Reality TV is Not Doing Wonders for Our Mental Health as Moms
When my son was born, he came home from the hospital to a one-bedroom apartment only slightly larger than the room he’d been delivered in. His “nursery” – if we can call it that – was a portion of our shared bedroom where his crib was wedged just inches away from my side of the bed with a single illustration mounted to the wall overhead. I would have loved nothing more than to decorate a sweet little boy’s nursery for him, to pick a theme like “nautical” or “wild animal,” and select curtains with a matching rug for him to play on one day.
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