Issue 34: This Too Shall Pass—But What If It Doesn't?
Plus: F&*$ Mother's Day!
This too shall pass, the seasoned mothers say.
I didn’t really understand, or believe, the cliched phrase until I was solidly into year two of motherhood, pregnant with my second baby. I can’t remember when it sunk in—maybe it was the phase when my toddler refused to eat anything other than frozen fruit and Kraft mac n’ cheese, or the season when he got out of bed six times a night, every night. Maybe it was when my daughter was born and I found myself unshaken by weirdly-colored infant poop and excused myself from middle of the night Google searches because I knew now: this too shall pass.
The sentiment has undoubtedly provided solace in my short time as a parent; it’s eased my anxieties and offered grace in moments when I was sure I was doing it all wrong. It displaced the cause to some external, uncontrollable force; this is just how things are, dear—don’t worry so much.
My son turned four last week. This milestone feels heftier somehow; a three-year-old seems so little compared to the big-kid energy of a four-year-old. He has a wide vocabulary and robust language. He feels a multitude of emotions and is getting better at differentiating them. He knows what he likes and dislikes, he’s forming interests and aversions. His hallmark character traits are beginning to become apparent: curious, assertive, independent, short-fused, determined, soft-hearted.
Because this age feels like the beginning of what feels to me to be a real, self-actualized human, I now wonder in the hardest moments of erratic behavior, desperate tantrums, adamant opinions—shall this, too, pass? Or is this just…it?
I have a lifetime of parenting ahead of me—it literally will not end until I leave this earth. From now until then, there will be many challenges, and many delights, too. There will, certainly, be periods of difficulty that I know in my bones will end, eventually. But I imagine there will also be phases that turn out to not be phases at all, but a knowing that this is simply part of who my child is, and I’ll have to accept that with as much compassion as I’m able.
The phrase does have validity in perpetuity: nothing truly stays stagnant. Even that which persists will morph and become something different, if holding a similar shape. Or at the very least my feelings about it will change and there will be a softening, even if it hasn’t passed altogether. But the phrase that has ushered me through the hardest of the baby and toddler years will, likely, hold true less and less with the passing of each year.
Earlier this week, Heather Armstrong—one of the first bloggers devoted to chronicling the dark, deep valleys of motherhood on her blog, Dooce, died by suicide. For decades she struggled with depression and alcoholism, and documented them vividly through her public writings. She was a loud, vulnerable voice turning her parenting triumphs and shortcomings over in her hands for all the world to see, and made her vast readership of modern mothers feel less alone in their struggles.
She began Dooce in 2001 and saw monthly blog traffic in the millions in the years following. I was in my early 20s at the time, a self-involved young adult, consumed by my new residency in New York City, disappointing crushes and cheap gin and tonics at underground dive bars. Blogs about motherhood were on my radar—I worked as an editorial assistant at a parenting-focused publication in the late aughts—but I was never a devoted reader of Dooce. Still, Heather’s work flitted in and out of my periphery over the following decades. I’d dip in for a post here and there, aware that what she was doing was different, bold, brave.
I couldn’t tell you the last time I came across something of hers until this week, when I went back to read her final blog post after learning of her passing. The post was dated April 6th, a little more than a month prior.
The post is mostly a tribute to her college-aged daughter, Leta, and a heartfelt one at that. In it, she’s so clearly just a mom who wanted the world, and probably her own daughter, too, to know how special she was.
In the post she recounts a time in the early years of her daughter’s life, when Heather and her husband were so perplexed (and maddened) by Leta’s stubborn, enigmatic behavior that they took her to a specialist for testing in hopes of finding an explanation—and most likely, an “it’s just a phase!” reassurance.
What he told them was a fear I think most parents have: this is just who she is, there’s no loophole here this time. “Not only is there nothing wrong with your daughter,” he assured them, “but she’s also the most independent kid I have ever tested. The only thing wrong with her is that she knows exactly what she wants and when she wants it. Is it difficult to raise a child like this? Sure, but I imagine it’s not boring!”
I smiled a knowing smile when I read that; I have, too, unwittingly traded an even-keeled child for one that keeps things, ahem, interesting to say the least. Life with our son is certainly not boring. Heather reflected this back: “What I found in Leta was an at-home, firsthand lesson in understanding that a dull life is not a life worth living.”
It’s incredibly hard not to wish away the hardest parts of parenthood, in the same way I sometimes yearn for time to speed up, to carry me quickly over the mountain-like speedbumps popping up day after day, ruthless in their frequency. Some days, that task is impossible. And other days I’m able to recognize the character traits that are decidedly not phases as worthy attributes to be handled with care.
