Annual Birthday Blog!

I know I rarely blog anymore (well, I do blog, but it’s all for AIRMATIC or Worcester Roller Derby these days) but I wanted to continue tradition and post my annual birthday list! I turned 28 today, so this year’s list is 8 things I did this year that I’d never done before. Enjoy!

  1. Joined a roller derby league. This has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I am learning a ton, getting my ass kicked, and having a freaking blast. The women I skate with are fabulous and I couldn’t ask for better teammates. Love you awesome nerds! (Watch a video of me getting low and hitting hard here!)
  2. Went skydiving. At this year’s annual Cape Cod vacation, Tyler, Em, and I went skydiving together. Few moments in my life measure up to the feeling of stepping out of a plane at 10,000 feet into the open air and just letting go. What a rush! (It didn’t hurt that my instructor screamed “Alohomora!” as our parachute opened. #memories)
  3. Sold a house. Jordan and I put our house on the market back in May and it was under contract within 12 hours. Can’t beat that!
  4. Got a Harry Potter tattoo. I could write a book about how much Harry Potter means to me, but suffice to say that I am quite a fan. Until the very end, Harry.FullSizeRender (15)
  5. Finished writing a novel. That’s right, I finished the book I wrote about in last year’s blog! Yay! I’ve not done anything with it since finishing, but maybe this year I’ll finish final edits and look into publishing!
  6. Binge watched the following shows: Game of Thrones, Grey’s Anatomy, Criminal Minds, Longmire, The 100, The Mysteries of Laura, Sirens, Great British Bake-Off, Person of Interest, Diners Drive-Ins & Dives, Duff Till Dawn, Bob’s Burgers, Fuller House, Dance Academy, Zoo, Battle Creek, Degrassi: Next Class, Zero Hour, White Collar, Melissa & Joey, Young & Hungry, Bones, FRIENDS, Leverage.
  7. Read novels by the following authors: J K Rowling (10), Steven King (6), Barbara Kingsolver (4), Jodi Picoult (6), Harper Lee, Phillippa Gregory (5), Cassandra Clare (9), Amy Poehler, Pete Wentz, Haven Kimmel (2), Cormac McCarthy, Sue Monk Kidd, Carol Goodman, Carolyn Keene (3), William Brodrick, plus 900 children’s books (give or take.)
  8. Wore silk pants. Yeah, last year’s birthday resolution was a good one. I wore silk pants, fishnets under denim shorts, shoes with cats on them, crop tops (even though my post-Atticus belly button is a hot mess, floor-length fundie-style skirts, and a plethora of Harry-Potter themed garments. I wore what made me happy and it was a great decision. #noregretsIMG_8621

Here’s to 28; may it be even better than 27!

Nat’l Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Last year, on National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I posted my story of loss, which you can read here if you so desire.

It’s been a year and a half since my miscarriage now, but there are still nights where my grief is crushingly present. I am triggered by the oddest things. For instance, when I found out that a friend is due on February 8th, the day I miscarried, I laid in bed and cried. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled for her, but her February 8th and mine will always be very different types of anniversaries, and being reminded of what I should’ve had, and what I did have, is heartbreaking. The memories I have of that day have not yet softened with time.

Here’s the worst part of my lingering grief, though: Every time I think about the child I could have had, I am overwhelmed with guilt because I have an amazing little boy who wouldn’t be in my life it weren’t for that loss. Grieving my miscarriage feels like a betrayal to Atticus.

These feelings aren’t rational, I know, and I would tell anyone else who felt this way that they should grieve as long and as hard as they need, and that grieving one loss does not diminish the love you have for your other children. Easier said than done, I suppose.

So, since writing anything else about this will only increase my guilt, I’m sharing a poem I wrote in the aftermath of my loss instead. If it rings true to you, I hope you find comfort in knowing you are not alone.

Your Poem (2-8-14)

your poem started with anticipation
and joy
with two blue lines on a thin white stick

it started with smiles
and nausea
and tiny socks
with plans
and scribbles of names on scraps of paper
with a belly that had just started to grow

i thought your poem would be seven months longer
that there would be
blurry photos of a uterus
a heartbeat
a nursery

but when i sat down to write
what came out was
and cramps
and a trip to the ER
where you fell away like the leaves in october
when you were going to emerge

so your poem ended early
with you the size of a sesame seed
with words as heavy as my heart


Señor Clingypants

And so it begins: the clingy stage.

