Emily Kaye Lazzaro

Amusing anecdotes almost entirely about myself.

27 Weeks

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Guys, things went off the rails a little bit last week. Haha! I’m feeling a lot better now.

I’ve said this before and I’ll probably say it again: I come from hearty European peasant stock. If there was a famine, I’d probably survive. By that I mean, evolutionarily speaking, I have a great metabolism! However, my “great” metabolism is less great in this age of plenty. Point being, I usually work very hard to maintain a normal body. I constantly diet and aggressively exercise to maintain a BMI on the high side of normal.

American society likes to tell pregnant women that they should relax, eat ice cream, and take it easy, but that doesn’t actually work for me. In my case, that behavior results in too much weight gain and high blood pressure. I had a bit of a breakdown at the doctor’s office this week (literally cried and when she said she could get me an appointment with a nutritionist I yelled “I KNOW HOW TO BE ON A DIET”) but it was a necessary wake up call. I got back on the fruits, vegetables, whole grains, lean meats train and got back to going for long walks every day. Now that my body has adjusted to the exercise and healthy eating I’m feeling a lot more energized and happy. And I’ve even managed to get my blood pressure down to prehypertension levels as opposed to YOU ARE PROBABLY HAVING A HEART ATTACK RIGHT NOW levels. My goal for this week is to get down to normal levels, but I’m trying not to get overzealous. Pro tip: exercise and healthy food is great. Ugh why is that surprising to me? I knew that already.

But, listen, you don’t come to this website for affirmations and crap about healthy living. You come here for me to tell you about stupid fights I’ve had with my husband. At least, that’s my understanding of my audience. So let me tell you about the night Billy went to a work outing in which he drank beer and ate pizza and ice cream and came home half an hour later than I was expecting him. Oh boy did I not like that! Because, and I know this is irrational, but I can’t have beer or pizza or ice cream even anymore, and honestly I’m usually too tired to even go out and see buddies, so he got to do four things I can’t do, AND I was waiting for him to come home so I wasn’t even sleeping, which is kind of the only thing I have left. That and beachy waves. I’m getting really good at doing beachy waves. (The trick is to either have a curling wand or using your normal curling iron without the clampy bit.)

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(This was taken last Friday, in which I tired myself out doing beachy waves and then had to leave the cook out I attended early, in order to rest my weary curling iron hand.)


In conclusion, Billy got in trouble for having fun, how dare he.

Also, getting back into exercising regularly, even just walking 1 or 2 miles at a brisk-ish pace, resulted in a lot of body aches for me. On Saturday night, I had a knot in my back and some kind of sciatica flare up, combined with sore muscles from walking and swimming, and it all made me feel so awful that I thought I might have to kill myself, not really but kind of? Pregnant women can’t take ibuprofen or muscle relaxers or anything, so it feels especially dire when these kinds of nights occur. I had managed to fall asleep with a hot water bottle on my back and an ice pack on my hip, but I woke up at 1am to pee and then was stuck with the unending pain again. I cried and writhed about it for awhile, then I sat up in bed, said to Billy “I’m going to kill myself” then got out of bed and went into the living room.

Later, Billy told me he was like “ahh now I can sleep” and then a few minutes passed and I didn’t come back and he bolted up in bed and was like “Is she going to actually kill herself???” so he eventually made his way into the living room to check on me, where I was rolling around on the couch, moaning. One thing pregnant women are allowed to have is Benadryl, so I took two of those and eventually fell into a fitful sleep. I wasn’t really having an allergic reaction so I bet it would be frowned upon my the medical establishment, but I think it’s allowed because I am allergic to being in pain at 1 in the morning. I’m also allergic to not being asleep at nighttime. In the morning I felt a lot better, but ugh. Why is everything so extreme?

Listen, being pregnant is hard, but staying on top of it is the key for me, I think.

And anyway, everything worth doing is hard.

