I Do Not Think We Remember Our

I Am A Trembling Mess From Hip To Knee. There Is A Terrible Heat, A Looseness In My Innards That Makes Me Want To Dig My Fists Between My Thighs. It Is A Confusing Feeling - Somewhere Between Diarrhoea And Sex - This Grief That Is Almost Genital.

Naming Is Nice. It Took Me Days Before I Was Able To Speak A Name For My First Child (what If People Did Not Like It?), And I Suspect We Gave Her A Secret, Second Name As Well, To Keep Her Safe.

I Do Not Think We Remember Our Family In Any Real Sense. We Live In Them Instead

When You Find Yourself Alone, Or In A Transition, You Dream More. These Are Also The Times When You Read Books.

People Think Motherhood Involves A Lot Of Domestic Labor, And It Doesn't. It Involves Being Nice To Your Children As Often As Possible. That's Part Of My Trick. I Don't Have That Anxiety About Meeting Their Needs.