We wake at 7:00, having spent all night sleeping with our faces two inches apart, to begin our day together. It starts with cuddles. Those are important. Next, I change Atti’s diaper. This is punctuated with piercing shrieks because Atti hates being dry and snug apparently. Then, more cuddles. Usually while I make coffee and breakfast one-handed.

At 8:00, we head down to my living room office for work, where Atti hangs out in the pack and play, but only as long as I feed him berry flavored puffs. Once the puffs are gone, so is Atti’s happiness. The next hour and a half is a mixed bag: it mostly subsists of Atti climbing all over my chair, desk, and body while I work. Sometimes he ventures further into the living room, but his adventuring almost always ends in either him breaking something (most recently a ceramic bowl we received as a wedding gift) or bumping his head and sniffling his way back to my lap. 

I get a respite at 10:30 for Atti’s first nap. Hallelujah. The temporary peace is shattered when he wakes up and needs to be changed. The only thing that calms him is more cuddles. 

At lunch time, we move into the kitchen (a perk of working from home is the ease with which I can relocate my laptop to a more Atti-friendly location) and have some snacks. Then, Atti plays at my feet for a half hour or so, but always within a two foot radius of my chair. 

After work, we shower. Atti likes to play with his bath toys while sitting on my feet. It works for us so no complaints here.

We usually run errands in the afternoon, which Atti loves since they always involve me hauling the diaper bag on one shoulder, and him on my hip, while trying to accomplish things that really need two hands. 

When we get home, it’s nap time again. This one gets taken in bed instead of the crib, where we cuddle up under our blanket and snuggle. Atti wakes up sweaty but seems to think it’s worth it. I, of course, get nothing done during this potential free-time. After the nap, we try to do some chores around the house, but rarely accomplish much before J gets home.

Atti meets him at the stairs, but then spends all evening chasing me around the kitchen, climbing my legs and crying when I get away. Last night, I went into the bedroom to have quiet time while J watched Atti, and little man busted the bedroom door open like a one-man SWAT team to get to me. 

Finally, we read books in bed until it’s time to turn out the lights. Then, Atti snuggles up and demands to be held with both arms (to ensure I’m not Facebooking or the like) until he falls asleep. It’s not over then though, oh no. I am held hostage in bed from that point out because if I get up, Atti is immediately awake and sitting up, rubbing his eyes sleepily but ready to follow me out into the kitchen should I try and make a break for it. At least I can usually watch Netflix in bed. 

The night passes quickly with Atti waking every 2-4 hours to be nursed or soothed back to sleep. And at 7:30, it all starts over again! 

Ah, the joys of a clingy baby! I wouldn’t trade it for anything though!


making time to be happy

Have I mentioned what an active baby Atti is? From the time he wakes up until he fitfully falls asleep (only to wake up five to ten times in the night) he is joyfully rambunctious. He is giddy with curiousity, gleeful in his mischief-making, and delightfully undeterred by the fact that Mommy is really struggling to function at even a basic level.

Atti is happy. Not all the time, of course; he has his bouts of crying (mostly related to him bashing his head into things while exploring) and he flat-out doesn’t know how to sleep properly, but overall, he is happy.

I, on the other hand, am not happy by nature. I’m snarky and hilarious by nature, but not necessarily happy. (“I like my women like I like my coffee. Bitter.” – Jordan) Also, when I get less than eight hours of sleep, “happy” falls way down on the list of emotions I feel that day. Case in point: when Atti woke up from the shortest nap known to man, grinning excitedly, and reached over to grab a hunk of my hair with his meaty little paw, I wailed, “Why do you hate me so much?!”

Not happy.

I have to make a conscious effort to be happy. And, actually, it’s a lot easier than I expected. I mean, I have this amazing little man, who thinks I’m pretty swell, and who just wants to hang out and have fun together all day. Sure, I’m exhausted and sleep-deprived, but this kid is counting on me to make his day an adventure! And there’s nothing I like more than being the reason Atti is smiling.

So we go on adventures. We slalom with our grocery cart. We bounce bounce bounce on the library steps. We play airplane on Mom’s legs. We take miles-long stroller walks to look at ducks. And you know what? When I’m in the thick of adventuring with Atti, I forget that I only got to drink half a cup of coffee before he poured it all over my desk. I forget that my legs ache from doing blast-off rocket ship squats with him. I forget all the terrible, tiring, maddening moments, and we just have fun. We have so much fun that I’ve had to apologize to two separate cashiers when I arrived at their counter out-of-breath and with tears in my eyes from laughing so hard.