26 Weeks

allison brie mad men pregnant(image)

The Sparrow’s Journey

Once upon a time there was a sparrow. She was like most other sparrows in that she liked to eat berries and get wet in puddles and get dirt on her feathers in the sunshine. She had a perfectly nice life and frequently engaged in activities which she enjoyed. She felt very little pain.

When the sparrow was in her late twenties (in sparrow years) she felt herself wanting something more. Many sparrows reach this phase of their lives and feel that it is time to take a long, taxing flight. The flight takes nine months and is very arduous, but it’s something that many sparrows choose to do, because they feel it enriches their lives in the long run. The sparrow knew this was what she wanted. A long, arduous journey that takes many months and ravages your little sparrow body! What could go wrong?

The sparrow started preparing for her journey. Just as she was about to take off, she twisted her ankle really bad. ‘Oh no!’ thought the sparrow, ‘I was so ready to take my long, arduous flight and now I have twisted my ankle and I can’t go until I heal. I am super depressed about this.’

The sparrow had to postpone her flight. She watched some of her other sparrow friends begin their journey and she was jealous and she ate too many berries, alone, to try to make herself feel better. She had other sparrow friends who were not ready for their journeys yet, and they said, ‘hey, it’s okay, at least you can still eat berries. Eating berries is super fun.’ But the sparrow didn’t want to eat berries all the time like some mid-twenties sparrow. She wanted to quit berries and go on a long flight, because it was time. She was really sad for awhile.

Then her ankle healed and she prepared for her journey again. Just as she took off for her long, arduous flight, she bonked her wing on a tree branch and went spiraling to the ground. Then she hit her beak on a rock. ‘Are you serious?!’ said the sparrow, crying little sparrow tears. She had to postpone her journey once again.

Her friends tried to make her feel better with berries and puddles, but the sparrow knew the only thing she wanted was to take a very long and horrible journey, and nothing could convince her otherwise. She rested up and healed, and then she prepared for another flight.

This time, she knew she had it. She trained really well. She stopped eating so many berries so as to be light on her wings. She took off. And this time, she got altitude sickness and barfed and fell to the ground, again. ‘This is fucking ridiculous.’ said the sparrow to no one in particular. ‘This is unfair. All the other sparrows my age seem to be doing this with little to no issues, and now I get fucking altitude sickness? How can this be?! I am a bird, my sole purpose is to fly around, how can I possibly get altitude sickness?!’

The sparrow gave up for awhile. She felt that maybe going on a very long, taxing flight was not for her. Maybe she just wasn’t the kind of sparrow whose body could handle such a journey. She ate a lot of berries. A lot. She hung out in dirt patches with her sparrow friends and she played in puddles and she tried to forget about the journey she wasn’t on.

Then one day, the sparrow met a nice sparrow friend. The sparrow friend was leaving for her journey the next morning. The sparrow got along so well with this friend that she decided to join her, almost on a whim. ‘If it doesn’t work out,’ thought the sparrow, ‘it doesn’t work out. No harm done. I won’t be any worse off than I am now. Might as well give it a shot.’ So the sparrow took off with her new friend.

And wouldn’t you know it, she didn’t get hurt.

The sparrow was elated. ‘I’m flying! This is my long, arduous journey and it’s actually happening! I’m thrilled!’ She soared through the air for days. The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. As time passed, the sparrow’s body started to deteriorate, which happens to all sparrows who take the nine month very taxing and difficult flight. She had expected this. Well, she had expected something. Maybe not this. This was the flight the sparrow had wanted to take for so long, that she had worked towards for all these months. And this flight was truly horrible.

She had known it was going to be arduous. She had known she wouldn’t get to eat berries. She had been told she would have no energy to spare for puddle jumping and dirt wallowing. But in practice, all these things were very sad for her to leave behind. She had once been a self-sufficient sparrow with lots of enjoyable activities to fill her days. And now all she could do, all she had the time for, was flying on her long, arduous journey.

She felt like shit most of the time. ‘But,’ thought the sparrow, ‘this is what I wanted.’

25 Weeks

photo (76)Here’s a very nice picture of my bedroom trash can for your enjoyment. #photography

Also that smile is a lie.

