Remember the days when we were worried about our kids catching a glimpse of the Swimsuit Edition of Sports Illustrated? Apparently, if your kids are over the age of 6 and use the internet, it's likely they have seen much worse.

It has only been a couple weeks since the surgery, a double mastectomy, and my body is still in recovery mode. On some mornings, I can hear Nate playing downstairs with his dad and I feel my heart swell with happiness. "How lucky I am to be a part of this family," I think. On other mornings, on those when the pain is bad, I think how sad it is that I am in this bed and missing out on the cuteness that is surely happening downstairs. My chest is sore, but mostly it is numb. Watching Nate run and play and laugh reminds me that the surgery may have (temporarily) broken my body, but it certainly did not touch my heart, nor my capacity to feel love.

In my life, I have enjoyed 15 Mother's Days. The first one got off to a bit of a rocky start, (let's just say there's a certain man in my life who wil...

I do not want to pit one mother against another. But, I am tired of the lack of respect we show to moms who choose to stay home and raise their children, prepare their meals, and attempt to make their homes a sacred place for their family. I have no doubt that these women rarely think of their work as sacred. But it is.

I can't spot a single one-dimensional woman for miles. They don't exist. I seriously want to throw a party for all the mothers today because even though mothers have always possessed these layers, women today just seem to own them more. At the party, I'd raise my glass to these ladies and say, "You are my heroes. Thank you for being more than just a mom."

Work, work. Perpetually behind. What on earth did I do with my time before? Are my kid's feet freezing? Was it my turn for snack? What's on for the weekend? Are they okay? Until the day I die: Are. They. Okay?

Max James Murphy, you sneaky rascal. How are you growing up so darn fast? You are four years old today. I am in awe. When people asked how old you...

No pain could have cut deeper than when my son told me he didn't know how it felt to be happy, when I was doing everything in my power to give him the best life I could. You just can't prepare for that. My job was to love him desperately, and never to give up hope. I did the best I could.

Confession time. Along with many other like-minded mothers out there, I concur: Greatness should not be the standard when it comes to mothering. On the contrary, I think it is okay -- dare I say desirable -- to instead be a good enough mother.

Dear Andrea, circa 2007: You decided to wait until your 30s to have children. Good for you! You don't understand it yet, but one day you will be "that mom." The one who lets her kids watch TV for hours so she can get the house ready for a party. The one who gives up on wiping a snotty nose while out in public.

Moms at the park playing with their kids are a common sight in most neighborhoods. Not surprisingly then, is it any wonder that there are as many different types of moms at the park as there are days of the week? Read on and you'll find that you'll likely recognize at least a few of these parents at your local playground.

It's like I was out there in the world for so many years being motherless and then one morning I peed on a stick and suddenly I was a mother. I couldn't have known then that the hole in my chest would only get bigger and that my loneliness would be married to the fact that I was motherless. I will never know love like this again, I thought, as I sat next to her hospital bed for the last time.

When I became a mother five years ago I naively assumed that having a child meant a woman had grown up. Gone would be the petty insecurities, comparisons and judgements that women so cruelly share during the teenage years and beyond. I was wrong.

It turns out that breastfeeding doesn't actually protect against later childhood obesity. This comes as no surprise to those of us who have devoted much energy over the years trying to quell the 'breast milk as miracle food; formula as rat poison' polemic. Today's breastfeeding culture is a zealous one. The paradigm that guides our thinking is one where we are prone to believe everything about breastfeeding is good and everything about not breastfeeding is bad. Overstating the science to encourage breastfeeding and prop up its importance is not only not necessary, it's also false advertising.

I am pretty honest in my photo representation of my life with my children on Facebook. I posted many pictures of my screaming newborns, and when my children are doing something particularly impertinent, I'll post that too. It's not lying to post a happy-looking picture that isn't really representative. It's not misleading.

You never really know what kind of youngster you've got until you test him out in the real world. Our recent trip to Orlando confirmed that our little junior is quite the joiner. We shouldn't be surprised by his courage, I suppose. His nickname is Turbo Ginger for god sakes.

I've adopted a lot of the attachment parenting principles, but co-sleeping isn't one of them. Unless they're sick or scared -- which of course happens from time to time and they're welcome in our bed -- I just can't do it. And I'm OK with that. So, attack me all you want but here are the top five reasons I don't co-sleep.

That moment when you look at your hands, at your feet; and they look...old. When you look at your body and it seems flabby. When you look at your eyes, and they seem tired. That, my dear Mama, is the moment you realize. That being a mother is the hardest gig you've ever had to do. Harder than anything. Keep on keeping on, soldiers.

In 2005 my life was very different than it is now. A job in advertising afforded me a very indulgent lifestyle and I spent every cent on purses, high heels, and enjoying myself. Having a child was the last thing on my radar. Life never goes the way we plan it. Today, I have a 10 month old, a husband and a house in Toronto.

Sometimes a body just needs to know. To feel a mother's love. To know that she is there. That she's within arm's length, when story lines grow dark. Becoming ominous, sinister. That she is only a whisper away. When the plot thickens to a portentous climax. When the theatrics prove a bit too much to take.

Doesn't every woman love to receive a box wrapped with a pretty ribbon from time to time? Imagine that box was delivered to your door, filled with something new to surprise and delight you once a month? Just sign up for a monthly subscription service that delivers boxes full of goodies to suit your needs.