Kelly Burch

Can you name an elite female athlete? If you asked me to name someone other than Venus or Serena Williams I’d have a tough time.

Last week, I did something reckless. I went out for Mexican food, and drank a margarita. The server didn’t ask for my ID, and she didn’t even ask for proof that my ovaries were on lock down.

My toddler was twirling in her tutu bathing suit while I shimmied into my plus-sized polka dot bikini.

Don’t talk politics. Do. Not. This old adage is more important than ever this year, with an election that started off bad and has gotten consistently worse.

I clearly remember the first time that I was forced to accept that something was wrong.

While I would like to think that I paused for a minute or two to think about what it means to be American, I was mostly focused on looking forward to the fireworks show.
But all of that changed for me last year. Three weeks before the Fourth of July, my husband became a citizen of the United States.

My daughter nursed (and was supplemented with formula, then milk) for 18 months, and when we weaned, it was because we were ready. After that first bottle, I should have realized that supplementing was great for both me and my daughter.