Posts by Jess
*Disclaimer: This post is absolutely not sponsored by Audible. I wish. This is a post about parenting, but its exact nature has eluded me for a while. Is it an advice piece? Satire? A cry for help? Honestly? It’s kind of all of the above. When I first started writing this post, roughly 17 years
Dear Reader: It’s been a minute. When last I left you, I was days from my due date, and ready to meet the future love of my life. Spoiler alert: I met him. He’s great. I’ve been meaning to write sooner. First I started a “fourth trimester” blog. To summarize that unfinished, messy 2,663-word treatise,
If you told me nine months ago that eventually I’d be here, a few days from my due date, relatively calm and ready to welcome Jess Jr. into the world … well, I’d believe you. That’s how time works. Except for a few times during Hellmester, I didn’t actually believe this baby would kill me.
Holy crap: I made it through another trimester! Two-thirds done. On one hand, I can’t believe it. On the other, I feel like I’ve been pregnant for three dog years, and I’m ready for this baby to live externally. I thought a lot about what catchy name I’d give to the second trimester. For me
I’m so excited to share this blog (and this news, perhaps) with you guys! I’ve been taking notes for this post on and off since early October, when the little bundle of multiplying cells in my uterus started KICKING MY BUTT. As some of you may know, I am Host to a small future baby,
I’m in what I’ll call a fallow period. Imagine I’m farmland. In, uh, Iowa. Soybeans maybe? Yeah, soybeans. OK cool, so I’m farmland, and the harvesters just took all my juicy crops away, and now I just have to … sit here. And wait. Until when? Well, until I’ve recharged enough to do it all
Only if you need them, of course. You’re 35 and have arrived! You’re 35 and sort of know how to drive! You’re 35 and still alive! 34? You’re ONE BETTER than that! 26? You’re way more confident and settled now! 21? No, yeah, that was probably the best year. Age ain’t nothin but a number!
Oh, you work from home every day? You’re so lucky! I hear that a lot. And I think: if this is what luck feels like, excuse me while I break all my mirrors and walk under 13 ladders while cradling my black cat inside an umbrella I opened indoors. (His name is Primo. The cat,
Hey, I’m not sure if you noticed, but… The holidays are over. Over like my eggs at an overpriced Sunday brunch. Over like me and New Year’s Eve parties. Over like the blood-alcohol limit of the insane driver who ran off the road in front of us two days before Christmas, then abandoned his truck
I know, I know: the blog’s been a bit quiet. Blame it on marriage, an amazing new show I’m working on called In Cabaret We Trust, packing for a big move to Denver (see: marriage), and my semi-annual malaise. Every move sucks in its own special way, like a crappy snowflake, but this one has
