Boxed wine and WTF tumor

On Friday, a doctor said something to me no woman wants to hear: “You have a mass on your ovary, and it could be benign!” (SJ: I think a man would like to hear that even less.) Spoiler alert: I don’t have cancer. But I didn’t know that for sure until Monday, and on Friday…

Slow-cooker chicken congee and the problem with The Runaway Bunny

My son, current nickname Dirtbaby, is 14 months old. He has been walking for three months and no longer holds his arms in front of him like a zombie. He says “thank you” and “book” and “ball” and “hello” and “bye-bye.” He also says “mama” and knows that it’s me I HAVE A SON AND…

Open-face cucumber sandwiches and WTF first steps

The Barnacle, aka Crusty One-Eye, aka Gordo, aka my son, is 11 months old, and we are counting down the days until he turns one. By counting down I mean CHECKING HIM FOR SIGNS HE’S STILL A BABY AND TRYING TO TRICK HIM INTO ONE OF THESE REGRESSIONS I KEEP HEARING ABOUT. For the most…

Roasted salmon and cabbage and coming out of the woods

Crusty One-Eye, my sweet, sweet boy, is 10 months old (and for the record, we no longer call him Crusty One-Eye, as we unblocked his tear duct by holding his arms down and squirting breast milk into his eye twice a day with a dropper after a doctor prescribed antibiotics and I balked THIS IS…

Avocado toasts and WTF sleep

The Barnacle, my sweet, sweet boy, is nine months old tomorrow. He assaults anyone who will hold him by throwing his brick of a forehead against their face. He has just figured out that, in addition to throwing his head forward and back, he can grip the sides of his bassinet and rock side to…

Dad’s toast points and WTF pumping

I’ve been back at work for two months. This is what people say: IT GETS EASIER. This is what really happens: IT GETS HARDER. In February, we started daycare. I LOVE MY DAYCARE PROVIDER AND SO DOES MY SON. NONE OF MY NEUROSES IN ANY WAY REFLECT HER EXPERTISE OR LOVING CARE. And now I…

Roasted veggies and sausage and Dave comes to visit

In the middle of January, my dad came to stay with us for two weeks. Our daycare, aka Our Second Mortgage That Comes Without a House, didn’t start until February. And during a Skype conversation last fall, when it appeared both my parents had had too much to drink, my mother gaily volunteered to send…

Steamed mussels and WTF back to work

I started off Sunday morning cupping my hand so my son could vomit into it. A few minutes later, back in fine spirits, he gazed at his father in the kitchen whisking batter for crepes. “It’s a high-whisk activity,” SJ confided to him. “I like whisk-y business.” Two weeks ago, a couple days before I…

Beef stew and careening into the holidays

These are the last days of my maternity leave. The weather has turned cold, so in the predawn we turn on the heat, which makes a satisfying boom and then slowly seeps up through the floor vents and smells like a different toxin in each room. The baby has his first cold, coughing as if he’s…