But I’ll make those apologies all day long if it means sharing just one tenth of Atti’s natural happiness. 🙂


This is the year I wear silk pants. 

It’s my favorite day of the year: my birthday! August 14th, man, what a day. Usually, I celebrate this auspicious occasion with a list of reasons why I’m grateful, or happy, or excited about the year to come, but this year I’m just going to lay down some random statements, throw in some life goals, and top it all off with a selfie. Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, here we go!

1. I’ve been writing a novel for almost two years now. This is the year I finish it. (Maybe. Hopefully.)

2. Isn’t it weird that on your 27th birthday, you’ve actually already completed your 27th year alive? I think that’s weird.

3. I’ve never been particularly fashionable, but I do spend a fair amount of time choosing what to wear, and it’s often anxiety-inducing. Not anymore, guys. This is the year I go for broke. I think the four pairs of silk pants (in varying degrees of loud patterns) that I recently acquired will pair nicely with my vast selection of Harry Potter-themed shirts and emo band t-shirts.

4. Atticus Rex is the coolest kid on the block. This year he’ll probably start walking and talking and that is just mind-blowing. #luckiestmomever

5. Oh, hey, speaking of moms: big shout-out to my mama on this the day of my birth! Thanks for building me and bringing me earthside, Mom, I appreciate it more this year than ever before. (No thank yous for my dad who brought flu germs into the delivery room, potentially endangering my life. Good work, Dad.)

6. Jordan took today off so that we could take Atti to the lake as a family! What a guy! He’s really embraced this whole dad thing. It suits him, too. My favorite part of the day is when Atticus wakes up and immediately makes a beeline for Dad in bed to grab his beard (his way of telling him how much he loves him, I think.)

7. I’ve been breastfeeding for almost 9 months now. Good work, me.

8. This year I’m going to amp up my social activities. Atti and I already have a standing weekly play date with new friends, but I’m going to try to take him to more group activities at the library and such. Seeing as it appears he’s an extrovert, I guess I should step my game up. #forthechildren

9. I’m also going to eat more vegetables. Seeing as I don’t eat any now (Vegetarian of the Year) it shouldn’t be too hard.

10. Overall, I expect this year to bring huge changes, immeasurable fun, and daily adventure. And I can’t wait. 😀


5 thoughts on pregnancy

A friend of mine recently found out she was pregnant, which got me thinking about some things I learned during/after pregnancy, so here’s five things I think are worth mentioning!

1. Really take advantage of this time. I found pregnancy exhausting. I was carrying around 30 extra pounds, I was being pummeled from the inside out, and putting on my shoes became serious cardio. That said, pregnancy is like a relaxing massage compared to once the baby is actually here. Babies do not care about your schedule or your hobbies or really anything at all. They’re kind of jerks. So my advice is to try and get everything you can done in advance because once that kid is here, everything takes four times as long as it should. (And go ahead and double that again if you have a Stage 5 Clinger like Atti.) Also, when your due date has come and gone, the best way to induce labor is by starting a project or a book that you really want to finish before baby is born. Truth.

2. If you can breastfeed, stick with it. I’m not trying to mommy-shame anyone about how they feed their kids, this is from a strictly financial position. If you can breastfeed, do it, because you will save A TON of money. Like, a small fortune. Kids are expensive enough as is, this is a great way to cut some costs! Unfortunately, even for those of us who can physically make milk and aren’t struggling with low-production or anything, breastfeeding is hard. This was one of the things I didn’t expect would be so hard. I thought it would come naturally, but it didn’t. I had two weeks of cracked, sore nipples and painful breasts that often left me in tears when it was time for Atti to eat (every 2-3 hours). It was rough. However, after two meetings with a lactation consultant, I was able to make some positive changes and within a few days, it was smooth sailing. I won’t lie, there were times when I considered quitting and formula feeding, but I’m so glad I didn’t. Because formula would’ve had to come out of Atti’s college fund.

3. Realize this is the last time in your life you will be the center of attention. If you like being in the spotlight, pregnancy is great. Everyone wants to talk about how you’re feeling and what your plans are. Strangers ask you (often incredibly intimate) questions. People tell you you’re glowing. It’s great. And then you have the baby and people are thrilled for you and want to spend time with you, but it’s no longer really about you. At all. And I presume it never will be again. That’s a rough transition to make. I don’t know how to soften that blow, but maybe expecting it and anticipating the shift will ease the pain.

