Bitchy Starbucks Lady

My dear friend, the Bitchy Starbucks Lady, is sharing her special charm on MSN today.  I thought I’d invite her over for a late-night cup of coffee, so that you’d have the pleasure of meeting her 🙂   *************************************************************************** I didn’t know that you were behind me until suddenly you were next to me. Your perfectly…

A Silent Pause

  I sat in the middle of a mountain of clean laundry tonight.  Small, soft hills of little boy tees mixed with my husband’s gym shorts and a few of my nursing bras.  A baby onesie stained with a faded orange trail of ibuprofen.  The thin fabric of my favorite yoga pants, smooth under my…

Paternity Leave: Play Ball!

Dear Mike Francesca, Boomer Esiason, and Craig Carton, I have no idea who you are. Really, I don’t.  Sorry.  I had to look up how to spell your names for this article. But I heard what you said the other day about New York Mets player Daniel Murphy, and my husband knows who you are,…

Doula Week: A Thank You

I brought my baby home from the hospital when he was five days old. Even though it was only ten months ago, I can’t quite remember what day of the week it was.  In my heart, it was a Monday. Mondays are for new beginnings.  Mondays are for starting over.  Mondays are for reinvention, and…

Nursing on Airplanes

 Super amazing comic by my friend Eliza Kinkz I wasn’t going to get involved in the debate about nursing on airplanes. I don’t even fly Delta. My baby is 9 months old now, and it’s pretty rare that I can convince him to nurse under a cover. I’ve flown other airlines and breastfed Ben discreetly…

Bullies and Bad Words

There’s a game that we play, my boys and I, when the sun goes down and we’re getting a little stir-crazy.  Max balances an overturned stacking block on his hand, or on his head, or at the edge of the couch, and I try to throw a ball in.  At nearly five years old, he…

How We Feed: Tubies

Sometimes when I am nursing Ben to sleep, the light of the neighboring houses shines through his window and dances across his cheeks.  I imagine that behind each light, there are other mothers who are cuddling their babies.  Rocking their toddlers.  Reading “Llama Llama Red Pajama” to their preschoolers.  And I feel a little less…