If you’ve ever breastfed a baby, you know the hunger is REAL. When I’m breastfeeding, I eat like a teenage boy: constantly, abundantly, and unhealthily. All I want is sugar, snacks, and fried food. So when I found out my… Continue Reading
Boy moms are our own special breed of moms. We’re forced to adapt early-on, when that first stream of pee comes shooting straight up at us. Now listen, I’m all for kicking gender stereotypes to the curb – my son can wear all the pink and purple he fancies, watch all the Disney princess movies, and play with all the dolls and “pretty things” he so pleases. But the fact is, boys are just inherently different. It’s in their DNA, and there’s no stopping it. Continue Reading
Let’s be real for second: IVF sucks. In every way.
Sure, it’s a scientific wonder, and it’s amazing it even exists, and it’s helped thousands of people start families who otherwise wouldn’t have been able to (myself included). So, fine, it’s got that going for it.
But the worst part is, you can put yourself through all of the pain, agony, and expense of IVF, and it’s still not a guarantee.
So for me, when I went through it the first time, I researched everything — ev-er-y-thing — I could do to improve my odds. If it didn’t work, I wanted to know I’d done everything in my power to have the best odds possible. Continue Reading
If infertility has taught me anything, it’s that I am not in control. Of anything. Ever. And just when I start to think I am in control, I get knocked back to down to size.
This is one of those stories.
My husband and I had been talking about maybe, sort of, possibly, looking into trying for a second baby. Our embryo storage bill was looming in the next few months, serving as a big, expensive reminder that our future babies were there, just waiting for us.
“I’m just not ready,” I kept thinking.
“But it’s time,” a voice in my head kept responding. Continue Reading
So, one day last week, I was just living my life, trying to take care of (aka, survive) the toddler and get through another mealtime, when something terrible happened. Something that knocked me off my feet, and that I knew would require the big guns – aka, my dad.
And because dads are awesome, he came running. That’s right, at 30 years old, with a kid of my own, I can still call my daddy when I’m in need, and he’ll still come save the day (no matter how ridiculous my request may or may not be).
I thought the trauma of the situation was behind me, but apparently, I was wrong. Unfortunately (for me), my dad is an epically good writer, and he decided to write a guest post so he could humiliate me forever – because that’s what dads do.
So with that, enjoy your laugh at my expense for the day: Continue Reading