This week has SUCKED. Just body-wise, not life-wise.

On Monday I went to prenatal yoga after having taken a week off because I was too tired last week. This week we did a sort of triangle type pose thing (I don’t know the names of yoga poses) and for FOUR DAYS my hands, wrists, and forearms were in pain. So that was great. I basically can’t take a week off of yoga because my body falls completely apart and I almost die when I start up again.

On Wednesday I couldn’t get out of bed because of the condition of my right hip. Billy had to work from home so he could help me get to the bathroom and give me food and ice for my various body parts. My hip got better by Wednesday night, but come on, universe. Why?

On Thursday we went to a class on the labor process at the hospital, which was fun. We will probably go back for a maternity ward tour and some classes on pain management and breast feeding and infant CPR. There are a lot of classes to take. They’re all free at the hospital though, which is great. I know I am a liberal and I believe firmly in healthcare for all, but this private hospital sure does a good job at taking care of patients so maybe everybody should have insurance through an employer and just go to Brigham and Women’s in Boston and have private birthing rooms with yoga balls and birth bars and stuff. I don’t know, they seem pretty great so far. Beat that, Obamacare! (I love Obamacare – I didn’t mean it Obamacare!) (Also I know that a lot of people can’t get insurance for lots of reasons and I recognize my privilege and feel very lucky, for the record.)

On Friday it was the 4th of July and it rained a lot so Billy and I went to see a movie. I had a moment, when we realized the movie we wanted to see started in 15 minutes and we rushed out the door together, when it occurred to me that our days like this are numbered. Spontaneously running off to a movie on a rainy day, without ample forethought, is just not going to happen when we have an infant. Pretty much won’t happen until the kid is at least elementary school aged. So for 6 or 7 years, I will think back to this rainy 4th of July and pine for my former life, maybe. Or maybe I won’t miss it. Who knows. We saw Tammy and ate candy. It was enjoyable.

On Saturday I did half a Tracy Anderson prenatal exercise DVD, then we went to Walden Pond and swam around for awhile. I think I did the breast stroke for about 5 minutes straight, then sat in a shallow area and just sort of floated around for awhile, and that night when we got home, again, my body felt like I had just engaged in some very intense cross fit/ninja type exercise and I had to ice myself and cry. WHY. WHY.

This has been a week of bodily pain.

On Sunday we went to the beach and it was great. When we got home I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, Billy was sitting next to me and he said that dinner was ready, which was great because I was starving. I asked him to rub my shoulder which had started hurting (OH A NEW THING HURTS, WHAT A SURPRISE) and he did, and then I said I wished I had some Diet Coke and he LITERALLY HANDED ME A DIET COKE. It was the best way I have ever awoken from a nap. (By the way, I don’t usually drink Diet Coke anymore because Aspartame is poison, I guess, but I am tired and I can’t have alcohol so WHATEVER don’t judge me.)

I don’t know, my belly itches a lot, all the parts of my body hurt almost constantly, and I am very tired. Last night after dinner, and after Billy played music and the baby kicked for him, and after we watched the first episode of The Leftovers on HBO Go, after a completely lovely three-day summer weekend, I had an emotional breakdown and said I can’t handle being pregnant for another 3.5 months, I can’t take it anymore, and I cried and cried and Billy got me more ice for my weird shoulder. I fell asleep trying to hypnotize myself after asking for Benadryl to knock me out, which Billy denied me, which was probably for the best. I think I also asked him for an epidural.

Some people say they like being pregnant and fuck those people.


24 Weeks

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When did this happen? My belly is gigantic.

Also these pictures are just the worst. My friend Emily Fortier is a photographer and on Saturday we went to the beach and at one point she was squatting her butt into the ocean and pointing her phone at something unseen (the light on the water? I don’t know) and it was hilarious, and I told her she looked ridiculous and I understood that she was taking a picture but it was funny. She said she realized at some point that the main thing that separates photographers from non-photographers is the willingness to move your body to a different place in order to get a shot. All my pictures are just views from exactly where I’m sitting. I am not a photographer. Her pictures look great and mine look terrible, it’s fine, I’ve accepted it.

