isolation

While I may not get flowers on Mother’s Day, I live with the daily responsibilities that go along with the adulting of parenthood as a full-time caregiver.

Whether you are caretaking for an aging parent, a spouse, a sibling or a child — there are more similarities than there are differences.

For me, eating is like going to the dentist. I know I have see the dentist, but I don’t enjoy it. Eating three meals a day is like going to the dentist three times a day. For other people, a good meal is something to look forward to, and eating is a pleasure. For me, it’s work, it’s anxiety-inducing, and it’s not even sort of enjoyable.

I’m sure the Pokemon Go phenomenon will fade before long, but for the moment, it’s just dumb FUN that might even be good for you. The game cannot fix and should not distract us from the shit-fucking terrible goddamn week we’ve had in the world, but it can remind us that we all need to practice self-care, whatever package it comes in.

Now that I’ve turned 30 (and wear caftans) I’m done reading vapid click-bait offering prosaic advice. This is not one of those articles.

I’m recovering from some pretty major surgery that has made it really uncomfortable to move around. In addition, because of the painkillers and antibiotics, obviously, I’m not allowed to drink or basically do anything I enjoy anymore.

Mom friends were the ones to whom you were supposed to spill all those dark parenting thoughts. I wanted that mom-magic. I knew it was out there somewhere.