Love & Luck(72)

Sam. Somewhere in the tornado of 2016/2017, you marched up to me and said, “Mama, I see you. And I like you.” Not only did that line inspire a major theme of this book, but it also struck me as one of the most profound things one person can say to another. To be seen in your messy hair in your messy kitchen, by a very small and very honest person, and be deemed likable? It’s the entire point. I see you, Sammy. And man, do I ever like you.

Nora Jane. Every second you’re here makes the world better. I could compare you to a pink frosted cupcake or a perfect chocolate éclair, but that would be silly. You’re a little girl, not a confection! (Although it’s easy to see why one would make the mistake.) Thank you for sharing your baby years with Love & Luck. And I cannot even begin to tell you how much it thrills me that 90 percent of your tantrums involve wanting to be read to. I love you, Bertie Blue.

Liss. Have I ever told you that you are in my top five women I look up to? You are. Sometimes when the world gets scary, I square my shoulders and march in, attempting that unique Liss combination of simultaneously loving hard and not giving a damn, which is exactly what I’ve watched you do for the past twenty years. Thank you for keeping me on track.

Ali Fife. This is where I should thank you for dropping everything to spend seventy-two hours on an Irish road listening to me attempt to swear, but I’m going to skip that and talk about another day. It was also in the 2016/2017 haze. Life had been uphill for such a tremendously long time, and I was worn out in every possible way a person could be worn out. I found myself literally lying on the floor, with no idea how I was going to get up off it. And who walked through my door? You. I didn’t even have to call. You just showed up, surveyed the mess my life was in, and stayed. For several days. Who does that? You. Thank you for doing that for me.

The women in my postpartum depression support group at the Healing Group. Even if I never run into any of you again, I will never, ever forget that rock-bottom morning when you surrounded me and gave me the strength I needed to walk out of the room and face being a mother for one more day. Thank you.

Mary Stanley. For providing wisdom and irreverence and large boxes of tissues. Also, for being the first person to whom I ever said the words “I am an artist.”

The Children’s Center. For giving me hope when mine had run out.

Preschool Moms Gone Wild. The friends I didn’t know I needed until we crash-landed at the same picnic table. Thanks for making Motherhood 2.0 less lonely, and for making me laugh harder than just about anyone. I think you are all divine. (When are we getting our tattoos?)

Andrew Herbst. For knowing things about cars and patiently coming up with ways for me to ruin them. (Hey, we’ve been friends for a long time now!)

Eli Zeger. The inspiration for Indie Ian and his articles. Thanks for the phone call. You are such a good writer—I can’t wait to see where your talent takes you. Everyone, look him up on Twitter, @elizeger.

Roisin & Ross. I think the flight attendant who switched our seats was acting under divine influence. Thank you for teaching me the ways of Irish teens and for being so eager to help! Also . . . congratuations on your engagement!

The Army of Nannies. Dana Snell, Hannah Williams, Sarah Adamson, and Malia Helbling. Thank you for carrying my babies when my arms weren’t enough.

My family. Rick, Keri, Ally, Abi, Brit, McKenna, Michael. Thank you all for showing up in your own ways. I am so blessed.

DAVID. My love, my peace, my strength. For a year and a half, we had an ongoing conversation that consisted of me saying, “I can’t—this is too much,” and you responding with, “You can—this is what you’re here for.” You are far more than I deserve, and I’m hanging on tightly to you anyway.

And this last one’s just for me, but it needs to be here. Thank you to the little girl on the raft. New deal: you lead, I follow. I can’t wait to see where we go next.