Anyway, this weekend I went to the beach two times! On Saturday I went to a beach in Ipswich with Emily, about an hour north of where I live, then on Sunday I drove with Daisy to Provincetown on the very tip of Cape Cod, mainly because Billy was finishing a big bike race and we wanted to go meet him and cheer for him, and secondarily because I wanted to go to the beach and Ptown lets you bring your dog on the beach. Dog beach!

Evidence of my terrible photography skills:

photo (74)The view from my beach chair of Crane Beach in Ipswich, MA

photo (75)The view from my beach chair of Provincetown, MA


I’m trying to actively do things that I like, like going to the beach and listening to Joni Mitchell and painting my nails. The problem up until now has been that before I was pregnant pretty much my favorite/only hobby was running. So I have to remember the things I liked to do before I ran, like the aforementioned things plus crafty type things (embroidery and knitting) and baking and going out and drinking wine and talking about boys oh wait that one doesn’t work either. Anyway, it’s easy to get caught up in what you can’t do when you’re pregnant and hard to remember the things you can still do that you like. Also, it’s easy just living life to forget to do things you like sometimes. I can find myself being totally absorbed by work, TV, Billy’s things, and sleep, with no room for anything else, even when I’m not pregnant. So, you know, remembering the things I like is important, and seems like it doesn’t need to be something you have to remind yourself of, but it kind of is.

Let’s see, pregnancy stuff… OH GUESS WHAT WE HAVE REACHED VIABILITY!!!!

Viability is a legal term, I think, about abortions or something, or it’s for people in hospitals to decide if they will try to save a super premature baby. Viability means that if the baby was to be born today he would have a 50% chance of survival. What?! I know! It’s for, like, demanding that people not get abortions after this point. I don’t want to talk about abortion, that’s just where it comes from, I think. Science. Politics. I don’t know. Let’s not get into it.

Getting excited about viability can feel a little bit morbid, but I find that people like me who have dealt with loss or infertility or anything are more likely to think of things like this in terms of life and death, and spend a lot of time just assuming that death is very close by, which it is, always. Real talk, death is waiting for us all. Anyway, lots of people don’t think about things like this, but I do. So yay! The baby can still die and might, as we all will someday, but even if something horrible happens and he has to be born now or soon or whatever (I am not anticipating this, but just saying) he might live! Cool!

Speaking of death, Billy’s bike race took two days which meant that I was alone for a night in my house with Daisy, which is fine, one night is not a big deal.

(writing break, I just inhaled a cupcake, thought you should know)

There’s this Buzzfeed post that went around Facebook last week and made me laugh a lot (Buzzfeed is dumb, fine, but sometimes they just get it). The post is about the weird things people do when their spouses go out of town, and this was very true for me this weekend, especially the sad food (I had a can of baked beans with cut up hot dogs in it for dinner on Saturday) and the last tweet that says “When my husband goes out of town it’s great because I get to catch up on all the loneliness I forgot exists inside of me.” This exact feeling prompted me to text Billy that night, after he had already gone to bed, “Ugh I miss you a lot. Never die ok?” Just a normal request from a normal person.

Billy didn’t die and everything is great now. Really, though, I feel good today. I was very productive this morning and I am not dead tired and I’m not going to say mean things about my uncles in this post. (Sorry Uncle Chris and Uncle Dave, I love you and I was grumpy last week!) One thing that is just part of the new normal is that if I stand up for long enough to cook something my feet get as sore as they used to get after a shift that summer when I worked as a cocktail waitress. That might have something to do with carrying a lot of extra weight around with me or it might have to do with swelling and circulation and shit. It’s not ideal, but it’s not so bad. I’ll take it. The baby kicks the crap out of me all the time, which is actually super fun. And we are getting closer to having a real nursery, so that’s good. I mean, I really like things to be in their proper place and nothing is in any sort of place in that room, so right now I keep the door closed, but one step at a time, guys. It’ll get there. Hopefully before October.

photo (73)My waking nightmare.

