Breast is Best! (But what about the rest?)

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I’ve hated my boobs since 5th grade, when they made a most unwelcome appearance. Backyard football with the boys became awkward. So did locker room changes. As they became a focal point of my high school figure, I despised them even more. My back hurt when I ran. Forget horsing around in a bathing suit. Rude and humiliating jokes from teenage boys.

Hated. Them.
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Breast Pump Hacks for Busy Moms

A special thanks to Dr. Lauren Orr for collaborating with me on this article and for sharing your genius, practical tips with our readers.

Now–let’s make it easy for you!
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When your friends make you feel like sh*t

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Author: Heather Anne

We’ve all been there. You go out to lunch with a friend and she shows up looking completely fabulous and talking about just how fabulous her life is and you can’t help sitting there thinking “yeah. I hate her.”

What do you mean “you hate her”? She’s your friend! Shouldn’t you be happy that she looks great and her life is so great? Yes. Yes you should. But you know what…

Sometimes your friends just make you feel like sh*t.
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If you want to be happy DON’T have kids.

Author: Mary Katherine

If you want to be happy, you shouldn’t have kids. That’s a fact. Or at least, Time magazine and the sociologists who conducted this study believe so.

Parents get less sleep, have less money, and less independence. Parents have more stress, more marital arguments, more expenses.

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Every day I’m a mother, a little piece of me dies.

Author: Mary Katherine

Every day I’m a mother, a little piece of me dies.

When Ben is in his highchair and I’m cleaning the floors and dishes. And his arm magically transforms into a windshield wiper against the high chair tray. Waffle and oranges fly across the room. Rising up inside of me is a piece of my heart that is angry and impatient. And then I catch my son’s eyes–bright and bubbling with laughter–and that angry little piece of me dies.

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Please baby stay: A pregnant mother’s prayer

IMG_0856BWAuthor: Heather Anne

Please baby stay. 

I clutched my hands to my belly and I cried.

Please baby stay. 

It was a 30 minute drive to the hospital. We made it in 16.

Please baby stay. 

I prayed to heaven and I pleaded like hell. And I hoped my words reached my baby girl.

Please baby stay. 

Because I wanted to meet her but it was too soon. And I wasn’t ready to lose her again. Because I had already lost her once.

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Thank You, Mom

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Author: Mary Katherine

Thank you, Mom.

For playing with my toys, one by one, to teach me which colors they are.
I know that you must have been tired, and your favorite show may have been on.

For singing silly songs in the morning. About weather and food and God.
I know that you needed coffee, and didn’t always wake with a song on your heart.

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I Dreamed of Becoming Something Great. I’m a Mom.

Author: Mary Katherine
2002. Year of spaghetti strap tank tops, flavored lip gloss and $1 gasoline. Diet Coke added lime to their cans. Michael Jackson dangled a baby over a balcony and Nickleback ruled the Billboard.

So, yah–a few regrettables, but altogether it was a good year. I was a senior in high school and graduation was around the corner. Our school newspaper published the Senior Edition, a tongue-in-cheek prequel to the yearbook. The graduating class voted Who’s Who in silly categories and anonymously submitted thoughts and jokes for a segment entitled In Ten Years I See.

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Lunch Boxes on a Budget

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Author: Mary Katherine
This one is for moms with lunch-packers: an on-a-budget lunchbox grocery plan! This grocery list costs less than $30 and makes 2-3 wholesome lunch boxes per day. This isn’t for extremely picky eaters, but it can easily be modified. This list is also fantastic for the beach! Happy lunching!

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I loved my baby but hated my body

Author: Heather Anne

I was depressed. I was in a dark place. I was holding this beautiful baby in my arms and I felt like the farthest thing from beautiful. I undressed at night and stared in the mirror at a reflection of a body that I didn’t know. I touched my skin and traced lines that had appeared overnight and led to places that hadn’t been there before. And I felt lost, and confused, and a little angry, because this body wasn’t mine. This wasn’t me. But here’s the thing. It was. And I needed to accept it. I needed to stop hating my body because it was making me hate myself. And that needed to stop.
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