Thanks! I'm going to eat it with a spoon straight from the jar.

I get the fear. It's totally valid. You do what’s best for you. Hugs.

Crackers for everyone!

Sleep in, you've earned it!

Ugh. Please. I was a fully-formed excellent human before I had kids and I’ll be a fully-formed excellent human in 17 years when the little one heads off to college/trade school/an apartment with five other struggling conceptual artists. Having kids is great and I am a mother, but I’ll be damned before I invite the…

It’s easy and it’s hard. Easy to love the kids (presuming you aren’t a narcissistic nightmare) but terrifying when you’re tired and cranky and not living up to the ideal that you have in your mind of the mom that you wanted to have and be. But as long as you accept support and keep trying, it can be deeply wonderful.

They also make me a card. With glitter glue. SCORE.

Aim a tiny bit higher! Get your Nutella!!!

I like the cut of your jib.

DOOOOO EEEEET!!!!

I have always loathed this “holiday,” but now that I have my own children I tolerate it. They give me Nutella and let me sleep in, and in return I work to make them feel all the love, support, and acceptance that was sorely missing from my childhood.

My sweet baby is a projectile vomiter. He has barfed on pretty much everyone in both of the baby rooms at his daycare, and they still treat him with incredible love and patience.

Sure. But while a bubonic plague spewing crazypants internet ding-dong might make us feel some sympathy for the clueless Ms. Walls, she’s still not a good employee or an intelligent person. Just because we don’t want her to swell with painful buboes until she is dead that doesn’t mean she should be taking care of…

And get held to impossibly high standards. It’s all a load of sexist poop.

There’s a careless assumption that Dads wouldn’t be up in arms about a caretaker hating their children—keeping on top of this sort of thing is “woman’s work.” But I know that if this was my niece and nephew’s teacher my brother would be furious. If it were my children’s teacher my husband would be appalled, and they…

I don’t mean to call you out because everyone is doing it, but isn’t it funny that we’re all assuming that the “suburban busybodies” are moms? And by “funny” I mean “pretty terrible.”

It’s a little condescending to call concerned parents “suburban busybodies.” If a teacher at my kids daycare was foolish enough to publicly proclaim her hate for children I’d want her nowhere near them. Sure, name-calling is awful, but she tapped into the working parent’s greatest source of anxiety—that they’ve…

I do not know how thick two short planks are but based on the context, I'm going to assume very.

Yesterday I met a woman on the playground who successfully convinced her son not to name his grandchild “Mason.” Their last name was “Dixon.” Oh, and they were black.

A few years ago I told my friends that I was pregnant when we got together to watch the first baseball game of the season. I had forgotten that it was also April Fool's Day so no one believed me. Then, three years later when I was pregnant again I purposely waited until April Fool's Day to tell them.