Za’atar chicken with garlicky yogurt and life on Lexapro

Writing an angry blog when you take out the angry part isn’t easy. Also, writing a blog when you take out the motivated-by-anxiety-about-how-little-you’ve-accomplished-by-age-42 part is not easy. I’M A MIDDLE-AGED COPY EDITOR WITH NO CAREER OBJECTIVES ACCEPTANCE IS KEY. For the past two months, Lexapro has helped with EVERYTHING. OH MY FUCKING GOD. These are…

Banana, peanut butter, yogurt smoothie and WTF surgery

Three weeks ago Wednesday, I went in for routine surgery to remove a large dermoid cyst from my ovary. BA DUM CHING. Instead of complying with the surgeon’s plan to be contained in a tightly rolled-up plastic bag, popped within that bag, then sucked out through a tube, my cyst decided to rupture and spew…

Cornmeal pancakes and WTF 2019

Destructibaby is 17 months old. When he cries, his sweet mouth widens to a warbling rectangle and tears leak down his cheeks, and he stands with his arms at his sides, chin up, crying out, “Hon-eeeee! Hon-eeeee!” After hearing it a few times, I said to SJ, “It sounds like he’s saying ‘honey.’” Then I…

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…