Sandy Jorgenson

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

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.

I didn’t start out as a particularly easygoing person.

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

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.

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The night I discovered that tumor on her back was essentially just like any other.

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