Isn’t it going to be great when the nursery is all set up and I post a picture of it here, though?! That will be a great day. Just remember this mess now and be very impressed when it’s all done.


23 Weeks

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23 weeks dudes. I’m not into it.

This weekend, Billy and I drove to my mom’s house in Connecticut with Daisy. I went the beach with my mom and my friend Ashley and her mom and it was goddamn delightful. That night, we ate lobster and clams and corn on the cob. The next day I watched my husband and brother run a half marathon and cheered them on. I hung out with my dad and my sister. I brought Daisy on the beach and even the Fun Police (TM) in Fairfield, Connecticut didn’t reprimand me. All in all it was a great weekend.

Except, though I did not run 13.1 miles on Sunday, I did walk about 5 miles, and I cannot walk 5 miles in a day and be okay at the end of it. If I overexert myself I get super depressed, it is a weird thing. Maybe blood sugar related? I don’t know. But I got really tired and hungry and sad and then we tried to get hot dogs on the way home and the place was closed and so I cried for awhile, normal stuff.

I don’t know, you guys, pregnancy is really hard. Today I have a terrible headache (actually I’ve had a headache for about a week, sinus/allergy related, not pre-eclampsia according to my doctor), I’m totally exhausted, and my nose just stopped bleeding. Did you know bloody noses are a symptom of pregnancy? YUP. How that helps the baby grow, I do not know.

I’m not wearing makeup and I haven’t made the bed and there are dishes everywhere. I am as tired as I am hungry. It’s hard to eat enough to not be hungry when you are too tired to get up and make food.

But grateful. Very grateful. Continuing to be grateful for the miracle of blah blah blah.

By the way, if any of my male relatives feel like this is a signal for them to give me unsolicited advice, please allow me to assure you that that is MOST CERTAINLY not what this is. And more specifically, I can cross my legs without injuring the baby and the baby does not feel any of my stress. Thanks and good night!

22 Weeks

This post is a day late because I had a hundred appointments yesterday.

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So 22 weeks you guys! Officially five months pregnant. A few years ago, I saw a production of Medea in Boston featuring a five months pregnant Jenny Israel that was completely amazing. I wish I was acting. Oh! I forgot, I did get an acting job last week. I was “playing” a pregnant woman getting an “ultrasound.” By that I mean I wasn’t playing a pregnant woman, I am a pregnant woman, and I was asking the ultrasound tech a million questions about ultrasounds because it was just B roll and there was no sound. And also I asked her a lot of questions about her recent birth and stuff. I learned a lot. The ultrasound was fake, though, unfortunately. I do love an ultrasound. Even though Ina May Gaskin thinks they cause autism.

Speaking of Ina May Gaskin, I finished her book today and I asked Billy to read it when he finishes The Expectant Father. Hers is the only book I’ve read so far that has a real agenda, but as a result, doesn’t sort of dance around your options for giving birth. Backstory on Ina May Gaskin for a second: she is a famous midwife who delivers babies at a place called The Farm in rural Tennessee that was started as a commune in the ’70s. She’s great and weird and I kind of love her. She’s in The Business of Being Born for a minute and has a Ted talk, obviously. Anyway, lots of books on pregnancy and birth are overly even-handed and like “oh you know, if you want a c-section it’s not a big deal, blah blah, we respect you and your right to choose medical procedures for your own body” but Ina May is like “DON’T BE AN IDIOT, USE YOUR VAGINA THAT’S WHAT IT’S FOR.” Which I kind of like. Tell me what’s up, Ina May. I will disregard some of it (let me have my ultrasounds please and thank you) but some of it is fair. And some of it is hilarious, like this quote:

“Those who have never felt what it is like to give birth while being shouted at can better understand how this can interfere when they try to imagine what it might be like to poop while a stranger stationed a few feet away yells at them how to do it.”


