Natural Woman

As every good momblogger should does, I shall soon tell you Baby G's birth story. I had the tiniest bit of a swagger on for delivering her sans drugs (not 100% intentionally, I am pro-pain-medication. My birth plans have been something like: I would like to try to not use drugs. BUT IF I ASK YOU BETTER FUCKING GIVE 'EM HUZZAH WESTERN MEDICINE). UNTIL Tim came into the house the other day carrying that giant fucking egg on the far left there.

CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS EGG? I am scared to crack it open for fear it is a triple yolk or something crazy like that. Poor chicken. And you know there ain't no Nubain on tap up in the coop. 

"Natural" births got nothing on, you know, Nature. 

Con muchos besos, A

Days of the Week Days of the Week

Happy Humpday!* My elder daughter's pre-pre-school teacher (whom I credit for every ounce of knowledge the kid has, and most of her manners) taught the kids some song about the days of the week, which imaginatively begins: "Days of the Week! Days of the Week!" I can count on Little A. singing it approximately 1000 times each Day of the Week. And then we have to play "I am the TEACHER!" during which she commands me to point to a random spot on the wall while naming the Days of the Week. Sometimes this leads to a rousing recitation of Months of the Year, or the Alphabet.

Speaking of which, I have somehow reached a point in my life where I learn about new bands through Sesame Street. Like this: 



Tilly and the Wall! So fun! Who knew? I'll have to have Little A. teach me how to use iTunes so I can buy an album. And maybe get a different song of theirs in my head, though we do look ultra cool walking through the grocery store parking lot shouting "1-2-3 APPLE!" while fake-tap-dancing.

Con muchos besos, A.

*Today I have my 6-week postpartum checkup. And while for the most part I am feeling surprisingly good, there will be NO SORT OF HUMPING today. Or in the near future. No effing way. Sorry, Tim.

She's Fresh

New year, new adventures, new baby, new new new. New virtual home.

After several years of sharing a space with my beloved co-bloggess E., it became clear (through utter dearth of content) that we had outgrown our beloved blog. Too many life changes, too much identity crisis. How could I write about breastfeeding on the same blog where I wrote about the first time I enjoyed...well...let's just leave it that it was something ADULT. 

I loved my old life, my old self. My freedom, my tiny apartment in Brooklyn. My high heels and haircuts and boy-crazy complete self-indulgence. Now I am a certified suburban mom, with two daughters, a station wagon, a mortgage, and a babydaddy boyfriend* whose laundry I refuse to put away because I ALREADY HAVE TWO KIDS YOU ARE A GROWNUP GODDAMMIT TIM.

So, let's pile on to this mommyblogger thing, shall we? If I am not sponsored by Pampers before this quarter is over, THEIR LOSS. Cause you bet I am gonna get all up in your face with baby poop and other fascinating shit.

ARE YOU READEEEEEEEEE TO RUMBUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLL!!

You betcha.


Con Muchos Besos, A. 



*can someone please invent a better term for a non-married coparent? Boyfriend sounds too frivilous. PARTNER sounds too business-y. Sometimes I just say "husband" and feel like I am getting away with something slightly naughty. So. Any suggestions?