Sometimes parenting is lonely. Actually, a lot of the time. Which is strange, really, because use of the very word parenting would, in itself, imply — no, necessitate — that you are taking care of, ie, raising, a child, or children, which would imply that you are not doing that alone… that’s not literally possible, is it? To “parent” in…
I’m about to bring another child into the world. It’s glorious and awe-inspiring and clearly a transcendent time in my life. And yet, what preoccupies most of my waking and sleeping hours these days is not the overwhelming beauty of motherhood, the growing being inside my womb, or the spiritual wonder of childbirth: it’s pants. Toddler sweatpants, to be exact….
I just got off the phone with one of my dearest friends, who happens to have an (almost) five-year-old daughter. Said daughter does things like label their toys with Sharpie so that they don’t get lost or stolen by shady 2yo’s at the park. Another good friend, who also has an adorably pigtailed four-year-old lass, tells me about how her…