But the book taught me a lot and now I am going to be that super annoying lady on the hospital maternity ward tour asking really specific questions about how they stitch up c-sections (one layer or two?!) and what they use for inductions (if you try to give me Cytotec I might punch you in your face) and if there is a time limit for how long you can be in labor, that kind of thing. I’m going to have a notebook full of questions so I don’t forget any. The tour guide will see me coming from a mile away and be like “somebody wants to get an A+ in this hospital maternity ward tour.” Because I do. And I will.

I feel good lately, which is fun, but misleading. Like I think I can do anything now, and then I try to do lots of things in a day, and I totally fall apart and start crying and can’t get off the couch. The truth is, I can do about one thing that is moderately strenuous per day, then I have to go to sleep. That one thing can be vacuuming or tutoring or going for a long walk with Daisy or writing 12 pages in my script while also holding my own body upright. And then, I have to sleep. Because I have exactly enough energy for one thing. Sometimes I try to do, like, three things. That does not end well!

The other day, I did the ultrasound shoot, then drove to Brookline to meet Billy to buy a desk/shelf unit from a guy on Craigslist, then I cooked dinner. That was three things. That’s two too many things. Meanwhile, that same day, Billy ran in the morning with Daisy, worked a full day, took the green line, dismantled a desk/shelf unit and put it in the car, which meant that the car was too full of furniture for him to get a ride home, took the green line and a bus and then walked a mile home, then moved more furniture, and finally accidentally dropped an entire shelf’s worth of glass all over himself and the dining room.

We were equally tired. I got to go to bed before him, but he got to have whiskey, so.

Last night I tried listening to Hypnobabies for the first time and I think I fell asleep and then woke up when the next track on my itunes started playing, which was The Christmas Song by Nat King Cole. Jarring.

Yeah I don’t know, things are good. How are you guys?!

Add This To The List Of Things I Don’t Understand

Every time I watch this little baby dance to this song by Sia I cry a bunch.


Here’s the original video:


And for extra tears here’s a live performance on Ellen:


Why does this song/dance do this to me?!?!?! The power of the performing arts, y’all. That shit is mysterious.

21 Weeks

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(First off, I’m just going to leave these here in case you were thinking about donating to the theatre company I’m raising money for and you haven’t gotten to it yet. That is all.)

This picture was taken about 14 minutes after I had what I think might have been a panic attack.

So 21 weeks. On Friday it will be 5 months, by the calendar. That’s pretty cool.

It was really warm this weekend and I’m running hot lately, what with the being two entire people thing. On Sunday, I told Billy we had to go to Walden Pond so I could swim around for awhile. We couldn’t go until he was done with his bike ride and I was done with book club, so we didn’t get there until about 3pm. There was a sign up that said the park was closed and would reopen at 5pm. Saddened, but not defeated, we drove to Arlington, to where there is another lake, which Google told me would be open until 7pm, but was not, in fact, open at all. There were no people there and the fence was locked. Then we were defeated. The worst thing about it was probably that I had been wearing a very uncomfortable maternity tankini under my clothes for all of book club and it was all for naught. (I know they are the most flattering, but fuck a halter top bathing suit. Seriously.)

This does not bode well for the rest of the summer. It’s only June for god’s sake.

But I’m still happy it’s not winter. Fuck a halter top bathing suit, but fuck winter 100 times more. Like after not being able to swim, Billy and I laid in the back yard on a blanket with Daisy and talked about which clouds looked the most like penises. Can’t do that shit in winter.

Daisy is doing a lot better this week. We seem to have cracked the code of her anxiety. She needs strenuous exercise daily. I know this is sort of a well-known fact about dogs, but it’s one of those things that easily falls by the wayside. So we decided, since she’s so much less anxious on days when she’s been on a run or a long walk/hike, we will just do that every day. Rocket science, it is not. Every morning, either Billy takes her for a run (2 miles or 4 miles or, since he’s training for a half marathon, 10 miles on Friday – please don’t tell me we’re abusing her, she fucking loves it) or I take her for a 2 mile walk in which she smells all the things. And, imagine that, she is tired when we leave to go to work or to the store or to live our damn lives, and she doesn’t freak out so much.