It’s too soon to know which of my children’s qualities will stick over the next ten or twenty years, and which will fade into our muddied memories. I, undoubtedly, will struggle often to coax light from the scattered cracks of their childhoods. But I hope, in some smaller measure, I’ll also find a way to see the immense beauty of this complicated, not-dull life.
Worth Clicking: Fuck Mother’s Day by Sara Petersen
Just a reminder from me to you that Mother’s Day is a sham holiday, and if our country was as great as we claim it is, mothers would have *at least* 12 weeks of paid federal leave after birth, comprehensive and accessible maternal healthcare, affordable childcare, and at the very least the ability to do whatever the hell we choose with our own bodies. Instead, we get flowers and brunch. Maybe! You’ll probably have to plan it yourself! Sara Petersen’s hilarious post provides a nice salve for the madness of the holiday; chase it with a beverage of your choosing and ideally a large swath of time away from your children.
Worth Reading: We All Want Impossible Things by Catherine Newman (Bookshop.org // Amazon)
This book destroyed me in the best possible way. It’s about a woman seeing her best friend through the end of her life at hospice, but it’s also about friendship, marriage, parenthood, and the messiness of life.
It’s heartbreaking, yes, but also so funny—an incredible feat to meld humor and sadness so seamlessly. In between, so many moments of joy. Plus: only 200 pages, a total busy-mom win! Please I beg you: read this book!
Worth Sipping: What’s Shrub Got to Do With It?
I revisited my cocktail-making roots a couple of weeks ago by playing mixologist for a school fundraiser, and decided to include this drink on the menu, which I had originally created for a friend’s birthday. I’m not here to brag, but I will say one of the attendees said it was—and I quote—“the best drink I’ve ever had.” It’s worth the effort and the shrub will keep for several weeks in the fridge.
Two bartender notes: you can absolutely skip the muddling step and just add the vinegar/sugar straight to the citrus juice and mix until dissolved. And though the directions say to steep the jalapeno in the mezcal for 8-10 hours, it was *quite* spicy; I’d strain them out around 6 hours next time.
Worth Spending: Sleeveless Cloud 94 Soft Slub Knit T-Shirt
For me, jury is still out on whether expensive workout gear is substantially better than cheaper options. I adore my pricier Athleta high-rise elation tights and my Beyond Yoga leggings, but I also have some inexpensive GAP items that have lasted—well, too long, probably.
So when I stumbled upon this tank during a kids’ PJs drive-by at Old Navy, I thought I’d throw the dice and give it a go, mostly because of how soft and cozy it felt and also because it has been literal years since I last purchased workout gear and have no idea where one does that these days?! Anyways, fast forward to today: three more colors are on their way to me. It’s fitted at the top and flows away from the body at the bottom, it’s cropped-ish but still hits at the hip, and like I mentioned: so soft.
Worth Watching: Daisy Jones & The Six - Amazon
LISTEN. I’m sure you’ve watched this by now. But I truly could not publish this newsletter without devoting a mention to this perfectly-executed limited series. I did, in fact, read the book but also, in fact, could not remember one single thing about it all these years later! Maybe that’s why I fell deeply in love with the show—the perfect casting (Riley Keough GET OUT OF HERE), the original soundtrack, the COSTUMES! I thought about this show for literal weeks, like a teenage lover who’s gone off to war (or something). I’m still trying to pinpoint exactly why it imprinted itself on my soul so deeply, and until I unpack that in therapy I’m just going to talk about it as often as is still culturally acceptable (which is honestly not very often at this juncture in time, but here we are.)
Worth Quoting: William Martin, from his poem “Do Not Ask Your Children to Strive”
Worth Noting: This Week’s 10 Honorable Mentions
Purchased yet another book light—this one rec’d by my friend Gena—and is one of the best I’ve tried, with a dimmable warm orange light and tilting head that set it apart.
Just an epic tuna melt—the doubled-up cheddar and pickled onions make it next level.
The cutest, softest toddler jams—and under $20.
Iced coffee season is here, and I’m seriously considering hopping on the Cometeer bandwagon to celebrate.
On the coffee note, adding a Shakerato to my forthcoming DIY beverage line up.
Somehow have still not made time to watch the Judy Blume Forever doc or made the trek to theaters to see Are You There God It’s Me, Margaret. Determined to change that before the end of the month.
My 16yo self 🤝 My 39yo self = this mash-up.
I love reading profiles of writers who found “success” later in life—and this one of Ann Napolitano (author of the new smash novel Hello Beautiful) made me happy.
I made carbonara for the first time solely because I hadn’t planned dinner and had very few ingredients on hand—and it was delightful. 10/10, no notes.
Sonoma County locals: don’t sleep on The Lunch Box in Sebastopol. You’ll spend $30 on lunch but absolutely will not regret a thing.