One Contraction at a Time

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

A couple of weeks ago, I gave birth to our fourth child. It was a harder labor than I expected, partially because I had managed to convince myself that my childbirth experiences really were supposed to get easier with each child (lies! all lies!), and partially because, well, childbirth.

Still, in retrospect, it really wasn’t all that dreadful. Nine hours total, only about half of that being truly, all-encompassingly difficult, and even during those five-ish really hard hours, contractions came . . . and they went. In between most contractions, there was a period (short though it may have been) of physical calm, of reprieve. And in the end, of course, out came my gorgeous, adorable, handsome little baby, giving meaning to the process and the pain and the exhaustion and the fear.

In the midst of the experience, though, there were so many times when I thought, “Why am I doing this?!” and “I can’t do this anymore!” and “I am so tired; I just need a break,” and, of course, “I am never letting my husband touch me again.”* The process was overwhelming, stretching me (ha! literally!) beyond what I think of as my capacity. And yet, here I am, still alive, still kicking (gently, because I’m still a little sore). So clearly it was within my capacity. Clearly I was measuring my capacity wrong.

Adjusting to having this new baby in our family has been (and will continue to be) a challenge, the same way that all major life changes tend to be a challenge, even when the change is wonderful. He takes up so much of my time and energy, and there are so many other needs to be met along with his. I occasionally find myself wondering how we’re all going to get through the coming weeks and months.

And yet, I know we will. We have the capacity, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

One strategy that helped in dealing with the difficulty of labor was to take things one contraction at a time. When I thought about how much I might have left, how much labor was still before me, I was overwhelmed and terrified. When I just worked on getting through just the next contraction, it was still hard—it was hard, but it was more bearable. I was reminded that I didn’t have to do it all at once.

And so, on a particularly challenging day or in a terrible, exhausting minute, I hope to try to remember this: Contractions come, but they also go. I don’t need to worry about the struggles to come down the road. I only have to get through this next contraction, this next hardest moment. Even when it seems like there is only hard stuff, I can look at and recognize those calm spaces in between. And, most of all, I can know that God has granted me the capacity to move through life’s contractions, to reach the prizes along the way. Our capacity to stretch and grow and create is far greater than we recognize. The contractions are how we make room in our lives for wonderful blessings. They prepare us to give birth to great things.

* Okay, so I really just tossed that one in because it’s standard, right?

Helping Our Children Become Better Writers

by Patricia Cates

We are several weeks into school now, and surely all of the mom's out there are seeing the homework start to pour in. I posted some writing helps for teens a few weeks ago, and wanted to make sure and get tips out there for parents of younger children.

Hopefully the advice you find below will help boost your enthusiasm and maybe garner some fresh approaches. Actually the info is quite applicable for middle and high school students as well. Some kids are born with a natural grasp for language and words, and others find putting pen to paper torturous. Either way our children will surely benefit from some extra help from us!

From the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE):

Things to Do at Home

1. Build a climate of words at home. Go places and see things with your child, then talk about what has been seen, heard, smelled, tasted, touched. The basis of good writing is good talk, and younger children especially grow into stronger control of language when loving adults -- particularly parents -- share experiences and rich talk about those experiences.
2. Let children see you write often. You're both a model and a teacher. If children never see adults write, they gain an impression that writing occurs only at school. What you do is as important as what you say. Have children see you writing notes to friends, letters to business firms, perhaps stories to share with the children. From time to time, read aloud what you have written and ask your children their opinion of what you've said. If it's not perfect, so much the better. Making changes in what you write confirms for the child that revision is a natural part of writing -- which it is.
3. Be as helpful as you can in helping children write. Talk through their ideas with them; help them discover what they want to say. When they ask for help with spelling, punctuation, and usage, supply that help. Your most effective role is not as a critic but as a helper. Rejoice in effort, delight in ideas, and resist the temptation to be critical.
4. Provide a suitable place for children to write. A quiet corner is best, the child's own place, if possible. If not, any flat surface with elbow room, a comfortable chair, and a good light will do.
5. Give the child, and encourage others to give, the gifts associated with writing:
    
   • pens of several kinds
   • pencils of appropriate size and hardness
   • a desk lamp
   • pads of paper, stationery, envelopes -- even stamps
   • a booklet for a diary or daily journal (Make sure that the booklet is the child's private property; when children want to share, they will.)
   • a dictionary appropriate to the child's age and needs. Most dictionary use is for checking spelling, but a good dictionary contains fascinating information on word origins, synonyms, pronunciation, and so forth.
   • a thesaurus for older children. This will help in the search for the "right" word.
   • erasers or "white-out" liquid for correcting errors that the child wants to repair without rewriting.
      
