motherhood

The phrase “self-care” comes loaded with assumptions about who has the ability to care for themselves, and what kind of care is valuable. Exercise is virtuous. Devouring “Making a Murderer” in a single sitting is gluttonous.

But what can be said for the day upon which I am no longer enough? I dread that day.

I have a confession to make. Target, meh. I’m just not that into it.

For some reason, when you become a parent, comments start coming your way (or you start throwing them in someone else’s direction) so fiercely that it completely consumes you.... Co-sleeping is one of those hot-button issues, and, just like breastfeeding, most parents typically sway one way or the other with vigor.

I think we can all agree that there is some messed up stuff happening right now.

The people at TSA should really have a cookie or something.

This probably won't come as a surprise, but taking care of yourself is probably going to piss some people off.

While I appreciate knowing the correct fork for any situation, my mother’s relationship advice can basically be summed up as this: “There are girls who marry and girls who date. You’re a girl who marries.” (In Mom’s defense, I was a late bloomer. Since no one wanted to date me, this advice was also a form of encouragement.) Dad’s advice was a bit more literal and involved an imaginary quarter that should be held between your knees at all times. Seriously, I couldn’t make this up if I tried. So, I’ve compiled a supplemental list of tips for my daughters, more in line with the confident, sex-positive women I want them to be. I intend to shove these inside my hand-me-down copy of Pretty Me because, after all, knowing proper cutlery never hurt anyone.