Preach. My CFBC friends and I kind of mutually flaked on each other. They didn't want to be around my daughter, so they wouldn't hang out with me, and I had childcare issues, so the few times I had an open hour or two, I was running as many errands as possible.

Seriously, it took more than two years to get the kid to the point of willingly hanging out with her grandparents solo, and I got to learn the hard way that nobody will babysit the screamer for a second time, not even if I pay them fifty bucks an hour.

Because we don't. That's just how life rolls with a small child. It's a 24 hour game of keeping them alive and training them to not be tiny assholes — and use the potty.

Well, not at that H&M, certainly.

(Too much Ocean's 11.)

Until, sadly, she took that $10k ring to the diamond district, only to be laughed at, though one guy took pity on her and offered to upgrade the stone for "only" another $500.

If my daughter's preschool is any indication, if you go for John or Robert, he'll have a more distinctive name than every Aydyn, Atticus, or Gaius out there.

I sure think it does.

I'm not saying that we're pricing pecan farms yet, but who doesn't like a pecan pie now and then?

Plus carbon sequestration!

I loved when my baby girl started cuddling back. My heart explodes every time she rests her head on my shoulder and pats my arm. She's thrown whispering "I luff you, mama" into the mix within the last month or so. DYING. DYING.

Someone asked me if I was "so excited" to get a Goldieblox set for my daughter when she's older. Oh, yes. So excited to buy a closed system toy promoting gender segregation using pink and purple, with narratives built around pet care and pageants, because that'll totally smash the patriarchy.

I tip my hat to you. Today's a non-preschool morning and I'm scrambling to keep her occupied while I try to meet a deadline and accomplish the usual deadline procrastination chores like make two weeks of freezer meals and spring clean the living room. A well-timed DT episode before morning snack is going to give me 22…

Thanks to the magic of only having Netflix and Amazon Prime, I've managed to keep her limited to Daniel Tiger and Mister Rogers. But boy howdy, do I regret ever, EVER letting her watch that fuzzy little asshole.

Out of all the shocks of parenting, the realization that I couldn't just check out for a migraine anymore was the worst. The baby didn't understand mama's head hurt, and the toddler now just doesn't give a fuck.

Then: "When I allow my daughter to watch television, it'll have educational content with no promotional tie-ins."

My friend's daughter didn't hit forty pounds until she was almost eight years old. While she's an advocate for not flipping until well after two years, she wasn't about to force her second grader to ride rear facing while her baby brother was big enough to face forward.

Recommended in the US, yep. SplitJunior is almost two and a half and well over thirty pounds and I still get shit from some of the sanctimommies for having her forward facing.

Hell, Mr. Atom basically bogarted little Hydrogen on the day she was born. I held her for feedings, but the rest of the time, she was parked in his arms. I get a little sentimental just thinking about it.

Both! I don't think we'll ever have the answer, and that's what Netflix is for.