I adore my husband. He is a great dad. When we moved back to Rhode Island eight years ago, I found myself barefoot and pregnant again, venting to him about every little thing nearly every single day. Something he said to me one day really put things into perspective. “Babe, I love you, but I don’t have a vagina.”  If you’ve ever met my husband, you’d understand his dry sense of humor. At the time, he meant well. He was encouraging me (for financial and emotional reasons) to go back to work a few months after the baby came, and get back to being Jackie. Upon hearing this, I consumed enough chocolate to feed a small village. It helped a little, but not a lot. I didn’t really know anyone in the neighborhood yet. My son was two years old. Not a calm, quiet boy. But an active toddler with spikey blond hair who didn’t understand why his mommy was restless. I had been working full-time for many years and was dumped into domesticity when I found out I was pregnant (mid-way through my job search). Most of my dearest friends were childless at the time and now lived 3,000 miles away in Seattle, WA. Think Carrie Bradshaw meets Old Navy. Ovens weren’t meant for cooking for these women, they were a place to store magazines. And meeting for after-work cocktails was a norm. I didn’t have the time or the patience to bother explaining what it was like to get up every three hours to feed a baby. Now many of them are mommies.  It didn’t take long for them to realize the inevitable – motherhood is freaking hard. After each baby was born, they would call and say, “Jackie, I don’t know how you did it! I had NO idea what you were going through!”

Now we’re all in the same raft, trying to stay afloat.

Welcome to Venting Sessions

Some women train for a marathon or climb a mountain to escape the craziness of motherhood. I like to stress eat and vent with girlfriends. That’s why I’m launching this blog, Venting Sessions. To help other mothers feel like they’re not alone. Venting Sessions is a place moms can let it out and share our mommy ventings, experiences, jokes, whines, giggles and stories. (And swap fun recipes that fit into our hectic lives as opposed to unrealistic recipes that stress us out even more.)

I started this blog for mothers who aren’t afraid to admit that no matter how female relatives, friends, celebrities, talk show hosts and other women we look up to (but don’t know from Eve) make us feel, we know deep down that we aren’t perfect. And it’s OK. We are mothers. And holy schnikes, I know we didn’t start out this way. Many felt nauseous a few weeks after date night and months later ended up in the hospital wearing a maxi pad the size of Texas. (Holding a newborn that resembles ET’s little brother, of course.) God help us all. We love our kids. And they are so worth it. But for the love of Christina Applegate and Will Arnett, there’s nothing like venting with friends. From hosting a family reunion on three hours of sleep to dealing with other not-so-nice moms at the playground who have a knack for making the rest of us feel inadequate, venting to me is like a Dove Bar swimming in whipped cream. It’s how I get by. It’s how I keep going. Like free therapy, Venting Sessions is meant to be a place where moms can let it out without consequences. So swap those mommy stories, ventings, whines, giggles and easy recipes. Let your roots shine, girls. No perfect mommies allowed. (I’m psyched about launching this blog, but I can’t jump up and down too much. I haven’t been able to do this since having my second child. Please don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.)