I have hope that we're one bad gas station chimichanga away from flushing the remaining Santorum from our system.

We co-sleep. Part of it is to bond with the baby and part of it is just sheer exhaustion. She sleeps best snuggled up on my chest and it's 4 a.m.? — I'm not going to fight it.

The good: I found out I was pregnant in February and had a beautiful baby girl in

My anatomy scan was scheduled at 18 weeks so I could hit the 20 week legal window if I had to terminate. Thankfully, everything was fine and I gave birth to a healthy baby girl.

I'm glad that I was so strung out by the time we got to the epidural failure that it's all in a haze. If I'd had more than a few minutes' sleep in the preceding 48 hours, I'm sure I'd be curled up in a corner, weeping. It was traumatic, but it feels like it happened to someone else.

Yeah. I'm quitting after the early labor, the preeclampsia, a 38 hour induction, a failed epidural and one perfect baby girl.

Well, I'm bad mama all the way. I drank coffee, ate deli meat and sushi and took cold medicine when I was knocked up. Oh, and then there was the single beer.

My daughter is so fucked. I lived off peanut butter for the last trimester.

Dear Daughter,

Howdy! I'm a week into this whole "motherhood" business and I'm going to tell you now that you want all the blankets. ALL OF THEM. Don't look a gift blanket in the mouth. Take it and run.

Hell, Lizzie Fine Lined that mofo like a boss.

I'm a DES daughter and granddaughter. My daughter, who's due at the end of the month, is fucked.

I have two stains on my bachelor degree — a weird, suspiciously pooh-color blotch in the top left corner and this guy's signature.

Annoying: Getting stuck behind someone with two carts full of groceries in the only open checkout line.

Dodai, I'm here by starting the petition for Denton to buy you these just for being super awesome.

A former colleague came up to me on December 22 and asked if I could knit a wedding ring shawl — like the kind she saw in Ireland — for her mom's Christmas present. She'd pay me $100. That was a fair price, right?

And this is why I don't knit for other people.

The way the tabloids keep moaning about "Jen's Fresh Heartbreak" and the whole man-stealing narrative put me in mind of the toxic friend who, years after the one bad breakup we all suspect she instigated, still brings down the dinner party with wine-fueled laments about how that bastard hurt her, hurt her so bad.

I'd like to think that her "training" is actually her holed up on a sofa with the complete nonfiction works of Allison Weir.

I don't know what Greek yogurt other folks are eating, but mine is using whole milk as a base.