Families

I’m not going to lie or sugarcoat my feelings right now — I’m nervous about going from a mom of one to a mom of two. My son is seven, so he, my husband, and I have had seven years of time as “just the three of us.”

Don’t talk politics. Do. Not. This old adage is more important than ever this year, with an election that started off bad and has gotten consistently worse.

Every single day of our lives, since the moment that we bring home our beautiful child from the hospital — well, actually, well before that — we are faced with a multitude of decisions that will impact their lives. Some decisions are more serious than others. Yet the constant need to rip parents apart for the decisions they make is so unnerving to me that I simply can’t take it anymore.

My son is, without a doubt, the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. He’s also taught me invaluable lessons about myself that I could have never anticipated.

My toddler’s recent preference for her father has gone from sub-textual to textual. She has no compunction about loudly pushing me away and requesting her dad instead. I’ve been reprimanded for even speaking to her on occasion — “Don’t talk to me, Mom! Don’t talk!”

To blame [my mother] for all parts of me that are broken wouldn't be kind. She isn't responsible for who I am today. That said, on a subconscious level, I am the mother I am because of the mother I had.

Although I hesitate to admit it, I have a hard time believing that men can be victims of domestic violence, and I know that my stepfather Joe is at the root of my problem.

My beliefs about people’s rights, including my own, are a significant factor in how I define myself, how I identify, and how I treat other people. And since I happen to be raising people, my approach to parenting must reflect those beliefs too.