When the blog was cranking along I was contributing regularly to The Huffington Post and Scary Mommy. I was nominated for an Iris Award as “Breakout of the Year” and was recognized in the “Impact” category at Voices of the Year for The Child I Didn’t Adopt .
So yeah, I was pretty fancy.
But enough with all that. Here I will properly introduce myself. Please read this as you would a singles ad. I think that’s the “feel” I”m going for.
I spent much of my 20’s adventuring. After a variety of thrilling experiences (being bitten by a stray, possibly rabid mountain dog in Peru, allowing a drunk Canadian to cut me a mullet mere days before serving as maid of honor in my friend’s wedding, and finding myself in a Turkish Bath with two elderly, topless women eager to bathe me using only Brillo pads), I’ve come out on the other side of things, ready to take all of this hard earned wisdom and pass it on to my child.
Eventually the rabies shots lost their sting, the mullet grew out, and the dust settled, so to speak. I met my husband Brian on Match.com, using the dubious strategy of searching only within a one mile radius of my house. This is a good strategy if you want to date your mailman (check!) and in my case proved fruitful in the husband search as well. This may or may not be because Brian and I quickly adopted the relationship motto of “Good Enough!”
Somewhere during the last few years, after one wedding and three children, it dawned on me that I’m married to a male Donna Reed. And thank goodness for that, because my domestic skills are on par with a frat boy’s. I still enjoy ‘straight-armed drinking,’ which is pretty much what it sounds like.
(Side note: It is not a great idea to straight-arm a $15 martini, what with the wide-brimmed nature of a martini glass, sugary nature of the alcohol that sticks to your face, and most obviously THE WASTE OF FIFTEEN DOLLARS. The game is better suited to a Bud Light).
In pretty much every load of laundry I shrink one of my own sweaters to a size that is too small for a Paw Patrol figurine. I have never once separated darks and whites in the wash, much to Brian’s despair. I have been wearing my former maternity pants as newly branded “buffet pants,” and while I have lived in sweats for years only now do I feel that the “letting myself go” process is socially sanctioned (thank you, kids!) I do not know how to make lasagna, which yes shows a deficit in the kitchen but which also makes it all the more unbelievable that I made a child!
And here is my child as an infant, in all of his glory. Interested in baby boudoir? Nolan’s your man.