For Baby or Moi?

Cambridge Satchel Company via Dover Street Market

Screw the Transformers backpack. These are cool, no? I was poking around Bloomingdale's today (a somewhat harrowing experience) and happened upon these bright bags from the Cambridge Satchel Company.

I think one of them would make a cute school or diaper bag, but I'm curious. Do you really even need a diaper bag? Like a diaper diaper bag with a capital D from a dedicated company that makes them with little, I don't know, compartments in the appropriate sizes for baby thingies?

Or can I just carry the essentials in my normal cavernous bag?

Gear

via BabySecurity.co.uk

Were I a baby, I would be cheering the invention of the sleep sack.

Can you imagine anything more comfortable? The little straight jacket versions seem even better.

The Naked Face Project

Naked Face, 2010

A month ago, blogger Caitlin Boyle embarked on The Naked Face Project, a several month long experiment in beauty norms that has her eschewing makeup, shaving, and deodorant (among other things.)

A Southerner who explains she's never felt comfortable leaving the house without her "face" on, Boyle hopes that the project will help her figure out why she thinks the way she does about beauty. She also works with young girls as a running coach, so she wanted to be able to speak to them about beauty and confidence in a real way, and to do so, she felt like she needed to examine where her own attitudes came from.

Me in Makeup (our wedding day), 2012
Photo by Brian Wedge

When she announced the endeavor, I laughed. I am very familiar with this project.

In the comments, it seemed like the majority of the women felt like giving up makeup was a very bold step, though a few women noted that where they were from, in Denver or Portland, say, no one would blink twice (or even notice) if they went makeup free.

When I wear makeup to a wedding, say, 3 times a year, Will usually says something like "What's that on your face?"

Happily, I've been a participant in the naked face project for the better part of my 33 years.

When people discuss travelling with a blow dryer, I am perplexed. I air dry my hair unless I am at the hair dresser, which happens approximately twice a year.

Still, I think it's so interesting why women are conditioned to do what they do, and thought I'd share the products that make it into my daily ritual (which takes about four minutes.)

Having done some beauty reporting in my day, I've tried all the posh stuff and really do swear by these very simple brands.

1. Aveeno Daily Moisturizing Lotion
2. Olay Regenerist Night Recovery Treatment
3. St. Ives Invigorating Apricot Scrub
4. Nature's Gate Chamomile Replenishing Shampoo and Conditioner
5. Dove Ultimate Deodorant

That said, everyone has their indulgences and mine are regular facials, massages, not-regular-enough eyebrow waxing and highlights, plus pedicures. Oh, and I forgot the Blistex.

I guess I figure that if I am going to bare the goods, they may as well look as well as they can. I also do shave my legs, but am not at all freaked out if this happens once or twice a week.

When I do put makeup on, it does feel like dressing up, but I also feel a bit like I'm not really myself. I guess I think it's fun/amusing/interesting, in the same way that, say, a Halloween costume (hopefully not one of the slutty vampire variety) is interesting.

Sometimes I wish I were a little more high maintenance, but it's just not the way my brain works.

What do you think? What made you think the way you do about beauty rituals?

Flying Solo

Hotel de la Paix, Laos, 2011

Will is setting off on a work ski trip tonight and will be out of town for three nights.

Yesterday, he asked me, "You going to be okay while I'm gone?" I suppose I've been a little needy of late. I blame the hormones.

The truth is, I adore spending time on my own. I am exceedingly good at it (to the point of occasional hermit-like behavior.)

Over the years I've been lucky enough to travel independently on a number of occasions.

It began when I was about 21, and spent a summer working in Paris during college. Outside of the law firm where I interned, I knew not a soul in the city. As soon as I got out of work, I'd walk until it began to get dark, sometimes stopping at a cafe for dinner and a glass of wine. On the weekends, I'd take myself to Chartres, or Versailles, or the Rodin Museum, and happily pass 48 hours without speaking to a soul (except to order my cafe cremes and buy my train tickets.) I developed plenty of little by-myself rituals that I've maintained a decade later.

In more recent years, pinch-me-is-this-real work assignments have taken me to Paris, Budapest, Laos, and various parts of California on my own, and I always look forward to it. I usually take myself out to a swanky lunch (or several), sleep diagonally on fancy hotel sheets, and laugh out loud at my own very absurd inner monologue. Then I watch CNN International or thumb through foreign fashion magazines and go to bed at like ten.

