Here is a piece I wrote for Scary Mommy, about managing expectations for motherhood:
My children, Jenny, Jamie and Tracy, are currently lying face up in a box in my closet.
Perhaps I should clarify. These three children are part of my vast and beloved doll collection, which I started when I was 4 years old and got my first Cabbage Patch Doll (Tracy Jill. Her head falls off occasionally, but otherwise she looks fabulous for 34). I truly believed that I was the mother of all of these dolls.
Why am I keeping these precious children in a closet, you might ask? Because of my actual children—a 5 year-old boy who literally stuck his tongue out when first introduced to Tracy, and a 2 year-old boy who would love nothing more than to rip Tracy’s head off and throw it in the washing machine.
