He told me he was “momma’s baby.” He snuggled up tight in my lap and drank his milk. After he drank it all, we simply cuddled for a long time more, him cradled in my arms, responding to his sister’s requests of play with his simple phrase, “I momma’s baby.” I soaked it in. I breathed him… Continue reading Just Breathe
My daughter swallowed a penny. I thought she was old enough to play with it. I was wrong. I saw her put it in her mouth and immediately screamed, “spit it out!” The sudden shout scared her, sending the thing right down her throat. I felt my body turn numb, it seemed to be more than… Continue reading Why Moms Feel Alone Sometimes
His sister makes us the ever threesome. We do most everything together. This particular afternoon, however, he didn’t want to nap. And so while big sister was at school, the two of us headed over to Starbucks for some coffee and cake pops. I could see his excitement as soon as we walked into the door. He realized this afternoon was reserved for just the two of us. He couldn’t stop his smiles at me. I couldn’t stop smiling back.
I sat sipping my coffee, having “conversation” with my little man. I thought my heart might spill right over. And suddenly, I realized in that moment: I was his first date. . .
“Boston,” I ask, “Will you be my best friend forever?”
“Even when your 16?”
“Yes, forever and ever!”
I feel the tears begin to burn. I wonder, what really lies ahead for us?
What will life throw at her? In what ways will it try to break her dear form? The thoughts begin to consume me to the point of deep heartache. How I long to keep her sheltered from all the cruelty of this world. If only I could be her protecter forever and ever. . .
“My head hangs lower and I begin to cry. I need to try harder, to be more disciplined, more structured. I somehow need to find more energy. This coffee isn’t cutting it anymore. I am tired. I am spent. I am a failure and the day is only half through. The tears begin to flow faster.
Then, I stop to look around. . .”
She was our waitress, the kindest waitress you will ever meet. She interacted with my little guy for a while and then turned to me, “My son is eight. . . He is still living in the Philipines with my parents.” I realized in that moment the utter triviality of my “First World Problems.” We spoke… Continue reading My First World Problems