A three-year old, barely weighing 30 pounds soaking wet, leaves a black hole of empty in her wake. She leaves droppings that my emotions stumble over and pick up her scent…
Author: <span>Beth Hendrickson</span>
Little Friend lifted her foot to the level of her hip and pistoned it back down to the floor. Repeatedly. I could have planted rows of corn in the furrows…
I’ve fallen in love–the drunken stumble, tripping, head-over-heels, topsy-turvy sort of fall–with both my babes somewhere between their third and fourth months on this earth. I fall in love hard–a…
August is a cruel, cruel month. It taunts and teases with little whip lashes of fall while still oozing forget-me-not notes of summer. For those of us who are adverse…
Dear Little One, Last night, you cruised through ten hours of sleep without a peep. I woke to an odd chiming noise, which, after some momentary disorientation, I discerned to…
If I knew I could hit a baby to make it stop crying in the middle of the night like I hit the snooze button on my alarm, chances are…