Emily Kaye Lazzaro

Amusing anecdotes almost entirely about myself.

How Are We Saying “Fuck The Patriarchy” Today?

Hello my dears!

I’ve been doing some thinking about my clothes.

Since becoming a mother and turning 30 shortly thereafter, I’ve done some culling of my wardrobe. My body went all over the place for awhile (I GAINED AND LOST 75 POUNDS Y’ALL) and my feet grew longer and wider and they have not shrunk back to their original size/shape. This necessitated some moving around of clothing items, some short term storage, some long term storage, some trips to Goodwill, some trips to the Internet for shopping, etc etc etc, on and on, for like two years.

Not only has my body gone through some changes, but my heart and mind have evolved a bit over this time as well. I’m significantly less interested in wearing high heels or shoes of any sort that hurt my feet. I’m more interested in comfort in general. I’m way more interested in pants.

Practicality and comfort and, to a certain extent, badass, respectable lady business clothes are becoming more of a thing in my life. And I think these new interests are a great way for me to say Fuck the Patriarchy.

How’s that, you say? Let me explain.

I used to dress a lot like Zooey Deschanel in New Girl. Lots of nipped-in waists, bright colors, and swirly skirts. The reason I dressed this way was mostly because I was more comfortable accentuating my positive physical attributes, like a narrow waist and cute pre-baby boobs, and these outfits did that for me. Another reason was because I thought it spoke to my spirit, it brought me joy, and being cute made me feel happy, comfortable, and a little powerful.

But now that I am a 30 year old mother, being cute doesn’t make me feel as powerful as it used to. Now it is more important to me that I can move quickly, sit on the floor easily, and look cool rather than cute. Young is not something I want to look. I’m not that young anymore. I want to look awesome.

One way to look awesome is to look a tiny bit ugly.

The ugliness I’m talking about isn’t the “oh I’m as beautiful as Taylor Swift but I’m wearing glasses.” It’s the “maybe I’m a little tired from trying to have it all and I’m wearing clogs and overalls and glasses and maybe half my head is shaved.”

I dressed like a cute girl when I was in my 20s I think partially, subconsciously, because of the patriarchy. I did it because my hips were wide and I thought that was bad and I should play up the other parts of me that the patriarchy deemed attractive. The power came from having qualities that men found valuable and playing them up. Now I think my power might come from having what makes me feel valuable, and not needing anyone to back it up at all. What makes me feel powerful now is moving fast, being physically strong, having a good head on my shoulders, thinking smart thoughts, and being in control of myself and my wee one.

I don’t have time to worry about my hips anymore. I need to grab a fast-moving kiddo, I need to wipe boogers and food on my pants, I need to go to work and look like someone who is in charge of money, I need to pay people to help me take care of my family. And also, these hips are fucking awesome. They birthed a baby. The grew and shrank and they carry my body around all day. My hips are cool.

So I’m not going to hide my hips anymore. I’m not going to stuff my feet into uncomfortable shoes anymore. I am working on a new uniform for this new person I am.

Fuck The Patriarchy Having It All Uniform:









That’s how I’m saying fuck the patriarchy today. How about you???

Life is Very Long

Melissa___Doug_Wooden_ABC_123_Blocks53aDetailYou know how they say that life is short? It’s not! I mean, sometimes it is, when people die when they are babies or children or teenagers or drunk college kids crossing the street (but for the grace of whatever go all of us) or young parents or even slightly older parents or even in their 50s or 60s. In that case, yes, life is very short and it’s incredibly unfair.

But on a day-to-day basis, life is pretty long. My grandmother is 91, for example. She has four great-grandchildren. What’s a couple years to Nana? Not much.

Two years used to seem like a long time. Now it feels like nothing at all to me.

I used to feel that I had to accomplish all of the things I wanted to accomplish as fast as possible or I was a fraud, a sell-out, or (much worse) a boring failure who didn’t live up to her fantastical aspirations and degrees.

