I am sitting in our family room in the dark, listening to my baby cry in her nursery, just as I have for the last hour. At ten months we are finally, supposedly, teaching her to fall asleep on her own, and apparently it involves tears. Her torment is incessant, a tide...
“Just…one?” The hostess eyes me, a long sweeping look, as if trying to figure out what’s wrong with me that I have to eat out alone. I used to answer, “Yep!” with a smile, all peppy and bright and for God’s sake don’t...
I can easily spend an hour each day sprawled out on the floor, nose to carpet, examining the pile for lint, leaf bits, and the random fluff that floats around any cat-cluttered house no matter how many times you vacuum. Just step over me. I’ll be there for a...
Extended metaphors make me itch. This means I could never write straight nonfiction, because the extended metaphor is the nonfictionist’s crack. Just look at early parenting books, and you’ll break out in red hot hives, too. Not since those...
It’s nearly our baby’s 12th weekaversary, and I’m back on the blog. I’d have been here earlier, but I’m too lazy to type one-handed, and since I have our little one in my other hand most of the time (when I’m not at work, that is)...
