All my friends are piles deep into KonMari’ing their lives. Piles of clothes and clutter they no longer need. I am not doing that. Honestly, I’m not purging my closets and desk drawers, because I’ve already purged my closets and desk drawers. I used to mentally anguish over what I would grab in case of […]
I mean, I put the matches down. And I’m here. So that counts. I’m not crying (as much) anymore. I’m not checking the time on my phone and calculating how far into my post-uterine life I am supposed to be. I’m just… here. Waiting. I have no answers to offer you. We have two roads […]
By the time you read this, I’ll be… I’ll be in my fucking bed. In my fucking room. In my fucking house. Laying next to my fucking husband who took off work to be with me not in this fucking house, but in the fucking hospital, getting my fucking surgeries. I’m angry. I’m so angry […]
I can no longer take Advil. Or vitamins. Or shave off my pubic hair. As of this morning, I have to stop having sex and wearing lotion. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at scribbled drawings of my vagina, bladder, urethra, and uterus on various packets of paper. I was sitting in the chair […]
I have that flu you get when you overextend yourself saying yes to things you have no business saying yes to because you are a foaming-at-the-mouth control monster with a martyrdom fetish.
I don’t know why we don’t make a bigger deal out of the transition from a kid sitting in the backseat to the front. We celebrate every other milestone with Pinterest parties and YouTube videos, why are we not at least making cakes for this?
“Remember to be safe, okay?” Andy leaned over and kissed me in the dark at 4:30am. He was on his way to work, I was laying in bed for another hour or so, before getting up, getting the boys to school, and then heading out on a seven hour road trip with Gigi. Remembering to […]
“Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Is something you have never had to tell me. Small stuff? What the fuck is small stuff?
So, podcasts are having a moment. (Thank god.)
Jorts is such an ugly term. It conjures up visions of dads in white socks with velcro sandals, cell phones clipped to their belts, waiting in line for churros at a theme park.