When I look in the mirror I don’t see my kids’ mom anymore. I see me.
I felt incredibly alone. My body had failed me.
Each new baby represents more claims on your time and energy.
Motherhood didn’t become my identity– it helped me find it.
While it is true that binge-drinking among moms is reaching epidemic levels, it is not the act of mom-ing that got us there.
The real reason I’m worried about sending my kids to school is that I’m going to be alone.
It is ironic that the act of baby making can feel so unsexy.
I’m the mom who thinks it’s a great idea to bake a cake at 11 pm or eat dessert before dinner.
I cried to my husband – sobs of guilt and sadness – because I felt like I didn’t love our little boy.
Expect the unexpected.
When they came into the world, I knew I was complete.
“I felt like, and still feel like, I made a mistake. I don’t want to be a parent.”
It has been six months since I miscarried in November last year.
Content warning: This post contains details of miscarriage some readers may find triggering.
I was irritated at the lack of knowledge, and angry, because this shouldn’t have happened to me.
Five years ago, if I saw the words “family friendly hotel” I would have thrown up in my mouth.