Photo by M on Unsplash

I don’t want to read Moby Dick, she thought while sitting on her balcony enjoying a cup of hot coffee. It was Saturday morning, and she had a long list of tasks to cross off her to-do list. Sunrays warmed her body, encouraging her to rest. But the to-do list nipped at her like a gadfly.

She had fourteen books left to read from the Western Canon. She had to practice arpeggios to keep up her piano playing. She had to finish watching the last three Academy Award winning movies so she was in the “know.” And that was just…


Photo by Liv Bruce on Unsplash

There’s no going back once you become a mother

There’s no unseeing every child as your own

You cannot bandage your aching heart

As you watch a child cry out alone

That second glass of wine don’t taste as good now

And you’ll never sleep soundly again

Local news will keep you up all night

You pray keep my babies safe, please Lord, amen

There’s no going back once you become a mother

In every way it changes you

And you wouldn’t wanna be anyone other

Than the mama your babies made you

Now your body is different, can’t recognize…


“You found me!” I shriek, watching you two speedily crawl toward me. I hadn’t been hiding from you, but after watching you play so nicely together, I thought I had a moment to slip away and pour a cup of coffee.

But you found me, and now you raise your arms to say, “Hold me!”

I sit on the floor, hugging you on my lap, and I whisper a prayer of thanksgiving. I thank God you found me — that your two tiny little souls found your way to mine.

I remember when I held you in my arms, baby…


Credit: Héloïse Appourchaux — Unsplash

Credit: Meg Jerrard — Unsplash

She’d only been in Yellowstone two nights when she locked eyes with the wild cat. It was three a.m. and she had hoped to walk the short path from her family’s tent to the outhouse, there and back, without any trouble. Having birthed two babies meant every night she woke up with the urge to empty her bladder. Now, she ignored that physical urge as she watched the mountain lion watch her — the lion’s eyes like opalescent marbles reflecting moonlight. The woman was frozen, afraid even the slightest breath would cause the cat to pounce.

But the cat stood…


Gayatri Malhotra — Unsplash

On that sunny day in the park, he appeared like he had it all figured out — this parenting thing. Behind him, a Mima Xari Stroller to hold his precious cargo; on his back, a leather diaper bag to carry a cashmere blankie. In his arms, the perfect baby. At his side, the perfect wife. He did something with hedge funds, she knew this for certain. She would see him every morning on the same 6:00am train as she was coming home from her hospital night shift. She was just a nurse whose scrubs were covered in vomit and viruses…


Jude Beck — Unsplash

There’s no going back — once you become a mother.

There’s no unseeing every child as your own.

You cannot bandage your aching heart as you watch a child in pain.

That second glass of wine will never taste as good.

You’ll never sleep soundly again.

Fireworks will send shockwaves of anxiety through your body, and local news will keep you up all night.

Your body never be the same — once firm, now soft pillow for rest.

And you won’t be able to stop a smile from tugging at your lips when you see a child learn something new.


Credit: Freestocks — Unsplash

I love you so much it hurts.

I feel the immense weight of my love for you. It pushes me down. It crushes me.

What will I do when you grow up? Who will I become?

I might shrivel up and die.

Because I feel we are still just one being. My heart still beats in synch with yours.

But we were never just one, were we? Three hearts. Three brains. You were always your own beings. I just kept you safe inside me.

I can’t do that any longer and it terrifies me. How will I keep you safe…


Linda Hinton

An icy gust burned his weather-beaten cheeks. Under his skin, redness poked through. Like a ripe berry drooping on a low bush nearly touching the ground. Up and down the asphalt he walked. Up and down. Zigzagging between traffic. Shoulders sore. Nails brittle. Bits and pieces of last night’s dinner caught between the hairs on his chin. It had still been hot when the BMW driver threw it out of his car. A crinkled up fast-food bag, soaked in grease. But the chicken sandwich was half-eaten. And it tasted good.

Just like the other greasy piece of meat someone threw…

Brigit Callaghan Stacey

Writer from Chicago. Loves writing about romance & magic, while sitting in nature drinking wine. Follow me at BrigitStacey.com & Instagram BrigitStacey.

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