Monday, September 28, 2015

Me: Biscuit, do you know how libraries work?
P: Sshhh. I’m reading.
Sunday, September 27, 2015

Ice pop on the stoop. #endlesssummer #biscuitinthebigapple

Beauty is ...

Thursday, September 24, 2015
In a word, beauty is vulnerability. So says my friend and photographer Shannon Michelle.

She photographed me a few years back in my lingerie. It was a boudoir shoot that became a framed photograph for Andy. Even though I’d known Shannon for a while, I had to down a couple of drinks just to loosen up and feel comfortable enough to take my clothes off in front of a professional lens.
I’ve always had a pretty good relationship with my body. It has flaws, like all bodies do, but I’m mostly good with mine. My grandmother stressed good posture growing up so I almost never slouch. I don’t exercise much and, thanks to genetics, I don’t really have to. I eat well and makes sure I’m not taking in more calories than I can burn. I’m also terribly vain. If I notice a few clinging pounds, I cut back/move more/change things to “fix” that. I wish my butt and hips were a little fuller (like Beyoncé) but everyone wants what they don’t have, I guess.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

The Biscuit gets her wings in Nolita.
Sunday, September 13, 2015

P enjoys some Italian ice at the Feast of San Gennaro. #biscuitinthebigapple (at Mulberry Street, Little Italy)
Monday, September 7, 2015

Continuing the summer good times at Coney Island.

Some days she’s the sweetest kid

Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Some days she’s an absolute beast.

Every day I get a solid reminder of what motherhood is really about.

Today I took The Biscuit to a lovely children’s bookstore. When we went to grab lunch, a random stranger (who I assume does not read minds) sat down exactly where she wanted to sit. Oh, the injustice!

A toddler screaming at me because a stranger sat at the table she wanted is … exhausting.

Wanting to punch a child is normal, I guess. All parents, whether they can admit it or not, have thought about harming an inconsolable little person. Actually doing such a thing is horrible and I would never hurt The Biscuit like that.

That’s my win today. Not punching my daughter. Instead, I shot video of her screaming on the sidewalk in midtown, kept my composure, hauled her home wailing and flailing (much to the dismay of gawking strangers), poured myself a midday glass of wine and made her Andy’s problem.

No matter how great a job I think I’m doing as a parent, this little person can strip me of whatever pride I have. She makes me feel so inadequate I want to cry and hide.

There is no manual for this and, real talk, I’m out of my league.
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