shellsherwood19

a poetic exploration of postpartum electric shocks shoot fiercely through my breasts I’d massage them but my hands are caked in peanut butter and cracker salt a late-night habit formed out of fear of smothering my child beneath my weight at the only time I find joy in nurturing from my own body an experience I yearned for dreamed of labeled a nuisance by jealous voices whose opinions are never silent rushers, of a sacred process pure intimacy a moment for just two souls blood running...

Yesterday, I gave up around 3 p.m. As soon as I woke up, I knew it was going to be a fight. I knew it the moment I went to use the downstairs bathroom and the toilet seat snapped off the hinge. One of my kiddos crawled into my bed to cuddle, which can only mean one thing with this one: his bed was wet. I got up to strip the sheets and throw them in the laundry. Figured I’d get a jump-start on the day. The laundry from last night had never drained. Drain and rinse cycle initiated. The kids who...

If your desk looks like this...this one is for you. I’ve had one of those weeks when all my creative inspiration clashed with real life. Parents were reaching out for playdates, parties, and get-togethers. Friends were reaching out for playdates, parties, and get-togethers. Family came into town. Work picked up a bit. And creative ideas were flowing, with nowhere to go. Time and time again, I've seen and heard about the tortured writer with writer's block—the one who has no ideas and sits in...