While talking to some college students recently, I recalled the challenges I had in bonding with my youngest daughter when she was a newborn. I can smile about it now as she snuggles into me, a bit under the weather, and falls asleep on my lap as I sit in my computer chair trying to type one-handed. Some days I feel so attached to her that my body aches as I wait to see her smile, and call me "mama" at preschool pick up time. It amazes me that I once felt so detached from her. I felt so separate and fearful of failing her as a mom.

I forgot the crying (mine), the sleepless nights (hers), and the frustration (both of ours). I forgot the feeling of complete failure. I forgot thinking that I was not meant to be her mom. I forgot the dark wish that her "putative father" would appear and claim her. I forgot the night I sobbed into my husband's arms in the darkened kitchen, and felt so filled with shame. I forgot my husband admitted that he felt the same way. I forgot that we were both so afraid we had made a mistake. I forgot that one terrible night in my life because thankfully, it got better.  Read more.

Defying Gravity by gnevs

Thirteen is better than three.  I know I'm in the minority here but I'm sorry, it's true.

While trying to weather K's three year old tantrums, I was terrified of thirteen.  The nastiness, the sullenness.  If I thought three was hard, how could I possibly survive thirteen?

We're nine months in at this point and we're doing okay.  Don't get me wrong.  As my dad used to say, "It's not all steak and ice cream."  K has been known to roll an eye or two.  On more than one occasion, I have been accused of ruining her life.  There have been several homework incidents that have ended with stomping up the stairs to her room.  I have been known to channel my mom's voice with an incredulous response of "who do you think you are?" to said stomping.  Yeah, it's not any more effective now than it was when my mom was saying it.

And, there's certainly stuff I miss about three.  How her face would light up like the brightest star when I picked her up at pre-school.  How she would run to me squealing "Mama!" whenever I returned, no matter how long I'd been gone.  How this whirling dervish of a child could sit forever snuggled next to me while I read to her.

But... I like thirteen better.  Read more.