If you can’t be at peace, at least be a story.
If you can’t be at peace, at least be a story.
They’re not here to make me feel better. They’re here to help my son.
I don’t even know how we escaped. I’m surprised we’re not still playing that game today.
We walked into the crowded and cramped waiting area. That’s when my son had a meltdown.
I was there yesterday. I will be there tomorrow.
As soon as we opened the door, she became the most fragile thing in our home.
This wasn’t home and no other parents were doing it. That’s what makes it “embarrassing.”
What followed was a barrage of sad heart emojis mixed with the occasional, “Stay Strong, Mama”.
There are some days when I am in awe of his nerve.
I guess the house ate them.
You must be logged in to post a comment.