Mommy guilt: what is it?

"Hey hon, can you rub out my chest tar?" I beg my husband. The request is made on a monthly basis. His healing "Punjab (Annie 1983) hands", as I refer to them, magically massage my chest and all my worries away. Maybe Touch is a love language of mine after all. (Side note:  A childhood without a... Continue Reading →

Stay-at-home mom or dad: damned if you do

Whenever someone asks me, "What do you do for a living?" at weddings, parties, reunions, etc. I cringe a little inside. Someone's asking me that damn question again. Recently I was at the gynecologist and the receptionist greeted me with:  "Hello. Are you currently employed?" Is there anything worse than going to the gynecologist? Oh... Continue Reading →

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