4. Give your body time to heal. After childbirth, your body is going to be a mess. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true. Your stomach will be, as Anne Lamott says, “a waterbed covered in flannel.” When you lie on your side, it will lie “politely beside [you], like a puppy.” You’ll feel flabby and weird. Your hair will start falling out. You’ll probably have stretch marks. It’s a lot to deal with. But here’s the good news: you built a human with that body! Cut yourself some slack if you’re a little softer in the middle than you were before. Exercising and eating healthy to return to a healthy weight is great and all, but remember two things: It took you 9 months to gain this weight, give yourself (at least) 9 months to lose the weight, and don’t ever, EVER feel less beautiful because you have stretch marks, or an effed up belly button. You made a human. A real honest-to-goodness human. The marks that journey made should leave you feeling proud. That’s a badge of honor, right there.

5. Read about pregnancy, child development, birth, all of it. I highly recommend reading about all the things you’re going through. Partly because it’s awesome, but partly because when you know better, you do better. If you want a natural birth, read about it first! Get prepped! Want to make your own baby food? Google it! Wondering what toys are best for growing kids? Pick up a Parents magazine at your OBGYN! There is so much data out there, it’s overwhelming, but it never hurts to jump in and read!

just look how far we’ve come

Atti is 6 months old today. Six months! Half a year! Wow. Here’s a quick summary of our life with Atti.  He started out as a tiny, wrinkly, red and squishy newborn. He didn’t cry for almost half an hour after birth. He was cuddly and sweet and amazingly mine. (I mean ours.)

Now, he is over 2 feet tall, weighs 20 pounds, can crawl backwards, rolls like a champ, eats solid food, sleeps on his tummy, and enjoys licking the occasional window.   Between then and now, we’ve had 6 doctor visits, 1 minor surgery, 7 vaccinations, 2 teeth, 1 bald spot, and a whole lot of fun.

 We’ve visited 5 states and met 1,000 relatives. We’ve made baby friends. We’ve made mommy friends. We’ve taken dozens of baths.

 We’ve dressed up.   We’ve dressed down.   We’ve had tons of cuddles.    We’ve gone to the zoo, Trader Joe’s, the library, 5 parks, the dentist, 2 thrift stores, and the coffeehouse.  We’ve smiled.  Like, a lot.   Except when we’ve not.

But mostly we’ve smiled.

 In a nutshell, it’s been the best. Here’s to the next 6 months, whatever they may bring!

necessary unnecessary baby items

The following is a list of unnecessary baby items that have become staples in this home. Things that technically aren’t “needs,” but that I/Atti/my sanity cannot live without:


 Wubs is a little monkey, attached to a pacifier. He’s a Wubbanub and he makes bedtime, playtime, and travel so much more enjoyable for us all. Atti can easily grab his legs and arms to reposition him, and doesn’t seem to care what part of Wubs goes in his mouth! (Wubbanubs come in a ton of different animals. Due to my debilitating fear that Wubs will get lost and Atti will never sleep again, we recently purchased a 3-pack to have as backup.)

Mirror for Rear-facing Car Seats.

This accessory attaches to the backseat headrest and allows the driver to see the rear-facing baby by looking in the rearview mirror at this mirror. It’s been a great reliever of stress in the car. Baby’s screaming? Check the mirror and see that it’s because he threw Wubs out of reach! Baby’s coughing? Check the mirror and confirm that he’s not choking! (Bonus: the mirror we have also plays music and lights up!)

Swaddle sacks. 

Turns out I can’t swaddle a baby to save my life. Enter this stretchy sack with Velcro closures! Pop the baby in the sack, Velcro him up, and, voilà, happy baby! We also had fleece ones for winter, which Atti loved to be in naked!

This teether.

 Any teether will get the job done, but this ones the cutest. 😁

Baby nail scissors. 

 After the first time I cut a chunk of Atti’s thumb off with regular clippers, we switched to baby scissors and have never looked back.

Dress-up clothes. 

 Because look at this kid.   I mean, seriously.

 Just look at him.

the downside to well-behaved children

“Ok, now you’re just looking for things to complain about.” No, no, hear me out. Let me tell you why having a well-behaved child blows. 