6. Encourage (but do not demand) frequent writing. Be patient with reluctance to write. "I have nothing to say" is a perfect excuse. Recognize that the desire to write is a sometime thing. There will be times when a child "burns" to write; others, when the need is cool. But frequency of writing is important to develop the habit of writing.
7. Praise the child's efforts at writing. Forget what happened to you in school and resist the tendency to focus on errors of spelling, punctuation, and other mechanical aspects of writing. Emphasize the child's successes. For every error the child makes, there are dozens of things he or she has done well.
8. Share letters from friends and relatives. Treat such letters as special events. Urge relatives and friends to write notes and letters to the child, no matter how brief. Writing is especially rewarding when the child gets a response. When thank-you notes are in order, after a holiday especially, sit with the child and write your own notes at the same time. Writing ten letters (for ten gifts) is a heavy burden for the child; space the work and be supportive.
9. Encourage the child to write for information, free samples, and travel brochures.
10. Be alert to occasions when the child can be involved in writing, for example, helping with grocery lists, adding notes at the end of parents' letters, sending holiday and birthday cards, taking down telephone messages, writing notes to friends, helping plan trips by writing for information, drafting notes to school for parental signature, writing notes to letter carriers and other service persons, and preparing invitations to family get-togethers.

Writing for real purposes is rewarding, and the daily activities of families present many opportunities for purposeful writing. Involving your child may take some coaxing, but it will be worth your patient effort.

Things to Do for School Writing Programs

1. Ask to see the child's writing, either the writing brought home or the writing kept in folders at school. Encourage the use of writing folders, both at home and at school. Most writing should be kept, not thrown away. Folders are important means for helping both teachers and children see progress in writing skill.
2. Be affirmative about the child's efforts in school writing. Recognize that for every error a child makes, he or she does many things right. Applaud the good things you see. The willingness to write is fragile. Your optimistic attitude toward the child's efforts is vital to strengthening his or her writing habit.
3. Be primarily interested in the content, not the mechanics of expression. It's easy for many adults to spot misspellings, faulty word usage, and shaky punctuation. Perfection in these areas escapes most adults, so don't demand it of children. Sometimes teachers -- for the same reason -- will mark only a few mechanical errors, leaving others for another time. What matters most in writing is words, sentences, and ideas. Perfection in mechanics develops slowly. Be patient.
4. Find out if children are given writing instruction and practice in writing on a regular basis. Daily writing is the ideal; once a week is not often enough. If classes are too large in your school, understand that it may not be possible for teachers to provide as much writing practice as they or you would like. Insist on smaller classes -- no more than 25 in elementary schools and no more than four classes of 25 for secondary school English teachers.
5. Ask if every teacher is involved in helping youngsters write better. Worksheets, blank-filling exercises, multiple-choice tests, and similar materials are sometimes used to avoid having children write. If children and youth are not being asked to write sentences and paragraphs about science, history, geography, and the other school subjects, they are not being helped to become better writers. All teachers have responsibility to help children improve their writing skills.
6. See if youngsters are being asked to write in a variety of forms (letters, essays, stories, etc.) for a variety of purposes (to inform, persuade, describe, etc.), and for a variety of audiences (other students, teachers, friends, strangers, relatives, business firms). Each form, purpose, and audience demands differences of style, tone, approach, and choice of words. A wide variety of writing experiences is critical to developing effective writing.
7. Check to see if there is continuing contact with the imaginative writing of skilled authors. While it's true that we learn to write by writing, we also learn to write by reading. The works of talented authors should be studied not only for ideas but also for the writing skills involved. Good literature is an essential part of any effective writing program.
8. Watch out for "the grammar trap." Some people may try to persuade you that a full understanding of English grammar is needed before students can express themselves well. Some knowledge of grammar is useful, but too much time spent on study of grammar steals time from the study of writing. Time is much better spent in writing and conferring with the teacher or other students about each attempt to communicate in writing.
9. Encourage administrators to see that teachers of writing have plenty of supplies -- writing paper, teaching materials, duplicating and copying machines, dictionaries, books about writing, and classroom libraries of good books.
10. Work through your PTA and your school board to make writing a high priority. Learn about writing and the ways youngsters learn to write. Encourage publication of good student writing in school newspapers, literary journals, local newspapers, and magazines. See that the high school's best writers are entered into the NCTE Achievement Awards in Writing Program, the Scholastic Writing Awards, or other writing contests. Let everyone know that writing matters to you.

