The New Normal

So, yeah, it's been a loooong time since I've posted up in this joint. Sorry about that, dear Reader. Right around the time of my last post, our family took on a change that seemed like no biggie at first but then, slowly but surely, lead us (me) down a rabbithole of stress and exhaustion and tears. Or maybe it was a coincidence of Seasonal Affective Disorder combined with the New Normal: Part-Time-Single-Work-Outside-the-Home-Motherhood (PTSWOHM?). Everything felt wrong; I had no patience, no reserves. At the end of each day I would lay in bed and stew about all the (my) shouting and impatience and unfairness (to my beautiful children, who deserve better than a shouty, impatient mama, and to me, who deserves better than to feel so lonely and stressed) and even indulge in a little self-loathing directed at my butt and belly because my baby is a year old and why am I still so squishy and what do you mean my baby is a year old time is slipping away and boohoohoo woe is me.

(p.s. The baby's birthday was really nice, you guys. And she is walking! And continues to be just about the funniest, sunniest creature ever. Dedicated post to come.)

And then there was that horrible week in December, when nothing happened to me directly but everything shitty happened to everyone else, and then the following week the world was supposed to end, and I was only slightly relieved when it didn't. Because everything was wrong, and there was nothing I could do.

All around the world, time zone through time zone, the world didn't end. In fact, nothing changed at all. December 21, 2012: a spectacular non-event.

And the next day the sun came up. And the baby stood up in her crib and grinned at me in the half-light. And said mumumumumumumumumMAMA!! And so I thinks to myself I thinks, HEY FUCK THIS FEELING BAD SHIT. Life, as they say, is short. The black hand doesn't discriminate and it won't award misery with longevity. Or pass you by because you are ignoring your talents and pushing away love that is right in front of you. I can't protect myself or my girls from anything through the force of my worry or anxiety. 

So I pulled up my bootstraps (metaphorical and literal) and finally did my Christmas shopping and engineered a lovely holiday. And had a birthday of my own (39??!? seriously how the hell?!!?). And started a new blog with a good friend. I am turning this train around, as slowly and surely as it went off track.

Well. I reserve the right to be impatient and shouty on occasion because 3.5 year olds can be assholes, and I am not keen on having my nipples bitten, but damned if I don't promise to also make my girls laugh hard and sing loud and feel loved every day. And I will use this space to document the bits of our lives so that I can look back and laugh and say those hard years when the girls were little...they had sweetness too. And if I get my head out of my butt for more than a few minutes at a time I can see how I can affect positive change elsewhere.

And it shall be so.

So, what are you guys up to for the New Year?

xoxo, A

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?