November 16, 2016
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By Dawn C. Moulton
October 29, 2016
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By Dawn C. Moulton
I have said it before and I will say it again: parenting is the hardest thing I have ever done. I found out I was pregnant at 35 years old. By then, I had resigned myself to not giving birth to a child because it was way past my initial idea ‘to have 4 children by the time I was 30’. After I found out I was pregnant, I bought "the" book about pregnancy and another to get a different perspective. I changed my diet to eating healthy, no alcohol, no junk food, no caffeine, except I couldn't get away from chocolate, I would still indulge now and then. I sang to the baby inside me, his father talked to my tummy and in the end we had a wonderful boy. And, then came parenthood. When my son was an infant and a toddler, parenting was a breeze. My son, hands down, had me at my best. I cared for this little precious thing with patience and love. There was only one time, he was less than 2 years old, when I even recall having a sense of frustration from giving all of myself: I let out an almost guttural sound that was so deep within me it forced me to acknowledge that taking care of a toddler requires a lot. The first significant change to my parenthood came when my son was almost 3. I decided it was time for him to interact with other people on a daily basis. I chose a Montessori school; I hoped it would teach him enough independence to withstand my helicopter mom ways. During his first 3 years, I would run to his beck and call, and prevent him from doing anything that more

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