Atticus is a good kid. He doesn’t scream in public. He falls asleep easily in crowded coffee shops, bustling bookstores, and at loud parties. He loves meeting new people. He smiles easily at strangers. He likes having people visit the house and wants to spend lots of time with them. In short, he elicits lots of “oh, what a good baby!” which is nice to hear…until it’s not. 

See, my “good baby” only comes across that way because he does well in social situations. He loves people, he loves going on adventures to the grocery store, he loves walking into town. Those are his best moments. Those are the moments I take photos of, the ones that make people say, “he’s always so happy!” Let me assure you, my baby is NOT that happy all the time. 

For instance, he was not happy last night when he screamed at me for over an hour no matter what I did. Cuddles, swaddling, head rubs, songs, diaper changes, nothing made him happy. And he expressed that discontent loudly and extensively.

He’s also not happy when I make him put pants on. If he can’t be pantsless, life isn’t worth living.

Sometimes the simple act of not making eye contact with him while he plays by himself sends him into a rage. I don’t know why he feels I need to stare deep into his eyes while he plays with his toes, but he does. 

So no, he is not a happy baby all the time. He may not be colicky or psychotic but he’s still a baby, and no baby is easy. Ever. They cry. They scream. They spit up. They demand all your attention. They need snuggles, even happy ones. They poop, like, all the time. Then, when you’re in the middle of changing them, they pee on you. It’s madness. Chaos. Exhausting. 

Yes, my baby is fabulous. We have tons of good, even great, moments. He’s absolutely amazing, and I wouldn’t change a thing about him because he’s an incredible little human. What I would change is the assumption that a baby who laughs a lot is somehow a walk in the park.

I guess what it comes down to is this: when people tell me what a good baby he is, it makes me feel like I’m less of a mom than someone who has a fussier baby. I know that’s not true, but even while writing this I’m feeling guilty for complaining when my little guy is so smiley. But I deserve to complain. Because parenthood, even to the happiest baby on earth, is hard. Parenthood is exhilarating and awe-inspiring and beautiful but it is also the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done, with the possible exception of childbirth. 

So cut me some slack when you see me bleary-eyed and delirious, while my baby giggles happily on my hip. I am momming as hard as I can just to survive over here, and it definitely doesn’t feel easy.

(It’s totally worth it, though, I mean, have you seen this kid? Awesomesauce.)

an open letter to the teenage girl working at Dunkin Donuts

Dear teenage girl,

I ordered a caramel latte from you and as I pulled out of the parking lot and took a sip, I was deeply, soul-crushingly saddened to find that whatever I was drinking was not the delicious milky, caramel-y treat I had requested, but some bitter awful Satan brew.

I quickly experienced a range of emotions. Denial (“maybe it was just the first sip,”) anger (“how could she do this to me?!”) sadness (“I’m going to pull over right here to cry,”) and despair (“how will I go on?”). “Get over it,” I can hear you say, “it’s just coffee. Don’t you have real problems?” I’m so glad you asked. Let me tell you about my real problems.

My child no longer sleeps well. He wakes up every hour on the hour, screaming bloody murder and will not be soothed back to sleep for hours. Hours spent screaming.

He’s teething, too, so he’s chewing on everything, but prefers the soft, delicate skin of my inner arm.

He poops constantly. Just huge, monster poops. Ones that escape his diaper and end up all over my pants and kitchen floor.

He saves his spit-up for when I least expect it, like when he’s doing tummy time on my chest, allowing the spit-up to run down my neck towards my ears.

He loves car rides, right up until he throws his pacifier just out of reach and then screams until I pull over on a busy highway to climb into the backseat to retrieve it.

He’s an amazing little boy, don’t get me wrong, but we’re going through a rough patch and that latte was the only thing getting me through the day.

I know this is a minimum wage job. I know you’d probably rather be anywhere else. I know this is not a life and death situation. I know it’s a #firstworldproblem. I know that, and it’s why I didn’t turn the car around to demand you correct it, I just came home. But I’m writing this letter because I had a lot of feelings that I needed to get off my chest (due to my continuing post-childbirth hormonal surges) and because I hope next time a woman comes through your line with weird stains on her shirt, unwashed hair, and purple bags under her eyes, you bring your A-game and deliver the right order because that coffee might be the only thing between her and a padded room complete with straight jacket.


A woman on the edge (who is drinking your awful coffee anyway because dammit I paid $3 for it and need the caffeine)

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