I, LDM, am pragmatic to a fault. Linear. Theatrical, but no, not dramatic. I am uninspired by  mawkish displays, exhausted by overly demonstrative outpourings and frustrated by greeting card cliches. I see value in acknowledging that parenting is a big ball of amazing mixed with doses of ridiculous, bizarre, absurd, exasperating, infuriating and punctuated by long stretches of frankly not that special to anyone else. Emily Rapp’s non-linear memoir about mothering her son during his short life (ended by Tay-Sachs) encapsulates every facet of parenthood and is sharpened by what will be her son’s fate; he will likely die before 3 (He died in February 2013). It doesn’t matter whether any of us know HOW WOULD WE DO THAT/COPE WITH THAT/NOT BREAK DOWN TOTALLY: Rapp writes with such clarity and such groundedness that you will feel as if you take the same gasps she takes, and wonder why you haven’t ever thought about all of it before she wrote this down? It may seem dark for a blog by a mom, but I think this work is astonishing, steely, graceful, brilliant and terrible and fierce and it is really a good idea to read it.