Two years ago this month, I spent three days on the set of an HBO miniseries called Olive Kitteridge, in Essex, Massachusetts. I was worried about looking fat and about talking to the other actors without seeming insane or boring and about messing up my hair when I lied down for a few hours, killing time in my trailer (I was given a small slice in a long cake* of trailer that was shared with five other bit players but I still had a trailer so it was still pretty amazing). I had seven lines and you can’t really see my face in the final product, but Olive Kitteridge ended up being a really great experience and it also just won a lot of Emmys, including one for casting, which I decided is directly attributable to me (THIS IS OBVIOUSLY A JOKE).

I haven’t acted in a while, unless you consider that time I shot a carpet ad with my 6 month old baby “acting.” I don’t, really, though it did result in a paycheck. And sometimes I feel bad about this departure from one of my two artistic pursuits. But also, life is actually very long! Sometimes you have to take a little bit of a break to gain and lose 75 pounds and create life and feed an infant out of your body and keep him from dying. And then sometimes you have to get a part time job at an office because money and sanity. And then sometimes you work on writing a novel for a time. Everything ebbs and flows.

I’m writing this partially as a reminder to myself that life is long and we can only do so many things at a time. I’m trying to be more present in my life right now, instead of letting my ambition take over and make me feel like I’m not striving or hustling hard enough. Sometimes I just have to sit on the animal-hair-covered carpet in my son’s room and make stacks of blocks for him to knock down. Maybe I’ll never act again. Maybe that’s fine.

In the meantime, I’m probably adding Emmy-winning actor (category: elbow casting) to my resume.

*10 points if you remember what book I’m stealing this line from.

An Almost Perfect Beach Day

IMG_5188(The view from the beach nap)

On Saturday we went to the beach.

I love the beach, even though it is hot and hard to pull off and involves carrying heavy things and trudging over blisteringly hot tiny little rocks. I still love it. Even though it takes all day and my skin is prone to sunburns and my hair gets matted and disgusting and I sweat and sometimes my boob comes out of my bathing suit top.

I grew up near the beach and that’s probably why I love it. There’s no other logical explanation. It’s kind of terrible but also the best.

Saturday, the weather was perfect. We went to a beach on the north shore and we got there early enough that we didn’t have to wait for parking and it wasn’t too windy and the water was clear and not too cold. We brought sandwiches and chips and seltzers and we stayed for almost 4 hours.

The struggle with doing anything with a 10-month old baby in tow is that he takes 2 naps a day and if something you’re doing overlaps with one of those, good luck to you. You better get that baby asleep or shit is going south and quick. So he slept in the car on the way up, for a little bit, and when the time for second nap rolled around, we could either pack up quickly (impossible) or just get him to sleep in the baby beach tent. He was rolling around and fussing for a while when I decided to help him fall asleep by carrying him and walking up and down the beach for a few minutes. He was so tired that I knew he would fall asleep pretty quickly.

I stood at the edge of the ocean, holding my chubby baby, who was gripping me like a koala, resting his cheek on my chest, wearing only a diaper and a bucket hat. I looked at the ocean, I watched other kids playing, I swayed with my sleepy baby on the sand. It was lovely. When he was completely asleep, I made my way back to the tent to get him in the shade. On my way back a lady stopped me.

“I’m only saying this because I have four kids of my own,” she said.

Oh boy.

“1:00 sun is the worst on baby’s skin.”

Ohhh boy.

“He’s got sunscreen on,” I said, and before she could say what she wanted to say (that sunscreen doesn’t work? Who the fuck knows.) I added, “but thank you.” And walked away.

I got to the tent, managed to lie down in the shade without waking Evan, and stayed there while he napped for 45 minutes.

The worst thing about this interaction was that it distracted me from enjoying everything about the baby beach nap. Which was a very precious moment! I told Billy about it and he asked me what she looked like so he could go tell her off. I didn’t tell him what she looked like. It’s not worth it. But yowza, what an asshole.

ANYWAY. The beach is a weird and wonderful nightmaredream and I will always and forever love it, despite the heat and the sun and the cold ocean and the assholes. Once I got a sunburn so bad I had to take a day off work and if that can’t stop me going to the beach, one idiot with unsolicited advice certainly isn’t going to do it.

