Stressed? Tired? Overwhelmed by the innumerable appointments, never-ending meal planning, and just one more extracurricular obligation forcing your brain to fire on all cylinders? Fear not! I have just the solution for you—and in 5 easy steps, no less. Make a list of everything you must accomplish for the day. And write it on paper so that you can experience the full thrill of crossing it off with a red pen. (I highly recommend Pilot G-2 0.7mm gel pens—link in my Amazon Store

Last night, as I cleared the dinner table, I watched my daughter playing mother in the living room. She held her own sippy cup, still half-full of milk, up to her baby doll's rosy plastic lips. When she proceeded to lose her grip and drop the bottle squarely on her baby's head, I heard her say "owie" and then give lots of kisses to the site of the imaginary wound. She rocked her baby, sang her Twinkle Twinkle, and tucked her in tight on the dog's bed with a pillow and blanket

I feel you flutter, but it isn't enough. I go to the doctor's office; count all 10 fingers, 10 toes, wiggling before my eyes in 2-dimensional black and white. But it still isn't enough. I wake up twice every night to pee, feel the gurgle in my throat at an unwelcome smell, have all the wildest dreams. And it isn't enough. Maybe at 24 weeks—"viability," they call it. The week your cousin was born, and she's 6 now. Maybe then I'll feel confident. Or maybe not. At every appointm

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- I cannot focus. I cannot stop checking my phone. I am supposed to be teaching the most devout group of multilingual learners the difference between apostrophes in contractions and apostrophes that show possession, which is arguably one of my favorite topics. But I am floating above myself, waiting for the text message that will change my life. Why did I even come to work today? Then I remember that of m

We ended up in the Emergency Room yesterday. My daughter is not yet two, and she has had the same ever-loving cough for a quarter of her life. And sure, it's the weather and it's the daycare and it's all the things. But still. 6 months is too long. I brought her to the pediatrician first thing in the morning, expecting the usual 20-minute visit; to leave with a new prescription and crossed fingers. I didn't even think to eat breakfast before we left the house. We waited a lon

Getting pregnant is easy or so it's been said Your husband just looks at you Mine too. And a team of doctors, nurses, embryologists The room is full of frenzy when I conceive I just need to put it out of my head To take a vacation, you say — as if treatment has not already swallowed my savings Because getting pregnant is simple But if it's not happening for me It might be my diet; something wrong I can't see "I told you!" you'll say when I finally have happy news to share I w

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- I am sitting on the front porch watching a spring rain soak the already-damp earth. I so rarely sit like this; never allowing myself a moment to rest. To just be. But today is Mother’s Day. And the weather is kind to me, poignantly reflecting my mood. As I watch muddy puddles form across the saturated lawn, an old song plays in my head. A song from childhood. Rafi, I think. The lyrics are silly and a

It's 5:03 on a Wednesday. The day has been long, though not particularly unkind. Just more of the same: waking up too late, rushing to get the baby changed and out the door, a busy work day packed with back-to-back meetings and fires to put out. It is not unfamiliar, but it drains me nonetheless. I have been waiting for this. All day, I have been waiting. At long last, I ease my aching bones into the swivel chair, and she dresses me like a queen in a draping black robe. She d

I want to carry the pregnancy test around with me; a talisman for what my body still can't be convinced is true. Never mind the unrelenting nausea. The overwhelming odor of salmon in a co-worker's lunch box sending me straight to the restroom. No, it isn't enough. That could be something simple; the mere stomach flu. This thin plastic wand bearing a second painted pink line, faint as a whisper, is something solid in my hands. I can put it in my back pocket and pull it out aga

---The below excerpt is a chapter from my debut memoir, Temple and Ash--- My gerbera daisy bloomed this morning. I didn’t think she would flower again. Mom said she has never been able to get hers to, and her thumb is greener than Shrek’s. There were times I thought she was a lost cause; dead for good. But this morning she stands tall and bright. Resilient. Hopeful. That relentless canary yellow daisy is the first thing I see in my mind’s eye when Dr. C tells me that we are

I started Progesterone in Oil (PIO) injections this week. Shall I compare them to a summer's day? No. Maybe more like a subzero January morning. An unprecedented winter storm. A flurried downpour of freezing hail. In short, they suck. PIO shots are widely regarded in the infertility community as the most painful. The needles are the longest, not to mention that they must be injected into the upper outer quadrant of the buttocks, meaning there is less landmass , if you will,