Patricia Murphy resides in New York. She and her husband have two children, one living and one angel. She is a senior studying English at SUNY Old Westbury. She hopes, through writing, she is able to help her fellow mamas smile and find hope.
Dear Zachary, Ever since you were born, your dad and I have taken every precaution to keep you safe. We bought the review mirrors so we could see you in the car. We had the deluxe baby monitor. There were more ER trips than I ever expected to ease your mama’s worries that your run-of-the-mill illnesses might be something other than ordinary. You always had to wear your baby Crocs in “sport mode” so they couldn’t fall off your feet as you toddled around. We covered every single outlet in the house, even the ones you had no hope of...
My dearest son, It’s your first day of preschool. Almost four years ago, I didn’t want to think about this day. I wish I could get out of the emotions I’m feeling, but it’s something nobody prepares you for. I wasn’t ready, but watching you be ready made me ready. In the way you sing your ABCs and 123s, confidently counting to 20. The way you started sharing your toys with your little sissy and teaching her colors. The way you improved so much each soccer practice and game. And the way you have asked to play again. The way...
When a new parent brings home a baby, they realize that exhaustion follows closely behind. We expect sleepless nights and diaper changes, tiny fingers clutching at ours in need. We know we’ll be needed fully and completely, and we assume that as our child grows, that need will change shape but gradually ease. We assume that, in time, we’ll find balance again. But sometimes, that balance never comes. My child is that child. The neurobiologically complex one with an IEP, an FBA, and a safety plan at school. The one who has been in and out of various therapies for...
Have you ever heard the phrase “wild child”? What comes to your mind? For me, I tend to picture a young kid running around, who just won’t sit still. Their parents always look so tired. Bless their hearts. Whenever I saw a family with a sweet, little wild child, I gave the parents an encouraging, empathetic smile, just thankful it wasn’t me. Until it was, and I was the one receiving those smiles. Bless my heart. I have a wild child. I can’t deny it, and I certainly can’t hide it. It’s just a plain and simple fact that is...
Nine is a tenuous age–she walks a tightrope between the play of a child and the poise of a teen. I see glimpses of the baby she used to be more and more rarely, mostly while she is sleeping. The roundness comes back to her cheeks and the silken hair tangles softly around her face. When awake, she is in constant movement. Dance, gymnastics, and friends take up most of her time. So I’m holding tight to nine. Nine is where she still wants to cuddle in bed at night and talk about her day. Friend troubles, burgeoning crushes, worries...
The first day of Pre-K. Wow, that’s a hard one. On that first day, it starts with prolonged hugs. It progresses to tears. And it explodes with full-blown screaming as your child has to be peeled off your body, and you physically hurry for the exit while your heart lingers behind. At the end of the preschool hallway, you stop, ears straining to hear whether your child has calmed down. But it’s too hard to tell with the noise from all the other children being dropped off on their own first day of Pre-K. Pick-up should be better. Surely by...
I’m sure you have plenty of mom friends who can help prepare you for the drastic life change you are about to embark on as your child enters kindergarten. Maybe they prime you with humor: “Woohoo, someone else is responsible for turning them into a decent human now!” or “Hey, no more daycare payment!” Maybe they are the nurturing sappy type: “They’ll always be your baby! They’re onto new things!” Or maybe they’re just factual: “This is part of life. They will learn so much. You need to let them go eventually.” And all of these people would be telling...
The beginning of a new school year always comes with little reminders that our babies are growing up. It’s a moment to reflect on how quickly they grow and dive into the excitement of a fresh new year. Of course, those first days are always bittersweet as they move up to a new grade, but so far, it’s been manageable. Pre-K then Kinder, I could handle those. Fun first years of school filled with play and cute little graduations. But this year, I feel like it’s getting really real. First grade! Can you believe it? How fast our babies grow....
She’s at that in-between stage—not a young child, not a teen. She’s tall. So very tall. And a little bit gangly. But she runs like a small child, and it looks so endearingly awkward. My baby, my girl, still with the body of a child but the mind of an inquisitive adolescent. She’s curious, she’s funny, but still so young. Her humor is on our level, she gets our jokes that go over her sisters’ heads, and she makes us laugh so much. But then, she asks a question that reminds us of her precious young years. She’s still new...
If there is one toy I would love to pass along, it is my children’s play kitchen. At 10 and 7 years old, it is no longer a priority toy for my daughter and son. Instead, the play kitchen has become a sort of dumping ground for any current toys that need a temporary storage space. As I glance at it now, it houses my son’s constructed LEGO helicopter, Nerf guns, and a robot as well as my daughter’s collection of library books, a random water bottle in her favorite color orange, and her jumping rope. Remnants of pans, utensils,...
By Patricia Murphy 
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