Birth Story

2014-10-08 18.12.18Guys! You know how I had that baby? Let’s talk about that.

When I was pregnant I loved to read birth stories. I actually loved to read everything related to pregnancy and birth and oddly I did not read anything about having an actual baby, which was probably a mistake. Eh, live and learn.

So, it only took me 7 and a half months to feel removed enough and rested enough to tell my birth story. Some people literally write their birth story from the hospital. That’s insane. But here we are. Let’s talk about the birth! It took either three days or six hours, depending on when you start counting.

Billy and I went to my doctor on October 6, 2014 for my 38 week appointment. You’re considered full term at 37 weeks, like the baby will pretty much be fine if he comes out at that point. I had high blood pressure throughout my pregnancy (and maybe before, too, who knows!) so my doctors were concerned about letting the baby hang out inside me for too long, what with how risky it is to have high blood pressure when you’re pregnant.

Sidebar: I made some mistakes when I was pregnant. Mistakes were made. Mainly, it came on the tail of a miscarriage, I had no faith in it lasting at all, I had a hard time finding the joy of the pregnancy and I sort of drowned my worry and pessimism in food and I gained all the weight. That’s probably why it was hard. I think that’s why my hips hurt and my back hurt and I had no energy. So if I could give a gentle suggestion to anyone looking to get pregnant: try to be positive about it and try not to self-medicate with bagels, if possible. And, like, go for a long walk every day, even if you’re tired. Especially if you’re tired. This is also a note to myself for future pregnancies. Treat yourself well, you are not a garbage can. But whatever, I made the choices I made and that’s what happened and everything turned out fine, so also do whatever you want.

Anyway. My blood pressure was high and they said I could be induced pretty much at any time. I was sent to have an ultrasound to make sure the baby was big enough to live in the world. He definitely was! He was measuring at 9 pounds and change so my doctor said we could schedule the induction for any time. We scheduled it for the next day. THEN BILLY AND I FREAKED OUT.

Billy frantically nested. I ate a lot. I think I ate a lot to deal with literally everything that happened to me during my pregnancy. Whatever, choices were made! We called my mom and she got on the road. I wanted her to be in the hospital with us when I gave birth because pregnancy made me a better daughter.

The next morning, October 7th, we showed up for my first dose of Misoprostol. I used to be scared of that drug because of the internet, but it was fine and whatever to all of that stuff.

I thought I would get one, maybe two doses of Misoprostol and then labor would kick in and I’d push a baby out and we’d be done. It took six doses and it didn’t really kick off labor at all. It, like, softened my cervix a little. Those first two days of the induction involved a lot of waiting and a lot of lying on a very uncomfortable cot in triage, in small rooms with no extra chairs. I would take a tiny pill, I would lie on a cot with a fetal monitor on my belly for an hour, I would leave the hospital for three hours, then I would return to the hospital for another dose. We went home to sleep that first night and I had some contractions but then they stopped and I went to sleep. By the sixth dose on the second day, October 8th, my doctor (who was also extremely pregnant at the time, actually due before me) had had about enough. She said we should get things moving.

She gave me a horrible nightmare thing called a foley catheter, which is a little balloon that is put up in  your cervix and filled with some kind of fluid and it mechanically opens your cervix. Ahhhh. Haha. I’m remembering. It was so bad, guys. Yikes. Yikes yikes yikes. It didn’t cause contractions, it just caused lots and lots of steady pain. I was pitching all over the place. I was supposed to stay in bed with the fetal monitor on, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t do it, I was all over the place. I felt like a wild animal trapped in something who decides she should gnaw her own paw off. I would have gnawed something off if it would have helped. I asked to have them pull it out and they were like “no.” It was mean.

Eventually this tiny magical nurse convinced my doctor to let me get out of bed and go sit in the shower. Billy and my mom took turns spraying me down with hot water, like an elephant getting a bath. I felt like an animal a lot during this ordeal. The hot water really helped, inexplicably. I really don’t know how it worked, I thought I might die and then a little water from a shower head makes me feel okay? How, even? But it did.

