Even better, Lamott struggles as a mother. She is a recovering addict of alcohol and drugs with some hints of psychosis, as well as a single mother with no help from the father. She writes bluntly about her feelings towards the baby, even reflecting on the resentfulness and anger that comes with being around a newborn 24 hours a day. These are raw, true emotions that often aren't allowed to be expressed in our culture. Hearing her say the things I did not allow myself to think was refreshing. And at sometimes there was a sense of shadenfreude where I gathered strength knowing I was doing better than Lamott (mostly thanks to the sanity of my husband).
I loved this book, but I think a lot of that had to do with the fact that we were living the same life as new mothers with beautiful baby boys. However, I think readers who were not in our same situation would also find this read enjoyable. Lamott is a critically praised writer who sucks you in with her honest and witty language.
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