By becoming an active participant in your child's education as a writer, you will serve not only your child but other children and youth as well. You have an important role to play, and we encourage your involvement.

Scripture Study and a Thought

By Jewel Leann Williams

Hello. My name is Leann and I have a confession I need to make. I have a child who...

HATES to read.  (Audience gasps)

Yup. He has said multiple times in the past two weeks, that 

READING

               IS

                 STUPID

                           AND

                                 BORING

Can you believe it? 

So I've been trying to find ways to engage him. He wants to be a scientist, so I've tried that angle. I printed out a bunch of stuff on Albert Einstein, which he found interesting enough to read for, oh, five minutes, and then declared it was stupid too.  Books that his siblings like, he does not. I imagine it is because it doesn't come easy for him, so he doesn't want to do it. Whatever the reason, it is already causing me headaches, because he has to not only read daily for 30 minutes, but he also has to write a pretty comprehensive book report every grading period. So, I've been trying everything I know to do, to help him. 

The other day, I was reading my scriptures, during one of those admittedly rare times when I can do so without "MomMomMom  I need water, let me play onyour phone,Abby'stouching me can I have a fruit snack....." echoing around me. I had out my paper for notes, and I had been praying and pondering about how to help my family, my non-reader especially. I was reading in Mosiah and immediately this verse stood out:   

3 And he caused that they should be taught in all the language of his fathers, that thereby they might become men of understanding; and that they might know concerning the prophecies which had been spoken by the mouths of their fathers, which were delivered them by the hand of the Lord.

(Mosiah 1:3)

It hit me that this scripture is 1)something I can give my son as a reason to read, and 2)this can be my mantra for when I want to give up on teaching my children.  Trust me, with the new school and their love of homework, I really want to give up about 750 times between 3:30 pm and 5:30 pm. It is important to be taught/learned in the language of our fathers, to become men/women of understanding, and also in order to learn the Gospel. It's not just for school/reading addiction enablement. 

Something else that keeps coming to mind with regards to reading, more specifically addresses our Book of Mormon studies. It's a promise that originally was spoken by Elder Marion G. Romney, but was echoed and expanded upon by President Ezra Taft Benson:

I feel certain that if, in our homes, parents will read from the Book of Mormon prayerfully and regularly, both by themselves and with their children, the spirit of that great book will come to permeate our homes and all who dwell therein. The spirit of reverence will increase, mutual respect and consideration for each other will grow. The spirit of contention will depart. Parents will counsel their children in greater love and wisdom. Children will be more responsive and submissive to that counsel. Righteousness will increase. Faith, hope, and charity—the true love of Christ—will abound in our homes and lives, bringing in their wake peace, joy, and happiness. (436)      

What a promise! I love that President Benson adds that parents need to be reading the Book of Mormon themselves as well as with the kiddos. It's not enough to just be having our nightly Book of Mormon reading. I have to be studying it myself in order to avail myself of this promise. 

I am so grateful for our living prophets and for the Book of Mormon. When I am lost or struggling with things like a kid who doesn't want to read (still trying to wrap my head around that), or whatever it might be, I know I can go to my scriptures and find answers. I know that Heavenly Father uses the scriptures to provide answers to my prayers, because he did that for me this week. 

PS, here's a link to a great page I found about WHAT to teach our children from the Book of Mormon. I found it while looking for the exact words of that promise I quoted above. 

A Houseful of Marshmallows

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

Recently the kiddos and I were discussing the story of the prodigal son.* In the midst of our discussion, I was looking for a way to help both them and me understand the feelings of the older son. If you need a refresher, the older son had stayed home and worked for his father while the younger son ran off, wasted his inheritance, and finally came back asking forgiveness. The older son felt angry about his father’s excitement over the prodigal son’s return.

Suddenly an idea came to me (inspiration! yay!). I ran to the kitchen and returned with six mini-marshmallows.