Once I felt a little more steady, it was midnight I think at this point, I went back to the bed and they gave me an antihistamine to help me sleep. I slept until 5am on October 9th when my doctor came in and said the catheter had done its job and was ready to come out. I was dilated 4 centimeters.

After the catheter came out, they started me on Pitocin, which I had initially wanted to avoid, but was unavoidable in an induction like mine. It was actually fine! My fear was related to what happened to me when I was recovering from a surgery I had after my second miscarriage. I came out of anesthesia and was on a big dose of Pitocin and found myself in a shocking amount of pain. So I didn’t want to do that again. But also, after the foley catheter, that Pitocin pain was absolutely nothing.

The Pitocin was doing its job but could only go so far. Around 11am my doctor broke my water. Then the real labor started. My contractions got really intense and really frequent. I wanted to hold off on an epidural for awhile to see if I even really needed it (hahahahahahaha), so I asked for nitrous oxide, aka laughing gas, aka my dad’s favorite part of going to the dentist. This hospital has it for women in labor and it’s sort of a pilot program in the U.S. Apparently they use it a lot in the U.K. Why, I could not tell you. It was… not helpful.

A contraction would come and I would breath really deeply from this mask thing connected to a tank of nitrous. Then I would feel really drunk and nauseous and still in all of the pain. I almost barfed and then I said TAKE THIS THING AWAY AND GET ME AN EPIDURAL EVERYBODY PLEASE.

It felt like a long time between when I asked for the epidural and when I was free of the pain. There were two really difficult parts of this labor, the first being the foley catheter and the second being when they were inserting the epidural. I had to stay completely still, sitting up, through like a million insane contractions while they put a big needle in my spine. I didn’t feel the needle but the staying still part was really hard. I just screamed in Billy’s face and squeezed him too hard. I was literally screaming at the top of my lungs. My contractions were coming every 30 seconds and I was just screaming. Yikes!

But once the epidural was in, I felt… totally normal and perfect. I started texting my friends. I took a selfie. Everything was the best. I’ve learned some things here. The first is that I shouldn’t have eaten so much and gained so much weight during my pregnancy and the second is GET THE EPIDURAL AS SOON AS THEY WILL LET YOU. It’s magic!

After the epidural it was really fun. We joked and laughed and everything was great. Then, about an hour later, I felt like I needed to push. I had pretty much dilated to 10 centimeters in that one hour.

Here’s something real: pushing is pooping. They are the same. I guess they’re not literally physically the same, but when I felt like I had to push it felt like having to poop and when I pushed I was just trying to poop. And it worked great! And I pooped the bed and nobody cared.

All of my doctors were hilariously unavailable when I started pushing, and I think they thought it would be kind of a while of pushing so there was no need to freak out, but it was not that long and my very level-headed nurse pretty much delivered the baby by herself. She called in a backup doctor but by that point the doctor basically had time to put on her outfit and catch the baby as he came out. I pushed for 35 minutes and Evan was born at 5:35pm on October 9th. He was 20 inches long and weighed 8 pounds 7 ounces.

When he came out I was sort of in shock. I couldn’t believe there was a baby there with me. They brought him up to me and I held him and it was very nice. I don’t know how to explain it. It was sort of magic.

I was so happy after Evan was born. I was so relieved and free and proud. I ate a plate of hospital chicken parmesan and it was possibly the best meal of my life.

The time in the hospital was really special to me. It’s just a very nice thing to be totally taken care of by professionals. As soon as we got home I got the baby blues (sharp decline in hormones results in this deep, scary sadness and dread for a little while) and then after that I had normal new mom stuff where I didn’t really know what was going on for, oh, 3 and a half months. Evan was a great nurser but he did it for comfort a lot and that meant he kind of nursed constantly throughout his newborn months, which was pretty taxing for me. I watched a lot of TV. I tried to get out of the house once a day. Oh man, it’s pretty crazy remembering that time. My life is already so different.

