Yet, it didn't feel normal. I felt like I was the worst mother in the world because I couldn't help him and now he was going grow up to be a punk/bully who hit other children, wouldn't be liked and would probably end up completely adjusting his personality to be recluse, with no spark. Joy, suffocated. Hardball was not working.
We do not weep at funerals because her clothes were immaculate, her hair was precise, her teeth were blinding, makeup flawless, boobs perky, and her stomach flat. Be You.
Today was a first - a report card comment section made me cry.
I WISH I had stumbled upon this book when my daughter was a child but because she didn't express things the same way as our son, I overlooked what others may have seen as obvious.