Grief and fury scoured her throat. “Don’t you understand? She was a good mom because she loved us, not because she never wanted anything else in her life!"
After my divorce, I'd returned home. Like an abused dog, with my tail between my legs. Swapped out a broken heart for the abuse I was more familiar with.
Sometimes, the only way out is away. I didn't know that yet... Stories have happy endings. Mine would, wouldn’t it?
I noticed an effervescent undercurrent that accompanied my panic and first trimester symptoms: a quiet, stabilizing joy. This has continued to expand within me throughout my pregnancy, outpacing even the growth of my belly, like a protective aura.
I’m not slamming working mothers -- I would not want to bring a fellow sister down for her choices in her life, much as I would like the same respect -- but it is important to me to be there with them for the day-in and day-out life that makes up the fabric of their childhoods.