So the three year old teaches the lesson we should all remember today.  If only we could see ourselves through the eyes of our children.  Their perception is so innocent, but it is also uncensored and truthful.

I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to hear his little voice say those words to me.  It was the purest, most untarnished compliment I have ever received. He doesn’t care if there is a lump or a bump somewhere, or if my tummy jiggles in places or if my thighs touch.

He just sees me through eyes of love…..and so should I .

And so should you.

 

 

 

The Twee Destroyer Of Hearts Is FIVE!

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Photo by the fabulous Alicia Thwaites.

Today my Twee Destroyer of Hearts turns 5.

FIVE!

She is not so twee anymore, but she still breaks your heart into a million pieces with her beautiful smile and crazy personality.

5 years since I became a mother.  5 years since Husband and I embarked on this path to insanity and sleepless nights. 5 years of exhaustion, frustration and bewilderment.  5 years of humility.

5 years of the purest love on the planet.  The love between a mother and her child.

And the thing is, as cliche as it sounds, I really do love her more today than on the day she was born.  I think that when you first give birth, the love is instinctual and raw and biological. Your job, your whole reason for existing (biologically speaking) is to protect and care for your child.  To make sure that your genetics make it and pass down.

But now 5 years have passed and the fog has lifted and I can really see her now.

I don’t have to rely on just my motherly instincts anymore (and let’s just say THANK GOD she survived because I pretty much had no idea what the fuck I was doing most of the time) because she’s turned into this wonderful little human being that I would be drawn to even if she wasn’t mine.

Now I get to love her not just because biology says I have to and babies are delicious; I get to love her because she’s turned into this spirited, empathetic,  intelligent, enthusiastic, gorgeous and creative little person.

I get to love her because honestly, all assholery aside, my daughter is pretty fucking rad.

5 years ago I had this insane, rocket fast delivery of a 7 pound, 14 oz little spitfire.

I am so grateful for her and all she’s done for my life.

Happy Birthday Baby.  My love for you is already so big I feel like there isn’t room in my heart for it. And it just keeps growing.  Have the best day ever.

 

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Breaking Sarah - Bruised, Not Broken

One woman's raw journey through incest, teen pregnancy, trauma, death, and family estrangement.

brickhousechick

Letting it all hang out

lifebeyondmommy

A stay at home mothers guide to self discovery

Peace Hacks

life, faith, adultimatums. Resources for peace seekers

Luminous Blue

a mother's and daughter's journey with transformation, cancer, death and love

The Secret Life of Emily Maine

a place to shout my secrets

Dramatic Momologue

The juggle is real.

andrea shawcross

comedy writer & maker of filmstuffs.

Ben's Bitter Blog

"We make bitter better."

David McVety

A Spiritual Shepherd's Thoughts on Faith and Family

Beating Myself Into a Dress

First a wedding dress, then a maternity dress, now I'm just trying to fit into ANY dress.

The Fat Chick Memoirs

Dealing with my Weight-Loss One Funny Story at a Time

The Science of Mom

The Heart and Science of Parenting

The Fat Bottom Bard

Waxing Poetic and Penning Tall Tales

Jeneral Musings

A personal potpourri of thoughts

Supporting Birth Diversity

Celebrating the Tapestry of Motherhood

rarasaur

frightfully wondrous things happen here.

An Early Start

Meet Jax a funny, kind, and smart preschooler who was a micro-preemie born at 23 weeks. Now that Jax is older, the scariness of the NICU has faded, but we're still learning how to manage the lasting effects of prematurity including chronic medical issues, ADHD, and Autism Spectrum Disorder. This is our story of love, hope, and survival.

Writings From Dr. Oolie's Pond

Poetry, Prose, and Random Thoughts

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