I’m Done Having Babies And I Have All The Feels


 My baby daughter smells like freshly baked bread lightly misted with unicorn sweat. I spend most of my day inhaling her while she sits on my lap, gently nuzzling my cheek against hers so I can feel the insane softness of her brand new perfect skin. I’ve had to stop myself from nibbling her earlobes, because they look delicious. This must be what it’s like to have a drug problem, as I’m clearly addicted to Baby. But what happens when my stash runs out?

No matter how hard I try to keep her on my lap, this particular baby, at 21 months, is rapidly outgrowing her infancy. Though her hair still barely touches the top of her ears, and her chubby foot still fits in my palm, she’s started running. And jumping. And singing “Happy Birthday,” regardless of the occasion.

She’s also been having these tiny tantrums when things don’t go her way (we have this crazy rule about not playing with steak knives), tearing across the room with her arms above her head until she flops, sobbing, onto a bean bag pillow.

How much longer until she goes full toddler, insisting on choosing her own clothes, refusing to eat vegetables and melting down when it’s time to leave the park? And from there it’s just a hop skip to snarking that I’m “the worst mom ever” when I deny her use of my lipstick. I know this, because I have a 6-year-old who might as well be a teenager.

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11 Obnoxious Things Your 1-Year-Old Will Definitely Do While Flying


Everybody loves a 1-year-old, unless of course they’re on an airplane with one. I remember my Mommy & Me class leader telling us that from age 1 to 2.5, we should make all faraway friends and relatives come to us and avoid flying altogether. So when the invitation arrived for a family wedding 3,000 miles away, and my youngest daughter was still in that age range, I knew I was screwed.

But luckily, my 19-month-old toddler surprised me and was a perfect angel who slept the entire time. Kidding! (And wouldn’t you hate me if I wasn’t?) No, flying with her was pure hell in the skies, because here’s what she and — let’s face it — all 1-year-olds really do when you dare to fly with them:

1. Repeatedly kick the seat back in front of you, earning you glares and seething hatred from the affected passenger who is now your mortal enemy and probably creating a brand new Twitter account just to complain about you more publicly.

2. Demand to get “Uhhhhpp!” just as the captain puts the fasten seatbelt light on. Nothing will stop their screaming. All the things that work at home, like getting some fresh air outside or eating ice cream are totally unavailable to you now. Ha ha.

3. Cruise up and down the aisle using strangers’ inner thighs as convenient handrails. This will be far more embarrassing for you than for them.

4. Drop their goldfish crackers on the floor and eat them, digesting a mélange of airplane germs, which will incubate for 24 to 48 hours before giving your 1-year-old, and thus your entire family, a nasty virus right in the middle of your vacation.

5. Blow out their diapers — especially if the plane has no changing table. So then you’re forced to change them on your own lap. Hope you brought a big plastic tarp! You didn’t? That’s okay, your white pants will do nicely.

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I’m Worried I Like Babies Better Than Big Kids



My husband and I have a long-standing disagreement: I’m madly in love with babies. He wishes our kids could be born at 2-years-old.

Maybe it’s a woman thing, but how can anyone not be obsessed with babies? Sniffing their fuzzy duckling heads while they snuggle in for a nap on my chest gets me higher than any drug. Watching them breathe, staring into their wide, alien eyes, and feeling the clutch of tiny fingers around mine is the closest thing I’ve had to a religious experience.

But to my husband, babies, while cute, are fairly useless.They can’t tell jokes.They can’t ride a bike or go bowling. All they know how to do is poop and keep you up all night. So when our kids were little babies, he literally counted down the days until they were toddlers. “Stop wishing it away!” I would yell at him, as if his complaints had the power to speed up their fleeting infancy. We have never seen eye to eye on this.

