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…

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…

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…

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…

Ginger fruit bowl and fuck your baby advice

SOMETHING MY HUSBAND SAID RECENTLY THAT MAYBE HE SHOULDN’T HAVE: “I feel great! I got twelve hours of sleep last night!” The Barnacle, my sweet, sweet boy, is three months old, and already he’s lived through earthquakes and some of the worst wildfires California has ever seen. His new trick is shoving both of his…

Chewy coconut cookies and WTF baby blues

Two weeks ago I moved in with SJ. Hired three guys to load all my stuff, including my coffee table (SJ does not believe in coffee tables — he calls them “shinbangers” — so when we want to watch 30 Rock instead of talking to each other, we eat dinner on a piano bench, like…

Saturday-morning crepes and WTF second trimester

It’s been a sweet time with SJ, my provider of intercourse — still! What a champ! — since last May. A couple Sundays ago, I lay on my back on SJ’s bed (fully clothed — it’s not that kind of a transition) and pressed a stethoscope against my belly — and the baby kicked the stethoscope! SJ came…

Linguine with clams and WTF PREGNANCY MARRIAGE MOVING

I am running on fumes. FUMES, I TELL YOU. In addition to having a full-time job, a part-time job, and a daily commute, this is what I’ve been doing instead of blogging about millennials, bonding with the heirloom tomato in my uterus, and getting my head around the fact that IN TWENTY-ONE WEEKS I WILL HAVE A SON….