Sandy Jorgenson

I know motherhood is hard. Especially new motherhood — those early days are a fog of tears, confusion, and helplessness. But I also know that yearning for something you can’t have, particularly with regard to children, is a feeling far worse. I’ve lived through the pain of childbirth, of a 3rd-degree tear, two related surgeries and a year of recovery, of postpartum depression, of miscarriage and of infertility and my god; I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if it meant a chance to… Well, to do it all over again.

...[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?

Anybody who has lived through those early days of parenthood (and let’s be totally forthright, here… those seasoned parents, too) knows e

This article is the second in a two-part series.

Two years ago, I had a two-year-old daughter who’d never met her grandfather.

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

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

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

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