Happy Spring, all! I’m delighted to share three new pieces.
I wrote about my inability to make decisions on my own for Lenny.
I wrote about how much I love my own Mama for Mother’s Day for Land’s End Journal.
And! I wrote about getting up at the crack of dawn to have some time for myself (for crying out loud!). (It will shock no one to learn that since I published this, my kid’s been waking up much earlier. #Momfail.) This one was for Healthline.
Sometime in the not so distant past, I needed to take the morning-after pill. I was a 38-year-old mother of a three-year-old; I was in a stable marriage. We both had advanced degrees and careers, and had planned out my first pregnancy with charts and ovulation kits. Most of my friends were onto their second children. I was, in other words, not necessarily the kind of woman you might picture when you think of Plan B.
Read on at Motherwell Magazine.
I wrote this for her. (You can read more letters here, too.)
Today I revealed that
I don’t understand most of what my daughter says speaks German. Luckily for her, I don’t. Motherhood is so complicated.
Head on over to the Washington Post for my take on language acquisition, the power of circumstance in shaping parental identity, and children’s earliest individuations — or, put more simply, on being the dumb American at my kid’s daycare.
This weekend marked the 25th Anniversary of the Montreal Massacre.
I wrote a short piece for the Archipelago on Medium about how it impacted me as a daughter, a feminist, and now as a mother to a little girl. You can read it here. And then go call your mama.