I know a mama who knows a mama who had sex last night.
Is feeling the estrogen drop and the testosterone rise. Would give up alcohol and sugar if her son would stay small forever. Wonders if her exhaustion is life threatening. Still doesn’t floss.
I know a mama who stares at the asses of young women and thinks why didn’t I love my young body when I had one?
Judges herself by her kids’ daily intake of decent food. Likes things tidy down there. Loves watching her husband sleep. Is trying not to turn into her mother.
I know a mama who wonders why she is staying home instead of flexing her brain in the world.
Falls asleep during sex. Hopes her son is gay so she doesn’t have to battle a daughter-in-law. Cannot get over her envy of mamas who don’t have to work. Can breathe through anything.
I know a mama who loves her work so much that she sometimes feels like she shouldn’t be a mama.
Had an affair in order to remember that she likes sex. Wonders just how much iPad use will cause her kids’ brains to melt. Can’t stop eating granola when it’s in her house. Is getting divorced. Finally feels free.
I know a mama who doesn’t believe her husband when he says she is hot.
Still gets zits. Can’t believe she still gets zits. Loves her son so much it makes her skin tingle. Said to the bully next door if you touch my kid again, I’ll cut your fingers off.
Spends work meetings assessing the fuckability of all men in the room. Braises meat for comfort. Pees a little every time she coughs, sneezes, or laughs. Drinks her second glass of wine in a mug.
Feels high when she doesn’t eat lunch. Is one snippy comment away from throwing anything in reach at her husband. Does handstands in the shower. Swears in front of her children. Wants another baby.
I know a mama who doesn’t know how to help her daughter feel smart, beautiful, feminine, strong, brave.
I know a mama who hugged her son close when his father walked out the door without saying goodbye.
Backed out of the driveway with the car door open. Almost drove away from the gas pump with the nozzle in the car. Gives her 12-year-old daughter coffee to help make hard mornings smoother. Cannot get her kids to school on time. Looks like she has it all together.
I know a mama who feels nothing down there.
Is afraid she will hit one of her children. Is hoping menopause will come soon because the monthly cramps are unbearable. Feels wrinkly and gray, but when she talks at work, people fucking listen. Tries not to look in the mirror.
Likes things bushy down there. Loves giving blow jobs. Fakes orgasms. Has an ulcer. Helps everyone breathe.
I know a mama who knows that sometime in the next 15 years her husband is going to fall in love with another woman and she will have to decide whether or not to forgive him.
I know a mama who feels so dark on her dark days she can’t fathom that she’s only halfway through this slog.
Sleeps underneath an ever-growing pile of clean laundry. Fantasizes about women. Wonders why no one told her when she was young that sex was so complicated. Wishes she had experimented when she had the chance. Is fooling everyone.
I know a mama who woke up with cream cheese icing in her hair, cupcake crumbs between her breasts, red wine staining her lips and teeth and sheets.
Gets Brazilians for her husband. Just discovered a whole new crop of spider veins. Has a lover who lives across the country. Likes her ass for the first time in her life. Has never felt stronger.
I know a mama who feels duped.
Tried to sext with her husband and was rejected. Gets deeply depressed when she masturbates. Sexts with strangers. Needs gin. Has never felt braver.
I know a mama who loves her kids more than her husband.
Needs to feed people. Used to turn heads when she walked into a room. Called her son a little shit to his face. Is still truly madly deeply in love with her husband.
I know a mama who learned how to be a good mama from her own mama.
I know a mama who is stunned by the capacity of her heart.
Phyllis Grant writes about food on a blog named after her son and daughter. After exchanging hundreds of deeply personal emails with a group of 10 women, she put together this stunning portrait of the complexities of motherhood.
In the process of creating this beautiful work, Phyllis and the women she interacted with exchanged recipes for granola. Soon recipe exchanges became more. They began gifting one other and other women with jars and packages of homemade granola.
By sharing their secrets and vulnerabilities, Phyllis and her friends became closer despite the isolating nature of motherhood. Isn’t that what we all wish for? Try Phyllis’ recipe for yourself by visiting Dash and Bella.