The Mothership

I see you. I know you. You seem familiar and resemble someone I know.  You are the woman holding her babe that seems happy in her arms with the invisible sleeping and attachment struggles from beneath the baby wearing garment. The woman who comes to the party, grimacing and half smiling because her little guy is pumeling everything in sight because he needs to. The woman who comes with the little one afraid to enter the crowd because it is too noisy or too much and all you want to do is socialize.  The woman who comes with a child that is over opinionated and remarks loudly to everything they process. The woman who so desperately wants to understand her child and would do anything to just “have an easy day.” I see your struggle, and your torment. And yet, somehow, I see your delight.  You see the joy in your child. And you feel as if you’re the only one able to see. You ask yourself that question that seems to be on repeat, “Does anyone else see the struggle and yet the l...