When our first kid got old enough to skip down the street singing made-up songs, my husband started truly loving fatherhood. He embraced all the daddy stuff you can’t do with a baby, like hoisting our daughter on his shoulders, taking her to the diner for hot cocoa and chocolate chip pancakes, and explaining Star Wars. This was the job he signed up for. I am glad for him. For her. For both of them. And a little bit sad for me. For not only am I obsessed with babies, but I feel much more competent taking care of them. Babies’ problems are easily solved with a boob, a cracker, a snuggle, or a nap. When they get frustrated, distracting them is a simple as, “Look, the garbage truck!”  Mothering babies may be tiring, but it’s satisfying in its straightforwardness.

Babies never say “You’re the worst mom in the world,” just because you wouldn’t let them have a popsicle before dinner. Babies don’t kick the back of your seat while you’re driving when they don’t like the song on the radio. Babies don’t ask you all about dead bodies and sexual intercourse and Jesus before you’ve had breakfast. I can change a blowout diaper in an airplane bathroom with no changing table without breaking a sweat, but I still don’t know how to respond when my kindergartener says she hates me…

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The 9 Stages of Grieving the Brangelina Breakup

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s divorce news is hitting me hard, yo. Longtime readers may remember that my second blog post ever was actually about Brangelina being “Carriage Before Marriage” just like me. Our weddings took place the same year. I pretty much assumed we’d all be planning a special trip together for our 10-year anniversaries. And now they’ve gone and ruined it.


So excuse me if I’m in a bad mood. If you’re feeling crushed, let down, and disappointed like I am, here are the 9 stages of grief you can expect to experience over the next few days:

1. Intense Curiosity

For the first few hours, I’m just clicking links. Page Six claims there’s another woman. TMZ blames Brad’s substance abuse and anger issues.  Twitter is blowing up with Jen Aniston memes. But I need more. This might be the week to swing by Walgreens and buy all the tabloids.

2. Smug “I Told you So” Attitude

I can’t help it – the words “once a cheater, always a cheater” are ringing in my ears. What did Angelina expect after she fell for a married man?

3. Guilt

What am I, a monster? They have 6 kids together!

4. Denial

This can’t be happening. Maybe they’ll get back together like Megan Fox and Brian Austin Green?

5. Anger

Dangit, I defended you guys! When everyone else was Team Jen, I said Noooooo, can’t you see they’re perfect together?  That Mr. and Mrs. Smith chemistry cannot be denied. The mutual passion for do-gooding. All those tattoos. Genes that could make this face:


I had your back! Why you gotta make me look like a chump?

6. Assigning Blame

You know Brad, when I pictured us together, you were the guy from Legends of the Fall. Or at least Moneyball. But it turns out you were Floyd the stoner from True Romance all along. Six kids. Get it together, Brad.

7. Assigning Blame, Part Deux

And Angie, I know you’re a badass and all, but sole physical custody?  What happens if they all fall asleep in the car and need to be carried upstairs? Dads are nice to have around, even when they annoy us.

8. Depression

I guess that’s it. Love is dead.

9. Acceptance

Is Taylor Swift dating anyone new?

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Dear Husband, Please Stop Getting Hotter


Dear Husband,

I’m not trying to pick a fight, but there’s something you’ve been doing for a while now that really gets on my nerves, so I need to say something…

You’ve been getting hotter.

And it’s a problem.

When we first got together seven years ago, you and I were roughly equal on the attractiveness scale. If anything, I had the edge because I’d already perfected my “style.” (You needed a wife, a.k.a. me, to do that for you.)

Now that we’re both in our 40s, I’ve noticed an alarming trend. My looks are gradually fading, and yours, well, aren’t. In fact, you seem to be getting more attractive.

For example, you’ve been adding a few gray hairs to your otherwise dark, wavy mane, and they are literally the perfect salt to your pepper. Like, Patrick Dempsey and George Clooney wish they knew your hair secret. Me, I’m at the salon every 10 weeks desperately tinting and highlighting. Nobody wants to see the dishwater situation I’d be working if I let my hair go au natural.

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