I think all of the above (well, except for the fancy hotel sheets bit) are life skills that will serve me well when I'm home with an infant. I've heard a rumor that they are not great conversationalists.

I'm also glad they're strategies I mastered in my 20s and early 30s. Of course, I have the capacity for feeling isolated as well. But more often that not, I really enjoy (and need) plenty of my own, uninterrupted company.

Having less of that open, quiet time is going to be an adjustment, for sure (and may be the root of some of my reluctance on the matter of attachment parenting.) So for now, I will be relishing it.

Gear

Q Collection va Apartment Therapy

I know crib bumpers are out, but I am digging these sheets from Q Collection (and sad to hear I am too late. Sigh.)

And, serious business people....first purchase for the boy was one of these Jellycat Cordy Roy guys.

I felt like such a lurker going into AREA Kids. I think there's this feeling, when you're not quite showing, that you're somehow "JV pregnant." I feel much the same at pre-natal yoga, when confronted with ultra bendy 37-weekers. It's silly, really. Having children in and of itself is such an act of optimism. So what if I want to buy a stuffed elephant at 16-going-on-17 weeks?!?!

11211 Love

El Almacen via NYMag.com

File El Almacen under places to eat in Williamsburg. This is our failsafe local. We're there in three minutes flat.

I order the aji relleno or the milanesa de pollo and Will goes for a steak and red wine.

Tonight, the guys next to us had a gorgeous, envy-inducing plank of charcuterie and cheese to share and were talking about their independent film in indeterminate accents. It didn't seem at all hokey. You hear a lot of indeterminate accents here. The lighting is great and everyone looks quite dashing.

In the summer, there's a little back garden, its trees strung with lights.

People sometimes ask me for my favorite place in the neighborhood. I often feel like I should say something more exotic, as there are now plenty of very serious foodie joints around these parts. But for a chill South American ambiance, servers who leave you alone (in a nice way), and tasty, not-at-all-precious food, this is always my top pick.

Zen Mama

Six Senses Con Dao, Vietnam, 2011

I've always wanted to be one of those serene, bohemian mothers who doesn't get terribly riled about schedules and isn't freaking out over toddler Mandarin lessons or scraped knees. You know the kind. She's usually off ommmming somewhere in the tropics (shrugging off the high risk of malaria), while a her brawny stay-at-home-dad-novelist-hubby is teaching the kids to surf.

But this week, the little guy gave me a lesson in neuroses.

Our 16 week anatomy scan last Thursday was mostly great. My OBGYN practice uses another imaging center for more detailed scans, so we trekked to a no man's land stretch of midtown and settled in for the 45 minute journey. It was really emotional, just being in the dark room and seeing this little person looking very human on the screen. At one point he grabbed his feet. It all looked great to us. It's a boy, etc!

Then the ultrasound tech brought in a doctor, who was trailed by a med student (and eventually another doctor.) There was a smudge of something they were concerned about on the back of the baby's head. There was a lot of fiddling around with 3D imaging as the three men loomed over me.

Long story short, I went numb for about ten minutes while they discussed whether the baby's head was sealed properly. It was.

Eventually, the doctor turned to us brightly and said the baby had what was essentially a pimple on the back of his skull. I was a bit wobbly all weekend, just because their initial worry was so, so bad.

I think I couldn't quite process what they had actually concluded and wound up with this cloudy, panicked sense of something'swrongwithmybaby. It was extremely hard to shake. The hangover that comes from considering the worst case scenario is really rough.

Anyway, after a long chat with my primary doctor, who reviewed the files, things are indeed fine. She reiterated that he has a little skin cyst the size of a sesame seed, and it will either go away by the next scan, or it won't, and we'll deal with it later.

I felt a bit silly calling her relentlessly since she sounded so very, well, serene, about the whole thing.

You feel so incredibly vulnerable when it comes to your children, future, or otherwise. If the kid comes home late after curfew, I will clearly be a nervous wreck.

And Just Because...

How great are these installations from Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman?

Gear

Violet's Room, via Apartment Therapy

We probably won't order a crib or any large pieces until much later this spring, in part because doing so will require lots of hauling, lifting, reorganizing and certain chaos in our apartment.

