Families

I am a perimenopausal woman in her 40s who still feels like a 23-year-old at heart. I cannot stop the progression of time and its effects on my physical appearance, regardless of how youthful my spirit may be.

We are often so focused on what we say to girls, that we forget the impact our words have on our boys. One flippant mention of my son’s “skinny” figure has turned into a source of unnecessary turmoil for him, and has lead to this difficult but important conversation about body image.

Now, I would love to sit down and watch a movie without interruptions as well. But alas, motherhood brings with it many occupational hazards.

We are taught to fear birth from early on in our lives, and the way it’s portrayed for entertainment’s sake plays a huge, disturbing role in that.

We had to walk through the casino. To a 2-year-old, hell is a room full of buttons you aren’t allowed to push. To the parent of a 2-year-old, hell is a room full of buttons your 2-year-old isn’t allowed to push, plus cigarette smoke.

[CN: emetophobia] I wish my son's gut could handle more than a few foods. I wish there were a magic Google function that could tell me and all of Echo's doctors how to manage this jerk of an allergy.

My husband is worried about stigma, about Owen feeling different, about epilepsy being part of his identity. Those are sweet concerns, really. And I get it — I love the kid too. I’d never want to make his life harder in any way.

Instead of waiting around for someone with questionable morals and a lukewarm personality to take over our country’s leadership, it seems more beneficial to apply our lofty presidential idealism to characters we can actually count on. I long to amend the ridiculous process of modern American democracy by nominating candidates who closely resemble the following characters within my family’s most beloved children’s books.