I keep hearing it at the playground:
“Argh, I packed a snack for the kids but forgot to pack one for myself.”
“What am I doing this weekend? Well, we’ve got two birthday parties, a soccer game, and a T-ball game. Oh, and swimming lessons.”
“Sorry, I remember your kids’ names, but not yours.”
At its best, parenting involves a nearly-sacred level of generosity. At its worst, it involves a dangerous self-erasure. I would like to figure out how to keep it on that good side without slipping into the self-abnegation that our culture seems to impose on moms.
In pop-culture, moms are generally absent, dead, or impossibly saintly. I’m just trying to be human.