LayBabyLay.com via Decor Pad

That doesn't mean I haven't been eyeing up David Netto and Oeuf affairs at the coolster baby stores in Manhattan, and marveling at the phenomenon that is the $1000 crib.

Don't get me wrong, I am a total sucker for these lovely pieces. But I was checking out Giggle's wares the other day and came across this Jenny Lind crib and changing table, which I think are really sweet (and cheap to boot.)

Jenny Lind Changing Table

Simple and old-fashioned, they are now totally up to date in terms of safety, and they remind me of the nursery at Will's parent's house in Maine. Plus, between sleeping in a bassinet and becoming a toddler, aren't the short ones only in their cribs for like 8 months?

I think they deserve points for not trying too hard.

Animal House

Hansa Aardvark

Hansa makes the best, most realistic stuffed toys I've seen. I first noticed them at Sweet William on N. 6th Street, which has a fantastic rotating collection of polar bears, black sheep, and vultures. No cloying bunnies in this collection. These are fierce, sometimes obscure, always amusing critters.

The Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London, by Walton Ford 

They remind me of the work of American artist Walton Ford...

Walton Ford at Paul Kasmin Gallery

But until I have many tens of thousands to drop on one of his gorgeous paintings (inspired, in part, by the famous Audubon prints) I might settle for this handsome bison.

Hansa Bison

Gear

Rompers from Shak-Shuka.com

On a perkier note...

Zig Zags! Swallows! Amazing things from Dutch boutique Shak Shuka...

Thank goodness they ship worldwide.

Louie Louie

Louie, on Netflix.com

I've already expressed my weird relationship with Louis C.K. Well, over the weekend, between ravioli sessions, we watched the first season of his autobiographical show Louie.

The series has its bleak moments, but I do love that C.K.'s frank to the point of discomfort about what it's like to be a parent. Sometimes it's boring/dreadful/impossibly hard. It's okay to say so. I can laugh.

That said, please don't say so to the pregnant lady. She will figure it out for herself.

One of my biggest pet peeves in talking to acquaintances who have children is when they say things like "You'll see..." They usually give you a look then, like they are about to put down your puppy.

Then they say all manner of self-deprecating things about how their clothes are covered in vomit, their walls in crayon, and that their level of exhaustion is testing their sanity (but it's "so worth it.")

They add in a bit about their episotomy, for good measure. There's usually a kind of sick gleam in their eyes as they do so.

Or there's the well meaning family member who launches into a discussion of how they never managed to lose the baby weight. Nope, never.

I'm all for a healthy vent, but at this stage in my gestating, go easy on me. You don't tell someone on the marathon starting line how much it's going to suck, do you? A little positivity goes a long way.

On Attachment Parenting

This weekend, while Will took his bike to the repair shop, I poked into Caribou Baby and perused the organic baby stuff and their stack of books.

This being the heart of crunchy Brooklyn, the majority of the books focussed on topics like elimination communication, attachment parenting, and child-lead weaning. This, so far as I can tell, means eschewing diapers for the nearby stream/toilet (from birth), holding your baby on your body 23+ hours a day, and breastfeeding the wee one until he/she is 14.

I am exaggerating, obviously, but I sense that this is a topic people feel very passionately about. No sense of humor allowed.

The notion behind attachment parenting (as far as I grasp it) is that babies feel more secure when they are physically close to their mothers as much as possible, are allowed to breastfeed on demand rather than on a set schedule, co-sleep, and are never left to cry it out. This is supposedly beneficial to their health, good for their development, and so on.

I am open to all manner of theories on childrearing, but I sometimes think that ideas on attachment parenting go a little far.

My gut says, well, of course children want to be comforted as much as possible. But it also seems that there are a lot of reasons women in developing countries (often cited in attachment parenting studies) have to carry their children 24-7, co-sleep, etc.

Looking back on the seconds debate, I can't help but feel that there are modern conveniences (like a crib!) that allow you to get a bit of space every now and then. That it's okay if our bed remains our bed, and the baby has his own. That waiting five or fifteen minutes before picking up the little person is not going to cause the same amount of damage as, say, abandoning them in a Romanian orphanage.

You want to love your child to excess. But is it so bad to have few boundaries as well?

