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A line that exists for reasons I cannot understand. A line across which Wendy’s life refuses to acknowledge the meaning of mine.
that explains the biceps, triceps, and all the other -ceps.
How much we all give up, we mothers. How much we willingly hand over. Our bodies. Sleep. Sometimes safety. Often passion. And, of course, our dreams. We’ll give up our very dreams, if that’s what it takes to see to theirs.
heavy with my disappointment, there were no wings that could possibly lift me today.
It’s not the stuff I do that gives my life meaning. It’s the people I do it for.
“My dream is healthy adult offspring who can figure out what makes them happy and then make it happen. And when they’re not happy, I want them to believe they can weather the storm until it passes, knowing full well that it will.”
Two paths diverged in our woods, and because we are women, and women’s choices change dramatically with every single generation, both paths were less traveled by. And because there is no one way to have a family, no instruction book, and no trustworthy set of rules (and, trust me, I’ve looked), it is likely that both paths are just a little bit wrong and just a little bit right, and which one we take is simply a matter of luck and happenstance.
