We’re not victims of our children’s diagnoses, just as they aren’t a sum of them. So please stop trying to make us feel better. We don’t feel bad. Our kids are exactly who they need to be.
Sometimes “going to work” is exactly what I want to do.
Because, to all the mothers of oners, you don’t need to explain.
To all the eager and loving friends and relatives of the new mom: please give her time. Give her space. She’s tired. She’s grieving her old life. She’s scared. She’s excited. She’s figuring it out. But she loves you, and when she’s ready, she’ll invite you in.
There is a meme making the rounds on Facebook that reads (and I’m paraphrasing): if you grew up in the ’80s and earlier, aren’t you glad all that stuff you did couldn’t be posted on Facebook? So I ask myself, now that I’m 40 with two small children: don’t my kids, even as young as they are, deserve the same consideration?
Why I didn’t take my young child to a protest.