Gear

via Tamar Mogendorff

Loving these mobiles from artist Tamar Mogendorff. The little orange octopus is great.

It's such a relief to see that there's hope for intelligent design in the world of children's wares. I've been scrolling through dozens of baby sites and am generally horrified by the cartoonishness of it all.

Why is so much of the stuff so ugly!? My friend V. has been teasing me since we were teenagers because I once insisted I'd dress my children exclusively in linen and let them play with nothing but sticks.

Of course, I understand that children like bright colors and that I may eventually have to buy a hideous Transformers backpack for the little one (or face certain meltdown.) Until then, my theory is if you cannot speak, you do not get interior design/fashion input.

via Tea Collection

Etsy.com via Oh The Lovely Things

The good news is that there are plenty of fantastic artisans and clothing creators making lovely toys and ensembles that aren't plastered with cartoon dogs or Disney characters or slogans like "Mommy's Little Helper."

So I might stray from the stick rule and get the boy an ivory play teepee.

16 Weeks

16 Weeks, 2 Days

Not very impressive! But I suppose I should enjoy it while it lasts.

Still no weight gain. Some possible flutters here and there, though.

Went to see a friend's band play at Union Pool last night and did some errands around a very windy Williamsburg this morning (between ogling dogs at the McCarren Park dog run. I am not to be trusted around sausage dogs. They look like little brown millipedes.)

Mushrooms, 2012

Will bought crimini, oyster, and shitake mushrooms at the farmer's market and a new ravioli maker at Whisk. He has very ambitious plans to make ravioli and sourdough bread this weekend. I will be observing from a safe distance.

15 Weeks

14 Weeks

xoxo

Nautical(& Nice)

Etsy.com

We have a bit of a blue theme going on in our spare room, which is handy, assuming you are down with reinforcing gender stereotypes (unlike this couple.)

I am digging these sweet, briny baby mobiles from Etsy seller Southern Pearl Designs. Graphic and interesting and not too plastic-y/terrifying.

The Avocado

Avocado, 2012

When my sister in law was pregnant, she'd occasionally send along emails from those services that tell you which fruit or vegetable the baby is that week (among other bits of useful info.) For whatever reason, we found the avocado week especially amusing, and persisted in calling her unborn child The Avocado for the rest of the pregnancy. Some weeks are truly alarming... like pineapple week. Ouch.

An avocado seems just ideal, thankyouverymuch.

Well, I have officially reached avocado week.

Our first anatomy scan was a hold-your-breath kind of affair, particularly as I haven't been feeling really very pregnant in a consistent way. Well, except for the crying jags.

But it's also been a beautiful week for walking around the city and appreciating its Gotham-ness. How cool it is to live here...

This weekend, the L train is down for repairs and I'm just fine with that. I will be enjoying walks/decaf lattes/sleep and the like. Hope yours is equally action packed.

Madison Square Park, 2012

Gear

Matching Vilebrequin shorts, via The Foodinista

Dwell Baby

Hanna Andersson for Serena and Lily

So far, I have resisted the urge to buy anything baby-related. But now that we have a little more info on the impending heir, I'm enjoying trolling sites like Serena and Lily and Dwell for handsome little sleep suits, and Vilebrequin for absurdly priced mini swimming trunks.

I am quite partial to cool greys and blues and love, love, love all these striped pyjamas. Amazing.

It's a Boy!

A short post, but good news all around. We are having a little boy. Will is quite excited to do manly things with this new arrival, and I am excited to meet a miniature Will (who was pretty darn cute, no?)

Gin and Tonic

Singapore, 2011

I would really like one.

Tomorrow we have our first anatomy scan and might know if it's a boy or a girl. So that's exciting.

The last couple of days have been rather stressful though. I've been in a tizzy over real estate, mumbling to myself like a crazy person about how ridiculous the prices have gotten in our neighborhood.

The answer, of course, is that we probably shouldn't move if it's causing anxiety, but the cloud is there nonetheless.

When I'm not muttering and cursing about absurd price per square foot statistics, I'm lamenting my terrible housekeeping skills.

Perhaps hormones are making me more scattered than usual, but I seem to be able to accomplish only half of any useful task. I wash our clothes, then forget to put them in the dryer so they start getting musty and I have to begin the process all over again.

