Shanghai: Nails, Toxic Plastic and Hysterical Moms

My daughter starts to bite her nails. I know, I know it’s something that come and then goes. But for me, dogged nail-bitter since childhood until the age of twenty-nine, it is a trauma. I still remember the pleasure of gnawing, the hangnail evisceration until it bled, the flaking of the nail in layers up to the root and the final tear, a painful self-inflicted punishment. “My love, how come you never stop?” As if I don’t know the answer… “Mom, the thing is, I do not even notice eating them, but I always do. Yesterday I ate even those of my toes.” AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH “I feel nervous in my teeth and I really want to gnaw something.” “Okay, for now

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Letter to Future Moms

What does it mean to become a Mom? I mean, how do I explain to my friends Samy and Fulvia who will give birth in days/months, what can it mean to them? I do not know what it means to be a Mom. I can tell you what I am for my little girls but above all what they are for me. An extension of my upper limb, an appendage, an internal organ that is out of my body. It is a love without a way out. From other loves there is a moment of breath, a moment of peace, even a way to escape from it. As enthusiastic, intense or painful as it is you can survive. I don’t

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