“How many of these marshmallows do you think you could eat?” I asked them.

They each assured me they could eat all six by themselves.

“So if I gave all six to you [the 7yo], you [the 4yo] wouldn’t have any. Right? What if I gave three to the 7yo, how many would the 4yo get?” (Look! We do math!)

After we figured out all the variations for how many marshmallows they could each get, we discussed what would be a fair division of marshmallows. Not surprisingly, it came out to be three/three.

“Would it be fair of me to promise you each three but then give six to the 4yo?”

They were properly incensed.

But then here’s the catch. What if, instead of only six marshmallows, I had a whole houseful of marshmallows? Curious to find out how many marshmallows they each thought they could eat, I asked the 4yo if she thought she could eat a whole boxful. I thought this was a pretty optimistic estimate, since the box was rather large.

I should not have underestimated her stomach, as she informed me that she could happily eat their whole bedroomful of marshmallows.

And there would still be enough marshmallows left for the 7yo too. I would have enough marshmallows for both of them to have every single last marshmallow they wanted.

I think that’s something that’s easy to forget. When someone else gets something awesome, that doesn’t mean that we can’t also have awesome things in our lives. I have friends that I admit I am a bit jealous of. They run successful businesses, have visible rewards in their chosen careers (including the career of motherhood), seem to just have everything together.

And sometimes, yes, people will have more blessings here on earth than we do. But God doesn’t just look at this tiny little lifespan. And he doesn’t have six measly little blessings to portion out to us. If someone gets a lot, that doesn’t mean we just the get the leftover scraps. God’s love—God’s blessings—are like a houseful of marshmallows. We can eventually receive every single marshmallow we want, every blessing we are prepared to receive—and so can everyone else. There is just no way to run out. What may feel unfair for a moment (even if the moment is this whole mortal life) is evened out by the wealth that God offers each of us.

And now I really want to go eat some s’mores.**

* Minor wordgeek moment here: “prodigal” does not mean “returning” or “lost.” It means “wasteful, extravagant, lavish”—from the same root as “prodigious,” which means “enormous, huge.” So he was hugely spendy. So, please, don’t say of someone you haven’t seen for a long time, “Here comes the prodigal!” Unless you really do mean that he/she was extremely wasteful. Then go for it.

** But not a houseful of them.

Reigning Men

 
By Beckie Carlson

For some reason, I’ve been noticing the passing of time more lately than usual. I feel myself growing older, I see my kids maturing before my eyes, and the past is stretching further and further behind me. I feel like I’m coming up on one of those hills you can see for miles and miles….but when you are at the top you can’t really tell how you got up there. How did I get here?

I’m a pretty capable person, always have been. My mom would tell you tales of me getting my wisdom teeth out or having jaw surgery and being a super hero. That’s her version. Mind over matter was my mantra and it worked. If I want something done, I usually just do it myself. Even when Brad was around, I would usually end up doing it. I would either get tired of waiting or just jump in feet first.

I decided to start my garden this week. It is spring break at my house, so it made sense. I have a wonderful garden area on the side of my house. The garden is actually one of the big selling points of this house. I wanted a bigger living room and  a garden spot. It has taken me almost two years from moving in, but I am finally attacking the garden. The area is a four foot raised bed, sprinkler fed, and almost completely full of dirt. It wasn’t quite full enough.
 
Step one, get more dirt, aka soil, to fill the garden. It kind of amazes me that we actually pay for dirt. Of course, we pay for water……Anyway. I was a good girl and measured the area before going to Home Depot to get soil. I needed approximately 80 cubic feet of soil. (I know this because I can do 5th grade math….) I got out my calculator and did a price check and even talked to a nice ‘gardener type guy’ before settling on the soil I needed.

26 bags of soil doesn’t seem like a whole lot until you lift the third bag. At that point, the, “what the h*** am I thinking” starts to set in and it becomes a real effort to not run at full (wimp) speed to the parking lot and drive straight to the craft store where things are WAY lighter. Having my son with me helped me be strong and stick to my guns. (He was inside on the lawn furniture playing games on his phone due to his allergies, but still…)

Quick thinking got me a rental truck and a forklift (and driver) to load up all those bags. Yay for me!
As I drove away triumphantly in my big hourly truck, I realized I still had to unload the truck. If I counted optimistically, I had me, a pregnant 25 year old, a two year old, 13 year old, 15 year old strapping young man, and a 20 year old…who may or may not be home. This was not looking good.
I admit that the thought went through my mind like this, “This is one of those days I wish I was married.” Yes, it’s true. I wish I had a man at home or even at the store doing this all for me. I was tired and I had just gotten started.