Or I buy wholesome groceries and then feel utterly unable to do anything with them, resulting in an English muffin and banana for dinner.

I tried to do something nesty last night and made banana bread, which turned into a disaster. I did it in a sort of haphazard way and forgot the salt, eggs, and baking soda. I managed to mix them in at the eleventh hour but the results were kind of sad and slab-like. I am really not a baker.

All in all, kind of cranky, but I am sure it will lift.

Wild Horses

Southampton, 2010

I am not sure what a baby's first movements feel like, but on Saturday, while watching Louis C.K. do his bit about ponies, I was laughing hysterically and I suddenly felt my stomach drop, the way it does on a roller coaster. It was such a weird sensation, but I'm getting used to weird sensations and I didn't think much of it, except to note that it felt like a welling up or a strange kind of energy.

Of course, my hormones being totally out of whack, I laughed so hard about the pony tragedy that I started crying. It was something to do with the roller coaster sensation plus C.K.'s story, which was kind of sweet and sick at the same time. Little girl sees ponies for first time. Pony bites her. Hilarity/devastation ensues.

So suddenly I'm sobbing in the middle of this comedy routine and Will is looking on in amusement tinged with horror.

It was odd.

I didn't think too much of the sensation, but I just felt it again. And it's not quite like nausea or motion sickness. A weird welling up and dropping feeling.

Any mamas care to fill me in? Is this the baby or just my hormones run amok?

Big Plans Afoot

February Resolutions

I'm trying not to be too hard on my pregnant self.

By that I mean I try not to envy those pregnant ladies on a spin bike who are also preparing for motherhood by sewing felt birds for Etsy-worthy mobiles/learning Swedish/baking organic something or others.

I refuse to beat myself up for not pickling everything in sight.

But occasionally I find myself falling into a mid-winter rut and feel as though I may be giving myself a little too much slack.

By slack, I mean, say, spending my day in a messy apartment, alternating between naps, baths, and Dance Moms reruns.

Whenever I get a little directionless, I make a list.

I realize that between now and August I may not visit Tanzania, perfect the art of pastry-making, or complete a half marathon. But I am trying to set a few goals, both practical and pleasurable, to shake myself out of a few bad habits.

For one, I'd like to continue my ongoing quest to take advantage of the city. It's been a pretty mild winter, but it's still easy to stick to a several block radius. Some days that's fine, but I'd like to get over some of my local-itis this spring.

I've never been to Ellis Island, for one. I probably only go to Central Park once or twice a year, usually when we have guests in town. I'd like to go to the Frick and the Rubin Museum, and to listen to more music while I'm puttering around at home instead of putting on CNN in the background and worrying about the plight of the world. I'd like to try to get a few more recipes into my usual rotation. To read more, listen to NPR, and waste less time scanning celebrity websites for utter nonsense.

In the mean time, gotta go watch Ellen. Um.

Clean Slate

Maine, 2010

When we bought our place in Williamsburg five years ago, I had an inkling the second bedroom would come in handy some day, and that was a part of the allure of the place.

Will laughs when I tell him this now, as in his version of events a 2 bedroom was a sound investment and that was pretty much it. But even if I never quite articulated it, I had always thought of our spare room as "the baby's room."

Inevitably, now that "the baby" is set to arrive in a little more than five months, I've been seized with major real estate lust.

Buying a much bigger place isn't all that realistic for us right now, but we've been looking at places recently and I find myself itching to move this spring.

Part of it is that we'd like a bit of outdoor space (beyond our "smoker's balcony.") I have fantasies of hooking up wifi on a proper terrace and working outside or eating summer meals in the fresh air, a big luxury in New York.

But another part of it is that new school year feeling that comes with this next chapter of life. I was always the kid who thrilled over our August trip to the drug store to buy my new school supplies. Piles of composition books, fresh pencils, and folders with tabs really excited me, even if algebra did not. They still do.

I can't help but think a new home for the three of us would feel similarly exciting. Fresh paint, unmarked floor boards, new projects to fill the summer, new quirks to resolve.

I feel similarly about baby gear. As much as I know we will cherish hand me downs and they will really help defray some of our worries, I have this urge to run out and buy everything brand spanking new for our new arrival. I am trying to resist this urge so that Will does not have a heart attack.