Now Evan loves food. He eats pretty much everything we give him. Spinach, green beans, bread, peas, sweet potatoes, literally every fruit ever, eggs, zucchini, etc etc etc. He loves Daisy and Petunia. He loves bouncing with his legs and putting blades of grass in his mouth. He loves it when I sing Giants in the Sky from Into the Woods. He sleeps through the night. Our lives have evened out. I ran a 10k last weekend. I’ve almost lost the pregnancy weight. My play is opening next Friday. We have this new and different and better life now. Everything is actually the best.

Thanks for reading my birth story, you guys! It feels good to write it, therapeutic kind of. I hope it feeds your hunger for birth stories if you’re pregnant! Birth stories are the best when you’re pregnant. Almost as good as all of the food.

Oh and if you want information about that play I mentioned, here it is. Come see it, we can hang out, that would be so fun.

The Best Valentine’s Day


Valentine’s Day can be a real pain in the ass. Somebody’s expectations are too high. Somebody else thinks they are in a relationship with someone who is very cool and blasé about Hallmark holidays, but that somebody is wrong. Or maybe somebody is single and truly, fuck Valentine’s Day when you’re single. You can have all the lady hang outs and bottles of wine you want, but the only thing that will make you feel better is the dawn of February 15th. For the most part, in my experience Valentine’s Day has sucked a bag of butts, but there were a few that were okay.

The Best Valentine’s Day When I Was Single

In 2007 I was a senior in college in Boston. On Valentine’s Day there was a terrible snow/ice storm. Classes were cancelled at 3pm. My friends and I could not believe our good fortune. We put on boots and collected at one apartment in the disgusting college ghetto of Ashford Street in Allston, Massachusetts. Since it was Valentine’s Day and we were mostly single and many of us had a penchant for the dramatic, things escalated quickly. My friend Michael had a giant hollow glass boot that he filled with 5 hard ciders (he had to drink cider because he had celiac disease before it was trendy). He clinked the giant glass boot with someone and it instantly shattered, sending 5 hard ciders everywhere. That’s how the night started.

At one point, someone decided to strip down to his boxers and run across the street. In an ice storm. So we all did it, obviously.

After the collective ice storm underpants run, I guess I was drunk enough that I started getting sad that I didn’t have a boyfriend. So I collected a few single lady friends and we went to a bar to score some dudes. It didn’t pan out, but it was fun, I think.

It’s possible that it was not fun at all, in the moment. It’s likely I would have had more fun watching movies and eating brownies with fewer friends and less alcohol. But it was also the last time I spent Valentine’s Day single. As such, it was a necessary rite of passage. You can’t just run across the street in your underwear in an ice storm on Valentine’s Day all the time. It doesn’t make sense when you’re married with a kid. If I tried to pull that shit now, my neighbors would probably notify child services or have me committed. But 2007 was my year to make bad decisions born of alcohol and disappointment.

The Best Valentine’s Day When I Stayed Home

I left my office job in 2011 to write full time and my husband and I started feeling the financial burn a few months after. Valentine’s Day always ends up being expensive and maybe for no reason? What I really want, every year, is a night on the town that involves perfume and a nice meal and a cocktail and probably old-timey dancing, but all that stuff gets really expensive and if it’s only for me, it feels unnecessary and uncalled for. It almost seems like it’s the kind of thing people do to rekindle the spark of their failing marriages. My happy marriage doesn’t need that kind of crap. We are secure in our love for each other.

But whatever, I like that crap.

Anyway it didn’t matter in 2012 because we didn’t have the money to go traipsing around town, drinking champagne out of golden whatevers and eating diamonds. We stayed home, but I tried to make it special. I bought some nice steaks and oysters and wine. And whoops, it cost like $100. And I’m not a chef and actually was a vegetarian for 12 years so I’m still sort of bad at cooking meat and I cooked the steaks poorly and we weren’t even really saving much money at all and no strangers saw me in a cute outfit. What was even the point?

I know there’s a larger question I should be asking myself here, about why I need strangers to see me in a cute outfit, but that’s not what we’re talking about. Related: when watching the Super Bowl this year I kept thinking that it must be so much fun to play in the Super Bowl because of all the bright lights and all the people that are looking at you. Isn’t it fun to learn things about yourself?

