I processed my miscarriage by talking about it
In the end, I told more people about my miscarriage than I had even informed that we were expecting another child. When the horrific reality of having lost my pregnancy set in, all I wanted to do was talk about it. I couldn’t stop replaying the events in my mind — from seeing that first blood drop to sitting in the waiting room of my clinic, surrounded by glowing pregnant women and their boisterously rotund bellies, knowing that our baby was pronounced dead just minutes ago.
Confession: I suck at being a working mom
Friends and family often wonder how I “do it all” but the truth is there isn’t any magic to it. I think of how much time I spend apart from my children, and launch into panic mode. I know I’m being a responsible parent by providing the health insurance, food, and security that my job affords my family, but I can’t help but feel that just as not every parent is meant to stay at home, not every parent is meant to be away.
Talking “the talk” with my daughters: I accidentally avoided talking about sex with my kids
At this point I was feeling pretty good about myself and the conversation. I felt I’d taken a stand for equal rights and promised to defend my daughters’ reproductive rights. I was feeling much like a bona fide father of the year candidate when I was blind sided by the next question. “So, how do they get in there then?” she asked.
Don’t wait: travel with your young kids
I have been travelling since I was nine months old. My parents took me to England and South Africa to visit my relatives five times between the time I was born until I was about 11, and I only really remember the trip at age 11. Some memories I have from the previous trip are the kind where I’m not sure if I actually remember it or if it’s me remembering photos.
Make your own indoor sandbox to combat the dreary weather blues
My nineteen-month-old children can’t actually say that they’re bored yet, but it’s pretty easy to tell when they are. This week the city of Toronto has been a giant slushy and the minions haven’t made it outside much: at daycare or at home. Even prison inmates get yard time, and after more than a day without outdoor play, someone’s going to get shanked in their cell… err, crib.
Breastfeeding was crazy hard — then it clicked
Of all the things people felt like giving advice on while I was pregnant, no one ever told me that breastfeeding might be hard. One person warned me that sometimes it just doesn’t work, but I didn’t really get it. Why would it just not work?
On red hair, elderly neighbors, and how kids are kind of the Fountain of Youth
When I was a kid, growing up with bright red hair wasn’t easy. It’s tough to remember just how red it was as it fades with age. I mean, it was a really deep dark oxidation red. A burnt umber that would have made Bob Ross sigh in delight and approval. Besides the typical teasing of being the odd looking kid in the neighborhood, there was an inordinate amount of hair touching that occurred back then too.
I am the parent of a weird kid, and I know I’m not alone
Life with a weird kid is isolating. You spend a lot of time tamping down that parental anxiety when your kid is freaking out and it seems like all the other kids are sitting nicely and cooperating. You explain over and over that your kid just doesn’t like circle time or story time or most organized activities. I’ve learned over time to respect my son and the way he functions, and there are a lot of activities we simply cannot do because he can’t handle them. I’ve learned that the reason it seems like all the other kids can cope is that the parents with the weird kids are staying home. I’ve felt completely and utterly alone as seemingly everyone else went around with their perfectly normal, average kid.