She placed her daughter into a stranger’s arms – the baby was wrapped in pink and carried in her tiny, premature heart, all her mother’s hope.
They call it “the sandwich generation” as if something as innocuous as a sandwich could even begin to describe the stress of being pulled in every direction.
Finding Myself on the Kitchen Floor
Nearly eight years ago, I became a mom. And every notion I had of mothering a newborn went out the window.
I carry stones in my pockets so that if an experience or a place strikes me as something she should have seen or felt I lay a pebble.
I remember my mother – busy in her mothering, constant in her love – and feel reassured that I’m getting it more right than wrong.
When my daughter climbs in my lap and covers me in kisses, that’s when I realize that I am the one to be envied
The last time I saw my Mom was about twenty five years ago...
The winners of our Voices of Motherhood writing contest - 10 beautiful, haunting, and memorable stories of motherhood.