Poetry

Postpartum depression during a pandemic

February 15th, 2022 | by Amy Mattes

The house is living and breathing windows lifting curtains let old air out. An air between seasons. Her body is living and breathing open organs stretching in the


Families

Young girl with blonde hair and pursed lips holds two brown eggs over her eyes

The Unknowable Weight of Origin

February 10th, 2022 | by Megan Hanlon

My five-year-old gazes up sleepily and asks, "Can you show me how to get an egg donor? Because I want to be a mama someday too."


Adoption Stories

Promises

February 8th, 2022 | by Leah Ongiri

We open the door in the morning  It is dark and rainy like all morningsThe smell of wet earth rises like


On Balance

"Lady Justice" statue: blindfolded woman holding scales

When the Body Speaks

February 1st, 2022 | by Elsa Valmidiano

Black and Brown women have the most to lose when corporate and legislative limitations curtail our reproductive freedom.



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  • “A disabled person’s body-mind in public makes other people uncomfortable, because they’re reminded that disability is part of the human experience. It’s not that my kid is so distracting! It’s about ableism. It’s not our family’s or our kids’ job to absorb that.” “I don’t know exactly where this conviction that I would “smash” motherhood came from, but when I was pregnant, I held firmly to the belief that life with a baby would be my old life without a baby + baby. A simple equation that would equal all the thrills and edges of my old life, with the added joy of sunlit mornings in bed with my husband and a cute, cooing baby between us.” “It does not escape me that critiques about expectant Black women like me are also rooted in misogynoir.” “You’ve already told me that story,” he said. Switching gears, he asked, “Why isn’t my father around?” #breastfeeding #parenting #fuckit #protest #teenagers #sexualviolence “Over time, Anabelle learned to talk about her feelings. She said saw her birthmother in the sky. She drew a picture of grief moving through her body like water. When she had more language, she began to talk about her losses.” “I’m not sure why I read that poster and thought that it applied to other mothers, other people’s children. But it probably has something to do with the shock I felt two years later when a neurologist confidently diagnosed “Autism Spectrum Disorder” and I responded with at least twenty “What about…” type questions. I had described my dynamic, interesting, loving toddler to this doctor, and her response sounded dire and clinical. That poster was the same. All of it seemed so unfortunate.” “Someone hit the call button. No one came. Someone rushed to the nurses’ station; still no one came. The contractions, a creature, twisted my uterus, lancing its nails. I tried to breathe through them, but there was no space, no time.”

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