I’m supposed to have posted weeks ago. It’s shameful, really. Why the delay? I’ve been trying to think of something to write about that isn’t about motherhood, or baby. And I keep coming up short. My yoga teacher laughed when … Continue reading
Almost six months ago I had a baby. Since then I’ve written basically nothing. (The last thing I wrote says it all.) This lack of “productivity” (I put this in quotes because productive has come to mean something else entirely in the last while, mostly having to do with milk and laundry) is for all the obvious reasons that did not seem so obvious six months ago. In fact, right before giving birth, a friend asked me to look over a piece she had written for a blog about motherhood and in it she said something about how she used to have so much time.
I think my exact words in response were, “I always resent how parents constantly say, ‘I used to have so much time; what the hell did I do with it?’ as though all childless people have nothing to do.'” My friend was very kind and said nothing. Obviously she knew I’d be laughing at myself soon enough.
When we were younger (and by ‘we’ I mean my small group of childhood girlfriends) — not yet driving, still celebrating birthdays with pool parties and sleepovers, passing multicolor notes in study hall — we would comment on the fact that someday we’d attend each other’s weddings. If we weren’t then distracted by another pressing topic, the conversation would continue:
“Just think about when we all have babies.”
“And when our babies hang out together.”
“Hopefully we all have babies at the same time.”
“Yeah, we should definitely plan it that way.”
“We have to.”
“You and (insert name of current love interest) will have super cute babies.”
Etc. Continue reading
I have started to write and then thrown away too many blog posts this week. I am feeling unable to generate anything of quality. So I have decided to share with you an idea that I have been kicking around. A while ago I dug out my old diaries and gave them a read. They were full of ridiculousness that was begging to be shared publicly. When I wrote these entries, over twenty years ago, every word was serious and a precious secret. Continue reading
This is how the story of my birth always starts. A clear, cold February night. My mother’s water breaking at 2am. Her excitement. A long coat with a fur collar. An orange Honda that might as well have been a coach with four white horses on its way to the hospital because my mother felt like a queen. Continue reading
Life gets in the way. That’s what my midwife says when I explain how we missed our son’s nap window because we stayed at the restaurant five minutes too late having dessert, or when the fire alarm goes off and wakes the baby an hour and a half after bedtime. We are sleep training (have been for what seems ages), and my midwife holds my feet to the fire. Except that sometime, she says, life gets in the way.
Such is the case with Mother Sugar. Continue reading
But something told me it wasn’t ok to love my perfectly tall and thin body. Continue reading
A few months ago, my LH (Loving Husband) and I started going down the nutritional rabbit hole. By this I mean we started reading books and watching oodles of documentaries about food. This is something I had avoided in my … Continue reading
Flapper pie told me to join a mommy group. I resisted. It’s hard to explain why. I guess I’ve always secretly liked to consider myself slightly out of the mainstream, slightly left or right of center. When I was a … Continue reading
When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to be a hippie. I burned to stand against war and injustice, to march in protests and go to sit-ins. But when I was that age, there didn’t seem to be a … Continue reading
Mother Sugar 