Anyway this wasn’t the best Valentine’s Day for me, because I am an extrovert who loves events and change and movement. This was the best Valentine’s Day for my husband who loves home and food and comfort and staying the same. If you are like him, this would be your best Valentine’s Day.

The Best Valentine’s Day When I Went Out

Last year, my husband and I had just come out of a nightmarish series of sad losses in our lives. Having a bunch of terrible things happen to you makes you a little careless with money, so when Valentine’s Day rolled around we made a reservation at the restaurant where my husband proposed five years earlier. I think he was trying to make me happy. We ordered the giant fancy steak for two and it was maybe the best meal of my life. We went to a bar after dinner and played songs on the jukebox. This was my favorite Valentine’s Day and it was so unlike my husband, but he did it for me and I had to ultimately let him convince me that it was what he wanted too.

Sometimes maybe it’s best to just let your significant other do something for you that isn’t their ideal. Maybe that’s the best way to manifest love. Or to even have it end up being something you want because what you want most is for the person you love to be happy. Maybe that’s what Valentine’s Day is about now. Doing something you hate because someone you love wants you to, and that makes you hate it less.

Or maybe the best Valentine’s Day is whatever is best for you: ignoring it entirely or eating brownies and watching movies or getting wasted and running through an ice storm in your panties.

How To Throw the Weirdest, Lamest Super Bowl Party

Step 1: Have a baby. Establish a sleep schedule that is very strict and become terrified to veer from said schedule. Baby must be in bed by 6:30pm. Baby will then awake one to two times after scheduled bedtime and will need to nurse or be rocked to sleep. Be trapped in your house from 6pm until 8pm every night. Perhaps forever.

Step 2: Invite guests. Nobody will come because they know your super bowl party will be very lame and possibly interrupted by a crying baby. Your guest list is now two people: the parents of aforementioned baby. Put on your nursing pajamas because might as well.

Step 3: Make snacks! Since you are still trying to lose pregnancy weight, make healthy snacks. Like a big salad. And that’s it. Maybe some raw almonds, for fun!

Step 4: Drankz. See step 3, make low-calorie drinks. Take a pint glass, fill it with ice, add a splash of weird vodka left over from a party you had 4 years ago, fill the rest of the glass with seltzer from your Soda Stream. Add a slice of lemon, for fun!

Step 5: Fall asleep before halftime.

But seriously, you guys, things are going well over here! I feel like I get being a parent a little bit. Evan is sleeping pretty well (it is terrifying to type that because I am tempting the baby sleep gods) and is a generally happy baby most of the time! His head is really big and we are working on getting better at tummy time. He breastfeeds like a champ but hates bottles with every fiber of his being, so that’s interesting. He laughs when I kiss him or blow raspberries on his belly. So, like, we will have a lame time watching the Super Bowl, but life is pretty okay.

I Had A Baby!

…almost 8 weeks ago.

Sorry to leave you guys hanging! There isn’t a lot of time for blogging.

We are both happy and healthy and he’s currently not napping so I have to go. Oh life! Oh beautiful, painful, exhausting, wonderful life!

Apples Week

Last week was Apples Week, guys.

apples1Look how seasonal.

Growing up in southern Connecticut meant I did a lot of cute, outdoorsy things with my family, but without me ever knowing it, these cute, outdoorsy trips were always very carefully curated for city people. We lived in a big commuter area outside New York City and all the pumpkin patches and apple farms were actually just marketed “country day trips” for people from New York to come and do something with their city families. The apples were more expensive if you picked them yourself. Same thing with Christmas trees.

Which, I realize now, is bullshit.

Last weekend Billy and I drove about an hour outside Boston to Pepperell, Mass, to Kimball Fruit Farm, an actual, real farm, with real fruits and vegetables that they grow and sell to humans. Kimball always has the best booths at the farmer’s markets in Somerville and Cambridge, so I was excited to go straight to the horse’s mouth. Since they’re organic (or low spray or whatever, I don’t really care that much about organic so I don’t really know?) their food is usually pretty expensive at the farmer’s market. I think apples tend to go for $3 a pound. But if you go to the farm and pick them yourself, saving the farm the cost of having somebody else pick them and drive them down to the market, it only costs $1.25 a pound for apples. This is how it should be!

