Sandy Jorgenson

But what can be said for the day upon which I am no longer enough? I dread that day.

So, women, I’m talking to you — give yourself permission to love every inch of you. Honor your body, and meet it where it is. To those of you who’ve given birth: you’re forever changed. Relinquish the idea that you need to get your body back to looking the way it did before your baby was born.

...[O]ur very responsibility is to equip them with everything they need before we shove them out of the nest and watch their wings spread far and wide... But what, then, is left for us?

You'll have to excuse me while I sit myself down for one stern-ass pep talk about the importance of trusting my gut, having the courage of my convictions, and marching bodly ahead in my resove to absorb every last minute I get with my growing girl, knowing that never again will these days be upon me.

When I check on our daughter before heading to bed myself, I have to do a quick scan around her full-size bed just to locate her. She is almost never remotely close to where she started out. But she is almost always upside down, head jammed up against the wall or her footboard, stuffed animals scattered like confetti all around her.

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

You’d have a hell of a time if you ever dared to crawl through the recesses of a first-time mother’s brain.

Everybody who’s a parent can attest to the fact that the lives they once knew are far behind them.

Death, we know because it’s drilled into us from an early age, is a natural part of life.

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