"He took up a lot of space. Moving around us. Weaving in and out of the aisles. Some ladies were annoyed. An old man behind us snickered and under his breath said, ‘hurry up.’"
"One stick turned positive and a different kind of vomit happened… word vomit… ‘OHHH SH**!!!’ I guess I said it loud enough for Sam to hear me, because he opened the door and asked to look at the test. He then started reading the box saying aloud, ‘Noooo!'"
“As I stood over her and spent those last few minutes with her, blood was cascading down my legs and onto the floor. I didn't care - my womb was crying. Everything about me was crying. Watching them wheel her away broke me. My life ended then and there."
It was that tense, harried persona that was the norm for a busy, chaotic life. My four-year-old had come up behind me quietly, and I didn’t even realize she was there until she spoke. “Just breathe, Mom.”
I never want to forget how to appreciate each moment for what it is, a passing morsel of time that tics away far too quickly, a moment that could fall away and be forgotten if I don’t take the time to look and lock it away.
"Mama glanced over at her but never got off the phone. After 10 minutes Mama ended her call, collected the sunscreen that was never applied, the water toys that never touched the water, and then her daughter and left the pool."
Now your friends just know that you are human. You didn't stop being strong. You didn't stop being capable. You aren't going to be an outcast. You are going to open a dialogue that needs to exist between us as mothers.
“I’m just a Mom” a friend told me in passing, as we were chatting about life and catching up. JUST a Mom. Why do we attach that word “just?” Why do we feel the need to defend our role or note that our position is without pay or merit in the business world?