No sooner had I uttered these mental words, then the thought came into my mind clear as a bell. “Call the elders.” Of course! The missionaries are always looking for service projects. I don’t have home teachers that come so, I’m totally allowed to use them. I called them up and they came right over. Not only did our two elders come, but they brought two others they just happened to be giving a ride to. It took them all of five minutes to unload my truck. I gave them water and they were on their way.
I am so grateful for this tiny little miracle. Knowing me, I would have tried to get all those bags out the truck by myself and would most likely have thrown my back out. That would have ended my fun spring break and really messed up our plans.

The Lord has taken my main man, but he has not left me alone. I am so grateful for the men in my life that are there for me when I need heavy stuff moved, computers fixed, advice, hugs, priesthood blessings, protection, and even company on a given evening. I sometimes worry that I have taken too long, been single too long, left my kids without a father figure for too long, but I’m doing the best I can and I know my Father in Heaven is mindful of me.

Cause I said so.
Photo credit: http://www.ints-rep.com

Boys Vs Girls

This week I read a blog post by the fabulous author Shannon Hale (here’s the link: http://oinks.squeetus.com/2015/02/no-boys-allowed-school-visits-as-a-woman-writer.html ). Ms. Hale did a school visit and to her amazement and disappointment, found that boys over a certain age were not allowed to attend her presentation. It was assumed that only girls would be interested.

The question was posed as to why we assume that boys won’t like books with girls as main characters.

Is it certain assumptions about the kinds of things that girls like in their stories? You know, roooomance….loooooove……ooeygooey-ness?   It made me think of that line in the movie The Princess Bride: 

Growing up, I read Little House on the Prairie, Nancy Drew, and Encyclopedia Brown, Hardy Boys, Choose Your Own Adventure… okay, to be fair, I read the backs of shampoo bottles, soup labels, instructions to everything…. If it had words on it, I was all-in. Now, it’s Dean Koontz, my scriptures, stuff I read from ANWA sisters, and after being nagged about it for a couple of years, TWILIGHT. The latter was the most “lovey-dovey” of books I’d read for a long time. I’m not much interested in kissing books.

My brothers…. They certainly didn’t read the same books I did, but they weren’t very interested in reading back then—at least not like my sister and I, who practically read our way through our local library every summer. 

My kids…. Well, they all read Harry Potter, but only my daughter reads Nancy Drew (she’s crazier about ol’ Nancy than even I was!).  Even my son who loves to read, is not into books that aren’t about animals, or soldiers, or sports, or monsters, or Wimpy Kids™. 

But he’s a boy. Just like I wouldn’t drag him out to go see a ballet, or a Hannah Montana movie (back in the day), I wouldn’t expect him to like girly books.  

But should I? Is it just that girl-centered books tend to talk about girly stuff and boy-centered books talk about boy-y stuff, and each plays to the interests of their focus group?

Or is it something deeper? The blog talks about rape culture and how these assumptions being made play into that. She says:

The belief that boys won't like books with female protagonists, that they will refuse to read them, the shaming that happens (from peers, parents, teachers, often right in front of me) when they do, the idea that girls should read about and understand boys but that boys don't have to read about girls, that boys aren't expected to understand and empathize with the female population of the world....this belief directly leads to rape culture. To a culture that tells boys and men, it doesn't matter how the girl feels, what she wants. You don't have to wonder. She is here to please you. She is here to do what you want. No one expects you to have to empathize with girls and women. As far as you need be concerned, they have no interior life.

Wow. That makes it sound much more sinister than the old nursery rhyme about boys being all snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails, and that they just aren’t interested in girly stuff. 

Have we been perpetuating this culture all along, since…. I don’t know, the days of Moby Dick vs. Pride and Prejudice?

Do I need to get my boys reading more books with girls in the female role? Am I harming them by just letting them read whatever they want and being happy that they are reading at all? Part of me thinks that this is a large part of why people don’t think that boys will read girl books…because they think that you have to use stuff they like to bribe them to read.

What do you think? 

