Just this I cannot share (a published piece)

Eleven years ago, my best friend experienced the loss of her twins at twenty-six weeks. A decade later, I still think about it. I still write about it. It changed the course of her life, and mine. Try as I did back then, I could not understand her pain, until one day, years later, I could. I wrote a story of this experience and I am honored that it was published earlier this month on The HerStories Project. I am sharing it here with a link to the full piece below.

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Confessions of a former food snob mom

 
 

“He eats everything,” I told my pediatrician proudly at my son’s one year check up.

“That’s great,” she said with a smile that said just wait, this won’t last. But I was certain that my pediatrician – with her years of experience and a few children of her own – didn’t know my child and how well he ate or how well I’d done with him. I practiced Baby Led Weaning after all; I followed the book precisely and it worked!

No doubt you know moms like me. You’ve heard us at playdates.

My kid will eat anything or She LOVES broccoli or He’s SO adventurous with food.

Sound familiar?

Oh, we try not to gloat. But we just can’t help it, proud mommies that we are. We give credit where credit is due, to our superior parenting skills, of course. Look what we did, we’d like to shout from the rooftops, our kids are perfect, or nearly, and it’s all thanks to us. Of course we don’t say this aloud, but it’s clear we’re probably thinking it.

Until one day, our kid stops eating broccoli.

And avocados.

And asparagus.

And steak.

And caviar.

OK, they never ate caviar, but they might has well have, in our minds.

And we are now eating very humble pie.

Read the rest of this essay here, at MKE Moms Blog.

I can let that go

 
 

Both my boys have eczema. The younger one has it worse, the red patches pop up like a daily game of whack-a-mole on his little body. Scaly clouds behind his knee, and a constellation of pin-pricks across his belly. We have the steroid cream the doctor prescribed, but I like to think of myself as a ‘natural’ mother, I grew up eating fruit leather and carob, for christssake. So it sits on the shelf reserved for worst-case scenarios.

I spend hours searching the web for ‘natural eczema remedies’ – but they almost all involve giving up dairy and wheat, and I just can’t do that. (um, hello, French toast Saturdays?) In this way, I am a terrible mother. Selfish, lazy, hypocritical. Of course I would do it if his life depended on it; I’m not THAT terrible. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it, nor does my pediatrician. So I let it go.

I let a lot of things go. Don’t we all? That’s the only way it’s possible to survive this motherhood gig. If I make it look effortless, it’s only because I choose not to bother. Or at least, I do it half-assed, which I clock at a smidgen above lazy.

It drives my husband mad, because he of course sees all the little things I let go. He sees the half finished projects all over the house, and can find me by following the trail of open cupboard doors like Hansel and Gretel following crumbs. And speaking of crumbs, he only need look at the floor to know that I do indeed feed our boys while he’s away.

Read the rest of this essay here at Mamalode.