Life is Hard. Don't Forget the Diapers

I think I'll write a book and call it, "Life is Hard. Don't Forget the Diapers"

Every major event in my life ends up with me having to care for someone else.  I graduated school, had to care for my mother, I started school, had to care for my newborn, I started a job and cared for three children, I lost my job and cared for another newborn.  I'm starting a new chapter in my life right now and here I am tending to my sick biological father.

Tales of a Four Time Mommy: The Final Chapter (for now)

Thirteen years ago right this instant, I was in an extremely large room on the maternity wing of Misericordia Hospital alone save fora tiny occupant held lovingly within a small bassinet.The only thought I had running through my head was, "A boy. How am I supposed to raise a boy? How do you teach him to be a  man when you only have a vagina? What about girls? And police? How do you teach a boy to be a man in Philadelphia?"

Early Morning Musings

It occurred to me today as I watched my bio dad hook himself up to that oxygen machine, that I am not immortal, one day there will be nothing left but words on a page and a kind thought every now and then. It occurred to me today that one day the seeds I've sewn will no longer need my care. One day I'll be on the other side of it all and, hopefully the good one, the one with ice cream and my daddy, my dogs and my mama. It occurs to me that when that day comes, when that hour arrives, I want to have been that woman I've always talked about being instead of always wondering. Like he wonders.

Childhood

Everyone has a childhood trauma, I suppose. The fortunate among us are the ones who manage to accept the pain and learn from it enough to grow into better human beings, the less fortunate are the ones who let what happened before be the defining moment of our lives, covering us in a dark, despised film of shame and ugliness that turns us into what we fight against.