I think that is a great indication that animals (humans included) do well when they move their bodies in a strenuous way on a daily basis. I have had a hard time with not being able to run anymore. It makes me hate myself a little bit because I don’t look the way I want to (I know, I’m pregnant, but it’s a mental thing that is difficult to overcome instantly) and I am also missing out on the endorphins and the community aspects of it. Whatever, I can’t control it and it’s not forever, but blergh all the same.

In other news, we have no money. It’s summer so my work schedule is screwy and light right now, I can’t audition for paying acting work because of my conspicuous belly, we missed a deadline for a tax form during the nightmarish miscarriage/first trimester one-two punch so we have to pay a bunch of extra taxes (I’m in the midst of begging the mayor to give us an exemption via email, we’ll see how that works out), and I’ve had to buy a bunch of clothes for my new horrible body. Oh and sometimes I spend money just to make myself feel better. Great policy, Emily! That’s how to manage your finances. But now, to deal with all this, I have become the family budget Nazi and installed a new $20 a day policy. In which Billy and I are each allowed to spend $20 a day on food, train tickets, and anything else we want or need. This includes the copay for my chiropractor visits, prenatal yoga, healthy fucking leafy greens for the baby’s brain development or whatever, etc etc etc. It’s hard! But you know what, it’s kind of doable? Or it can be. If you make saving money a priority and don’t worry about annoying your friends, it can work. Maybe. I mean we’re going to spend $100 on Wednesday to have a follow up dog trainer visit, so who fucking knows. We have money problems, but we’re not actually poor, and that is important to remember. And once a day I have a panicky cry about it and then I take a picture of my belly and write a blog and move on with my life.

Also the baby is kicking on the regular now. Billy sort of felt it the other day? He had his hand on my belly and I felt a kick and asked him if he felt it and he said it felt like my body had moved, like I had moved my arm or something. It’s still too early for him to feel full-on specific kicks from the outside, but I think that’s going to start happening really soon. So that’s a cute thing.

Pregnancy! I don’t know, blah blah blah. How are you guys doing? Did you see all those penis-shaped clouds yesterday?!

I’m A Regular Ira Glass Over Here



Hi you guys!

I’ve mentioned that the theatre company I’ve started with eight other playwrights has launched a fundraising campaign here before. I posted an excerpt of the play I’m writing as motivation for folks to donate here. (If you haven’t read that yet, it’s a scene about dicks, so that’s fun.) And I wanted to mention it again, because our campaign is down to 11 days and we have a lot more money to raise.

Ugh so annoying. Isn’t this super annoying? I know. I hate it. But the reason it has to happen is because the institutions that exist to produce plays have to strictly adhere to the material that has proven to make money, so that said institutions can continue to exist and provide art to the people of Boston. It’s hard out there for institutions, guys. And it’s harder out there for a little nobody like me (and my eight friends, sorry for calling you guys nobodies but let’s call a spade a spade). Institutions are often unable to take a risk on a new play by somebody who isn’t firmly established, even somebody as prolific in the world of blogging to fourteen super committed readers, like me. So that’s why we started this group. And that’s why we’re producing nine new plays by nine local playwrights. We just need money to do it.

Money ugh! Why can’t we all go live on a commune in Tennessee like Ina May Gaskin and just deliver babies all day and tend to goats or whatever else they do. Make cheese? I don’t know. But that would be great. In the meantime, since we don’t all live on communes and money is still a thing, if you like reading the stuff I write (which, sadly, doesn’t pay me any money at all ever) please give to Boston Public Works. If you want to come see my play next year, please give to Boston Public Works so that it can happen. If you think my writing is funny or smart or important or depressing (in a good way?) please give. If you think it’s unfair that I have a masters degree and am literally a babysitter, like a 14-year-old, give to Boston Public Works.

