One foggy, fuzzy day when I had three kids under the age of five, I happened to be sitting on a park bench near a group of very put-together moms. (Foggy and fuzzy didn’t describe the weather, just my mental status that year.) These moms were chit-chatting as their school age children played nearby. I was nursing my six-month old while my two-year old tried to bounce on my knee. My four-year-old was braiding and twisting my hair to keep herself occupied. I looked up at this group of moms, and I said, “Tell me it gets easier.” They shook their heads. “No,” they agreed, “It doesn’t get any easier. It just gets, um, different.” Read more…