The turkey is gobbled and the pumpkins are mulch. You’re allowed to decorate. It’s OK now.
I’ve had a lot of broken washing machines in my life. Only one was literal and the rest were all figurative.
I’m ready for anything. I’m not excited about it. I’m not looking to have long talks about it. But I am prepared for it.
We’re not supposed to talk about these moments. We’re supposed to pretend they don’t happen and hide them behind our shiny social media accounts.
I thought to myself, “Well, that was different. I guess that’s who I am now.”
A voice in my head whispered, “Why did you do that? What do you know about babies?”
No one has to validate your happiness. You just have to feel it.
My son is not a worst-case-scenario. He’s the realest human being I’ve ever met.
I have a lot to do. I’m thinking about it now as I write this.
Although rarely talked about, it’s one of the strangest parts of parenting.