The Conception Diaries

Are you ready, because I’ve got three blog posts for the price of one:

I’ve been asked to write a weekly Conception Diary over at, alongside two other writers, all of us trying to conceive right before your very eyes!

My first post, They Call Me Fertile Myrtle, is introductory, but my second post gets into new material with a ridiculous story about the psychic Dave and I visited on our honeymoon.  If you like this sort of thing, check back at every Tuesday for my next installment.


Coincidentally, I have a post up on Lifetime Moms called 7 of the Craziest Things I’ve Done While Trying to Conceive, in which I come off like a complete lunatic, but hopefully an entertaining one.

As exciting as it would be to get pregnant, right now what I’m really obsessed with is WHERE ARE MY WEDDING PHOTOS ALREADY?? so I can share them with you and finally tell you all the wedding stories.  Soon, I swear.


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10 Things No One Told Me About Breastfeeding

IMG_4939One more post for World Breastfeeding Week. 

Before having a baby, the only thing I knew about breastfeeding was that your boobs get ginormous. As a former member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, I was looking forward to that — and my D-cup milk jugs did not disappoint. The rest, however, came as a complete shock.

1. It Hurts. At least, it did for me, for the first three weeks. The moments after latching were excruciating, like razor blades to the nipple, so much so that I couldn’t think or speak until the pain subsided. Miraculously, my nips eventually toughened up and breastfeeding became a surprisingly pleasant experience.

2. You Become a Fembot. Until my supply leveled out, I could shoot a stream of milk across the room, very much like the Fembots in Austin Powers … except with more nutritious ammo.

3. Surprise, It’s Your Let-Down Reflex! The feeling of the milk letting down reminded me of that uncomfortable tingling sensation you get when your foot’s asleep, only you can’t hop up and down on your breast to make it go away.

4. “On Demand” Is No Joke. Babies eat every three hours, except when they eat every 45 minutes, which was my experience during the newborn days. During one night of intense cluster feeding, my husband had to shove pieces of pizza in my mouth so I wouldn’t starve. It soon became obvious that if I “scheduled” my life around nursing, I would never leave the house, so I learned to do it standing up — in the middle of Toys ‘R Us.

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When Babies Prefer Boobs to Bottles

I wrote this for World Breastfeeding Week (August 1-7).  If you like it, please “Like” it over at  Thanks!

My mother still thinks it’s my fault.

After two weeks of blissfully (okay, painfully) nursing my newborn daughter around the clock, it was time to try giving her a bottle of pumped milk. Surely, it would be good for daddy to share in the joy of feeding — and give mama and her sore nips a break. So I strapped on the agricultural grade pump and filled a freshly sterilized baby bottle, handing it off to my husband.

Then someone started crying, and it wasn’t the baby.

I don’t know quite how to explain my reaction. With someone else feeding my baby, I had the strangest sensation of being fired from my job. I felt possessive and anxious. It is my mother’s opinion that my 2-week-old picked up on this anxiety and decided to help me out by NEVER EVER TAKING A BOTTLE EVER.

There were many more attempts at bottle feeding after that day. The next time we tried, I left the house so that not only would I not cry, but the baby wouldn’t be able to smell me, which I’d heard could be an impediment. Even in my absence, the baby politely declined the bottle (i.e. clamped her mouth shut, turned her head and made a grumpy cat face).

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10 Reasons Moms Look Exhausted All The Time

I have to give you the backstory on this one.  My editor at Lifetime Moms said that my post “10 Reasons Moms Dress Like Crap” was doing well for them, and could I please write a sequel.  I obliged, and unthinkingly included one of the least flattering selfies ever, so I hope it gives you a laugh!  If you have any ideas for the third installment of 10 Reasons Moms Look… please leave them in the comments.

“You look tired” is one of the rudest sentences in the English language. Unless it’s followed up by, “Lie down on this deck chair while I mind your children and straighten up your house,” there is no need to point out the obvious.

before after tired

Of course I look tired – I’m a mom! Here are just some of the reasons:

1. No matter how beat I am, falling asleep takes two hours because of this ticker in my head: “Did I turn off the oven? Lock the door? Drain the bath? Is dry drowning a real thing? Did her head feel warm when I kissed her goodnight? Are we out of milk?” It’s endless.

2. When I do fall asleep, there’s a 50/50 chance I’ll be awakened by an eerily silent child five inches from my face, just staring at me.

3. Even God had a day of rest. Not Mom.

4. Until they invent a single cosmetic product that can cover dark circles, brighten eyes, define cheekbones and extend lashes, my beauty routine is getting my hair (most of it) into a ponytail. It’s a look.

5. I’ll cover my kid in 50 SPF head to toe for a trip to the supermarket but go weeks without dabbing a little moisturizer on my crow’s feet. Haven’t really nailed that whole “self care” thing yet.

6. Every question I answer starts with “Why?” “Can I?” or “Give me.” They could use this technique at Guantanamo—more effective than water boarding! And exhausting.

Finish the list at Lifetime Moms…. Read More »

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A Mom’s Guide To Her Wedding Registry

I know, this is such a tease.  I owe you – the readers I love – a full accounting of the wedding.  The problem is, I’m still waiting for the official photographs, and trust me this is not a story that can be told without pictures (see preview below).  Until then, I’ll be sharing some of the posts I write for other sites, like this one from

All 3 About to walk aisle

Ah, to be an unencumbered bride. Engaged to be married, she registers for a fantasy future of fine china, crystal goblets and lily white hotel bedding. One never knows when The Queen might visit.

But what if you already have kids before you get married?

Then you know the truth: fancy, fragile, stainable shit is not going to survive 10 minutes in your house.

Sure, in 20 years when you have an empty nest, you may decide to throw some elegant dinner parties, but will the items procured two decades before have survived all the “indoor baseball” and “teddy bear tea party” incidents? I think not.

I recently married my baby daddy, and though we’d been cohabitating for years, we still needed STUFF. Specifically, I felt that if my family was going to continue to demand home-cooked meals, then I had a right to replace the rusting pots and pans I’d had since college. After all, how much damage could our daughter do to All-Clad? If she wanted to use my new pots as bongos, it was fine by me.

But once inside Bloomingdale’s, I struggled mightily against the bridal fantasies of my youth. Holding that registry gun in my hand, with the power to click on anything my heart desired, I started to covet the cut crystal vase that I imagined filling with fresh peonies on our mahogany entry way table (never mind that we don’t have a mahogany table. Or an entry way).

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