My daughter is now navigating the complicated ‘tween’ friendship labyrinth as she enters middle school.
In these circles, though, publicly-perceived perfection was not only a goal but a requirement.
The messiness of real life was simply too unpleasant for anyone with a hyphenated last name. I joined the morning running group at the encouragement of a friend (who does not drink latte) which was not an easy feat for this night owl.
We were more excited to be close to an exit; we knew how hot the auditorium would get by hour two when that many people filled the room and the class photo slideshow was on song three of the soundtrack.
From the time I held the fateful pregnancy test in my shaking hand, I wondered what it would be like to have more than one child.
Our firstborn had consumed us, especially me, the first year of his life—literally and figuratively. But my second son was nothing at all like my first, and my experience as a second-time mother wasn’t motherhood squared, exactly.