On Mothering: Ma Vie En Rose (-Colored Glasses)

by Merry Gordon

I used to travel. That was before the kids (these days, just passing the Asian food section at the grocery store seems exotic). But back then, I had overheard enough wistful adult conversations about wasted youth to know I’d better take on the big, romantic world long before the grim reality of mortgage payments and stretch marks set in. By 16, I was hoarding copies of Travel + Leisure under my bed; by 18, my bags were packed.

My first destination?

PARIS.

Everyone comes to Paris with expectations, but mine were absurdly naïve. My France was a hodgepodge of fashion spreads in Elle, a Renoir pocket calendar and the Madeline books—oh, and that mildly dirty nursery rhyme involving naked dancing ladies and a hole in the wall. In the Paris I imagined, everyone wore berets and Dior and Chanel No. 5 and ate croissants in corner bistros. Paris was sexy, très chic. I stepped off the tour bus and took in my first view of the city.

It wasn’t the Eiffel Tower.

It wasn’t lovers kissing in a boat on the Seine.

 It was a naked man urinating into a cardboard box on a litter-strewn curbside.

Très chic, indeed.

Nearly everything about Paris echoed my first let-down. The Eiffel Tower was overpriced and crowded, the bread was stale, and I got insulted by a trio of sweaty French boys on the Champs-Élysées (at least I think I did—while I’m not exactly sure what they said, some gestures are probably universal). The Mona Lisa was small, and even a twilight cruise down the Seine was interrupted by a mizzling rain and Eurotrash techno thumping from the open door of a club.

I left disappointed, but eventually I got over Paris.

I got over myself a little too. I grew up, got married. My priorities changed. By 25, I was hoarding copies of Baby Talk under my bed; by 27, I was exhausted on a delivery table waiting to hear my newborn daughter’s first cry.

The nurse beamed down at me. “Congratulations! You’re a mommy!”

But once she handed me the discharge papers, it was like Paris all over again.

Expecting to jump right out of my hospital gown and back into my size five Calvin Kleins, I was shocked to find myself still shuffling around the house in my husband’s sweats four weeks postpartum. Having been assured by glossy La Leche League pamphlets that breastfeeding was both serene and natural, I was unprepared for round-the-clock feeds (involving six pillows and another pair of hands just to get the position right) and more howling on my part than on my daughter’s. And that whole Gerber baby thing? After a vacuum delivery, my precious newborn looked more alien than adorable. How was I supposed to fall in love with this lump of flesh that only had the capacity to scream, poop and projectile vomit?

But I did.

It started small. One particularly desperate night, I sang Pink Floyd because I’d run out of lullabies. About halfway through “Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” I felt that little head finally snuggle into my shoulder and my universe shifted. All those books and blogs, and nothing could have prepared me for the reality of parenting:  one moment you’re a chorus away from tipping the kiddo’s pacifier in Benadryl, and the next moment a milky sigh and the clutch of a tiny finger elevate you to a zen-like understanding of the cosmos. Powerful stuff, that.

I finally got it. It wasn’t like American Baby promised—I’d been up since 2 A.M., I couldn’t remember the last shower I took, and most of the pillow talk between my husband and I that week had involved our daughter’s stool consistency—but the moment was real and potent and entirely untranslatable in the airbrushed perfection of parenting magazines.

Because of my experiences as a mom, I think of Paris differently now. I was so obsessed with the Travel + Leisure version of the city that I got hung up on a couple of stale croissants; I should have been paying attention to the gypsy guitar player scattering those crusty remnants to the pigeons and singing “Hotel California” in broken English. And maybe I got harassed by a Gallic Casanova or two, but one of them did bear a passing resemblance to Johnny Depp. I burnt my finger during sightseeing? It was on a prayer candle I lit in some tiny, off-the-beaten-path medieval chapel I had ducked into to escape the drizzle. How could I not have noticed the beauty in that?

Parenting is just like Paris, all a thousand tiny unexpected moments that are imperfectly perfect—sometimes only in retrospect.

Every time I try to explain this to one of my non-parent friends, I feel a bit bad—not in a condescending way, but in a way that recognizes the inadequacy of trying to describe the indescribable. Wait a sec. So it’s not like the magazines? There’s screaming, and spit up, and sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations, and you’re telling me this is a good thing? That you’d go back and do it all over again?

Oui.