Brendan called the doctor's office and started cleaning up the scene– nothing would be saved, except our mattress (apparently Amazon reviews didn’t lie and that mattress protector is legit). Sloan was fine. I shampooed her hair, washed her body, and she was fine. No fever. Nothing seemed off, with the exception of the copious amounts of blood that were expelled from her body. 

Perhaps, it wasn’t magic– it was just her.

Mom loved a lazy morning, with a cup of tea and a book, and also, mom had so many ideas that it made it impossible for her to feel that her job was done or that there was no other mountain to climb. She wanted to accomplish so much, help so many.

And she did.

I’m nearly 40 and married, raising a brood of girls, feeding and Furminating our dog, and struggling to remember to feed our (second) fish– I’m a grownup; and yet, I’m on the precipice of another coming of age. In an interesting plot twist, motherhood didn’t solve my identity-insecurity…

My oldest kid starts first grade tomorrow, which brings up a myriad of feelings and marks the end of summer; although the triple digit weather and boob-sweat indicates that we’re still in summer or maybe something more sinister, like deep into global warming. Either way, I can no longer put off the reality– our lives will change. And brace yourself because what I’m about to share may surprise you: I’m not looking forward to school starting.

I ran– walking, not an option– to the bedroom and saw Daphne, stomach down, frog-legged, and her chin resting unusually on the floor bed. She looked wrong. I bent down to examine her and she was breathing raggedly and her eyes– not quite a flutter or a roll– were wrong.

These things have helped us enjoy our outings and look forward to family-dates. As the kids grow their needs will change and we will adjust. I’m thankful that I have a system that works for us and I look forward to the day I can retire the Motherish Tote bag and have a family date filled with conversation and ease… and unassisted toilet visits.

It’s a crazy thing-- my body because it doesn't exist in a vacuum and that’s the really unfair part, my body exists in a world with other bodies that have so many thoughts, feelings, and opinions. Family is the first to nip and tuck at your body image, sculpting the relationship you will have with your body– your body. And as we know, a harmless intention can cause irrevocable harm.

But I do mostly choose joy, I do mostly have fun, and I do enjoy my motherhood journey; that’s what I want for my mom-friends too and this is my trifecta of triumph: honesty, delegation, and self-care.

I ordered a handful-- maybe a couple handful-- of books and have selected our top five. These books are the ones the kids grab for reading time; these books have provided skills to use during challenging moments; these books have embedded phrases that we use regularly; these books make parenting and being a kid a bit easier because they all remind us to breathe.

The week was full of all the things: successes, struggles, tips, smiles, laughter, and tears. These moms held nothing back. It became so clear that we were all part of a bigger goal, a worthy mission of spreading stories about bodyfeeding. And like many things in motherhood, it also became clear that we had more in common within our bodyfeeding journeys than differences.

I remind myself that life is not black and white, and sure as shit, parenting in a pandemic is not black and white, which is why I am practicing living in the gray.

The pandemic has denied us access to family. I have also denied us access to family. I have drawn boundaries. I needed to.

As the pandemic progressed my confidence dipped because I was dependent on people, and as a general rule I don’t like people; the people did not disappoint, they were not following the recommendations…

If you are part of a mom-group, or at least were before the shutdowns, masks, and social distancing then you know that assholes run rampant in mom-groups; but assholes are often interesting and much like the anatomical nomenclature-- assholes are all different and necessary.

I was growling. I was yelling. I was crying. I was all the things.

Failed. Even now I feel the desire to tell you how many hours I lasted before I changed my plan, my plan. I won’t because it should not matter.

The last year has been powerful. The last year has challenged me. The last year has knocked me on my ass. The last year has been beautiful. I have survived the last year. I have thrived in the last year.

…especially during a time of major change and much needed acceptance, because if mothers continue to upload and share their bullshit motherhood, purgatory will slip away and you will find yourself in hell.

Ditch the ideals of red roses, chocolates, and preset meals. Climb up on a dick. Your partner’s dick. The dick that got you into this journey of motherhood.