Mostly though, you should give because you believe in the importance of art. Because I think you do. Because you have always seemed really cool to me.

20 Weeks

photo (65)You have no idea how many pictures I took before settling on this one. I put the mirror in like 45 different places in my room. I was about to post a picture at a different angle, trying to do the skinny arm which has now become completely ineffective. There was another picture I was going to use, but I looked at it and thought “wow she’s really carrying high; it looks like the baby is mostly gestating in her upper arm area” and then I cried and then I took some more pictures and this one is fine. Whatever. It’s fine. This is not a time to worry about skinny arms. My arms will never be skinny and it’s high time I come to terms.

I bought this dress yesterday at Target because Billy had been outside in the garden for 90 minutes or so and I was hungry and it made me FURIOUS so I got in the car, drove to Target, bought this maternity dress, a maternity tunic, new placemats, a eucalyptus candle, makeup, and a Fit Pregnancy magazine. I also went to Starbucks and bought a decaf caramel macchiato and a chocolate chip cookie. Then I drove to a park and sat under some really nice smelling trees and read the magazine cover to cover. And then I went home and silently painted my nails on the back porch while Billy cleaned the bathrooms. I think my point was communicated. Make me lunch or I will flee and spend a lot of money on nonsense and I won’t help you clean the bathrooms. Just kidding, I never help clean the bathrooms.

Pregnancy-wise, everything seems to be progressing as normal. My hip pain has largely subsided, I have no idea what that’s about. I’m going to a chiropractor anyway, because why the fuck not. I feel kicks every day, still just little ones, but they’re there. They say that 20 weeks is the halfway point, which is sort of a lie? Like, full gestation is 40 weeks, so that should mean that 20 weeks is halfway, but you don’t know you’re pregnant until 4 weeks at the earliest. It was almost 5 weeks by the time I found out. So I’ve only known that I was pregnant for 15 weeks now. Which means I’m not quite halfway there. INTERESTING STUFF. HARD HITTING.

I don’t know, the thing that consumes most of my attention right now is that Daisy is a basket case with separation anxiety and Billy and I can never go anywhere on a weekend day (she knows what’s a weekday and what’s a weekend, GREAT, SHE’S SO SMART) without her losing her shit completely. I am concerned about how this will play out when we have to spend a few days in the hospital. We have a trainer, we’re working on it, but it’s slow going. But oh my god you guys. Yesterday, Billy did a 5k in the morning and I wanted to go to cheer him on (He was going for a personal record, and he totally killed it, go Billy! Fastest man alive!) and I knew I couldn’t leave Daisy at home. It was a perfect storm of Billy being in running clothes (she likes to go for runs with him so she gets really excited), it being a Sunday, and it being the morning (she also gets upset in the mornings more than afternoon/evenings) — OH MY GOD THIS IS ALL SO FASCINATING PLEASE GO ON, EMILY, I’M AT THE EDGE OF MY SEAT — so I packed her up in the car and made a plan to get bagels and watch the race with the dog. We dropped off Billy, parked the car, walked to the bagel place, I tied Daisy up outside the bagel place, went to pee (I pee constantly), got bagels and coffee, walked outside, and all I saw was a leash, a harness, and a collar, sitting on the sidewalk. She had fucking disappeared. Like a witch had walked by and was like “I’m going to work on making things disappear, let’s start with this neurotic beagle.” I freaked, put down the coffees, looked up and down the street, no Daisy. I walked around the corner and there she was, half a block away on the sidewalk, saying hello to other runners heading to the race. I yelled “CAN YOU GRAB THAT DOG PLEASE?” to the strangers, and they helped me corral her. I mean, if you see a pregnant lady in wedges running toward you, carrying her large sun hat in her hand, frantic, you help her collect her neurotic beagle, if you know what’s good for you.

So on the bright side, my pregnancy symptoms aren’t so overwhelming right now that I can’t get distracted by Daisy being an asshole. It’s pretty nice, most of the negative pregnancy stuff is gone and I’m just chilling with little kicks in my belly. Things could definitely be worse.