Eight Years Postpartum:  on motherhood and the medicine of time

Eight Years Postpartum: on motherhood and the medicine of time

  Oh, sweet mama, I know.   You’re wondering:  so, when does it end? When do I feel like myself again?   When do I feel just a little less like there’s a thread tied to the ventricles of my heart and fastened so securely to this tiny being a...
Your own special basket of fucks

Your own special basket of fucks

  “Everyone,” I say to my eager prenatal clients, holding out my hands in front of me as if they contained precious jewels, “has a basket,” (they are waiting for me to drop some kind of wisdom-bomb on them) “of fucks.”...