My mom told me once that when she was a kid, growing up in Worcester, she would go apple picking with her family because it was a way to save money. That finally makes sense to me. There was something so much more authentic to our apple picking trip that weekend than what I’m used to. It was refreshing.

And also the apples taste amazing.

apples5Look at the color of these fucking apples. I want lipstick that color.

So we bought something like 12 pounds of apples and ate a million apples last week. We’re actually still eating them. I had one for breakfast and there are four or five left. I even used a bunch of them to make this pie:

apples2Isn’t it beautiful? It took forever.

I think part of my nesting instinct involves baking a lot. I want to bake all day long.

apples3This is the first piece so it’s a little wonky, but oh man. So many apples in this pie! 5 pounds of apples, to be exact. And the crust was amazing, all butter, very… buttery. The recipe is from a Cooks Illustrated baking cookbook my father-in-law gave me because he doesn’t bake much. Thanks Moe! Also there isn’t a ton of sugar in it, so it mostly tasted like apples and butter, which is a great combination.

apples4Look how many apples! So many apples.

Anyway apple week was great, and it’s not even really over because I think I’m going to use the last two apples to make this apple pear salted caramel tart from Fine Cooking.

I am physically unable to stop baking.

This baby better get born soon, or the city of Somerville is going to run out of butter and flour and sugar and Billy is going to gain 85 pounds.


37 Weeks

37 weeksDo you know what 37 weeks is? 37 weeks is considered FULL TERM, B-WORDS. The baby can come at any time. But he will probably wait until my induction, because I feel like that’s how these things go. But there’s no way to know!

I’m doing a lot of vacuuming and laundry and straightening of items. Basically, nesting is hitting me like a ton of bricks, which means my apartment looks great all the time, as though I’m getting it ready for a design magazine photographer to stop by any second. Everything must be PERFECT. ALWAYS.

In this scenario the baby is a design magazine photographer, which actually might be my dream job for him.

I think it’s safe to say the baby has dropped, because I can eat a lot more and breathe a lot easier now. I still have heartburn, but it’s not as bad as it was. Other symptom updates: sciatica is still the worst but I’m sort of getting used to it, like every time I stand up I yell and wince for ten seconds, then continue about my day. My hips are sore but not like in the second trimester when they were doing all that loosening and moving around. My carpal tunnel syndrome is worse, I think. I get really tired and I’m sleeping terribly at night for various reasons. Oh man, and my hormones.

My hormones have reached the level of cliche. I cry a lot, but it’s not for the same reasons as before. Earlier in this pregnancy I was crying about how much I hated being pregnant and how I wanted time to move faster and about how my hips hurt and it seemed like it was for no good reason and how I was losing my identity. Now I cry when I hear stories about children or animals, happy or sad, anything. I am doing a lot of happy crying, too.

This might be because I watched the episode of Parks and Recreation when Ann and Chris move away from Pawnee, and they drive off and that Tom Petty song plays, but I was feeling especially emotional this morning and I cried for more time than was necessary about an old episode of a TV show that I have watched like 4 times in the past 6 months. And then I was like “I AM SO LUCKY TO BE ALIVE AND TO HAVE ALMOST EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER WANTED” and then I hugged my animals to a degree that made them uncomfortable.

But snark aside, I feel very lucky today. Sometimes things are hard, but today things are great and it’s only going to get better.

I’m ready.


In Case You Missed It

I’ve written a bunch of stuff for the internet lately! Since I am inconsistent about posting them, I’m going to collect them all here periodically. If you haven’t read them already, you can read them by clicking the links below (helpful information for people who have never used an internet website before).

The Washington Post

The lies my mom, TV and just about everyone else told me about being pregnant

Your 20s are supposed to be glorious. In reality, they’re the worst.

Let’s be honest: the first day of school is really all about the outfits

The Huffington Post

6 Things I Learned from Having 3 Miscarriages

The Best 5 Things I Learned From My Dad

The Billfold

Our Attempt at a $20-a-day Budget

How to Work as an Extra and Regret Doing It