My two-month-old baby, Juliet, slept nine hours last night. Then these things happened: 1) I woke up, and racism was over. I didn’t even see color. Everyone was iridescent, and they just hated me for my character but said I was good at sports. 2) Not only that, but the people who would have been […]Read more "When Your Baby Sleeps Nine Hours"
I wrote about our medical journey with Tophs for Narratively this month. It was a difficult piece to write that I really wanted to get right. I’d love if you’d take a look.Read more "Our Journey with Tophs"
Your child is not an island. Except in those quiet moments when it feels so true that he is. When you have Googled and Facebook grouped and lurked on message boards and found not one soul like his. Maybe if you type his symptoms in differently, if you switch “hypoglycemia” with “blood sugar” or leave […]Read more "To the Mom Without a Diagnosis"
Sometimes life is funny. Like when Elie Mae tells me she can’t go to bed because her baby needs to potty. Me: What in thee world? Elie: The baby feels like she has to poop. Me: Elie, WHAT in thee world?! Elie (talks to her baby): I’m gonna be sad if you fall in. Sometimes […]Read more "The Words I’ve Needed"
We have borne the burden of proof. Buried it. Our bullet-ridden bodies not enough to poke holes in your privilege. Years ago, The Elders held picnics. Pack a lunch; kill a darky. Crunch a carrot between your teeth as his bones roast. His body s w i n g s… Then still. It’s Oprah’s Favorite […]Read more "To The Un-Indictable"
There are clues, you know. Certain phrases she uses. The way she listens to people without over-identifying. The way she makes mediation look like slicing through soft butter. I’ve come to terms with it: Paul and I are raising a mini school counselor. I mean, I’m totally cool with it. She’s like Paul in a […]Read more "You Might Be Raising a School Counselor"
I had a dream the other night. A nightmare, really, in which I received a phone call from Paul that broke my chest wide open, as if my ribs were but papier-mâché, my lungs a dangling diorama. “Do you know where Elie is?” he asked. “Tell me you’re kidding,” I said. “Isn’t she with you?” […]Read more "On How to Feel"