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I met my husband what seems like ages ago, way back in 2005.  I was seventeen, fresh out of high school and working at his grandfather's construction company.  He, five years older, was also working for his grandfather, not so fresh out of high school, and had a few more life experiences than I.  I was just seventeen with my whole life ahead of me and he...he was the boyfriend with a child from a previous relationship that was just going to hold me back.  What started out as a friendship at work and grew to something much stronger.  Naturally, our relationship was judged....looked down upon... taboo to most.  We both had our fair share of unsolicited advice from others. We were...
It's that time of year again. The leaves are trying to change (or rather fall off here in south Louisiana), pumpkin spice flavored everything is stocking the store shelves, moms everywhere are pulling out their kids' winter clothes from last year (praying they fit for just a few more wears), and everyone around is sniffling, coughing and sneezing. Before I was inducted into the "special needs moms club" I LOVED this time of year. However, I now dread it. Okay, I don't dread it, I HATE it. You see, my kiddo is part of the approximate 20% of children in the USA who are considered to have complex medical needs. My Connor was born with multiple "specialties" that cause him...
I work full time. My kid goes to daycare. More often than not when people ask who is watching Sam during the day, and I tell them he’s in daycare, they give me this weird look that is mixed with sadness, pity, disappointment, skepticism. I’m serious. It’s uncomfortable. We put Sam in daycare when he was 7 months old (my teacher husband kept him during summer break). I dreaded it. Everyone made it sound like daycare would be awful, expensive, full of germs, and cause severe separation anxiety (on my part). And the waiting lists! I’d be lucky to get a spot—but, ultimately, unlucky to be a working mom. Against my expectations, Sam did great in daycare his first week. He...
I'm a researcher and planner by nature. I genuinely enjoy it! I like being prepared and informed and knowing as much as I can before something comes my way. So of course when I found I was pregnant, it was ON. I consumed every article and blog post I could get my hands on like a crazy person. "How to Survive Your First Trimester" turned into "Breastfeeding Basics" and then to "What to Pack in Your Hospital Bag" and "What You Need to Know About Labor & Delivery". I was ready and waiting for labor. I knew that there were things I couldn't prepare for, but I honestly felt like there wasn't much that was going to be able...
It was a typical Sunday afternoon. The sun was shining, the TV was blasting Disney tunes, the house smelled of Pine Sol as I cleaned the house, and my boys were playing contently in their rooms. Or so I thought. I walked into my 3 year old's room to instruct him to pick up his toys so I could vacuum his room. Upon entering, I could see his stout little body standing amidst his toys (the millions of toys) doing something inexplicably horrible. I won't go into detail, but it involved a bodily function. On his toys.  And on the carpet. And wherever else it may have sprayed in his startled state of mind when I shrieked. I asked him why he...

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