In honor of our 15th year in publication, we asked our editors for some of their most favorite Brain, Mother blog posts. Here are the top 15 selections:
I’m not sure when doing nothing after school fell out of favor. As a kid, I was a pro at nothing. We all were.
Motherhood has become so consuming to me that, despite best efforts, I find it hard not to project onto other women a desire for the sense of purpose it offers.
The quiet certainty that you’re not alone and that you are loved.
Sixteen is full of paper thin promise, delicate due to the decisions I can’t make for her anymore, decisions that will determine what happens next.
She was mine, this sweet baby girl, but she belonged to others, too.
By Anne Sawan
When he was small, he would ask me to sleep with him every night.
“Please sleep with me Mom.”
And most nights I would. I would snuggle in next to him, feeling his small body pressed against mine, an arm thrown across my neck as he burrowed in so close our noses would touch, his breath minty and sweet against my cheek, his hair still damp and fresh from the bath.
I got very tired of telling people that I do know the difference between a child with an active imagination and one who has come untethered from reality.
Contractions of the womb are nothing compared with contractions of the heart, and the labor that comes post partum lasts much longer.
Within families we are one another’s collateral damage. But so often, we are the most tender collateral damage that anyone could dream of…
I’m the graceless one. I am graceless forever expecting. For never accepting. How graceless of me to expect perfection from either of you.
I did for them everything I believed a good mother would do for her children and clenched my teeth and prayed it was enough, or right, or that at the very least they would be OK in spite of the depth of my brokenness.
A teenage boy is a bundle of contradictions. He has muscles now, real ones and not the ones you pinched and praised when he flexed in front of the bathroom mirror at age five.