EricaDonahue's blog

Moms poop, too

I sneak out of the kitchen while they’re distracted and make my way like a ninja through the sitting room, bedroom and into the room that once was my sanctuary—the master bath. The deep, white soaking tub large enough for a synchronized swim team; his and her sinks; a glass walk-in shower that almost disappears from view when freshly cleaned. It’s a g*ddamn porcelain paradise.

Trumped by a toddler

We had gotten to a point where we couldn’t seem to agree on anything anymore. I longed for the time when we were so in sync, just flowing effortlessly through our days in perfect harmony. We were madly in love. Two peas in a pod. Peanut butter and jelly. Bonnie and Clyde. And then… he changed.

Is love all you really need? Surviving postpartum depression.


I love motherhood, but it doesn’t love me. That was the message I was telling myself to try to maintain some semblance of sanity. I just wasn’t cut out for it and it wasn’t my fault. Some women are naturally called to be mothers, some aren’t. I feared I fell into the latter category.

Gone, mom, gone


I did it. My first 3 days away from the baby since his birth 13 months ago. Granted, it was for work, but still… it was time to be away with actual adults in a real city with cocktails and a little fun sprinkled in.  Does it sound like I was looking forward to it?  Truth be told, I was. And I felt super guilty about that even though I knew I’d miss him like mad.