Yesterday we looked at a place I have a good feeling about, and are considering our next steps. Terrifying, but new.

Homework

Enid's, Brooklyn, 2011

I know appallingly little about the public school system in Williamsburg, but lately I've been following the debate over a new charter school that's coming into the neighborhood.

One day, there were giant, slick posters promoting a new elementary school plastered all over the L train platform. The next, people were tearing them down in protest.

This week, the Times got in on the story with this piece, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling much more enlightened.

The gist seems to be that local parents are concerned that Success Academy's education model is highly corporate and "teaches to the test." Others seem to be arguing in favor of "school choice," but no one seems to be giving the existing local schools a huge vote of confidence.

I always had the impression New York's public school system was pretty dysfunctional, and what I've heard from parents hasn't really changed my mind. Sure, Cobble Hill and Park Slope are supposedly great for schools, but if you're intent on sticking it out in Williamsburg, the options appear to be a little less glowy.

But there's obviously a huge baby boom going on in North Brooklyn at the moment, and people are becoming more and more engaged, deciding that they're here for the long haul, so something's gotta change, right?

We're obviously a long way from kindergarten but I clearly need to do some more research.

15 Weeks

15 weeks, 1 day

Not much to see here, folks.

I've been living in American Apparel leggings, longish sweaters, and sweater Uggs. Fortunately, my office is usually either my living room or my local coffee shop, so it works just fine.

My hair, as you can see, is growing like crazy.

I am feeling much, much better than I was at, say, 9 weeks. Staying up 'til midnight, taking good long walks, and eating a bit more normally.

The insatiable urge to eat a bag of sour patch kids seems to have subsided.

So far I haven't gained any weight, but it all seems to be redistributing, somehow. Is the baby eating my arm fat? I am not sure, as I'm certainly growing even if the scale has yet to change.

Here, a look back at 14 weeks (have I shrunk?)

Crazy Town

The Andy Warhol Monument, February 2012

I'm 15 weeks pregnant today. Photo to come once my hair dries out. It's one of those raw and rainy days when New York seems like a rather hostile environment. Lots of nuts on the L train. People getting impatient with me at every turn. The elements also conspired against me, making running errands quite daunting.

I did have a lovely lunch with a friend at ABC Carpet and Home and spent some good time wandering around the store contemplating quirky felt baby mobiles and gorgeous, sunny prints from John Robshaw.

Still, feeling like austerity is in order these days and did not indulge any of my zany nesting schemes.

Flagging a bit, energy-wise, this afternoon. May take a disco nap before I head out to The Waverly Inn to celebrate a dear friend's birthday. Hoping for a ludicrous celebrity sighting to go with my ludicrous $21 hamburger.

The Seconds

A good second...Maldives, 2007

I'm a big fan of Tracy Moore's Jezebel column, Motherload, so I don't know how I missed this piece last week: "For How Many Seconds, Exactly, Can You Leave Your Baby Alone?"

Moore describes an e-mail about motherhood she received from a friend while she was pregnant. The new mother described, essentially, not having a second to herself to so much as shower (without her husband watching the baby.)

Initially scoffing at the idea of not being able to shower, Moore and her husband sat around expressing their disbelief: "It's not, like EVERY SECOND. I mean, like, it IS, right? But you know, you can still like, DO STUFF for, like, a SECOND, right?"

Fast forward several years from that day, and Moore now writes: "I can say with unassailable authority that many inexperienced parents (ahem, me) find they are probably not really prepared for exactly how many seconds of their time a baby takes up in the first few years of its life. The answer is all of them. It takes up all of the seconds."

All of the seconds.

I am not going to fall into the trap of saying this can't possibly be the case.

A dustup ensued in the comments on Moore's piece when one woman dared to ask if it wasn't possible to shower while the baby was in a playpen. "Dude, remember the '80's. When a lot of us grew up? I was the oldest of five children, and from what I recall my parents had WAY more seconds to themselves [than parents say they have now,]" she wrote.

She was immediately pronounced naive. So...not going that route.

But this isn't the first time Moore has touched on this subject in a way that leaves me a little perplexed. In another recent essay, she describes how she can't go to the bathroom without her toddler daughter insisting on sitting on her lap. On the toilet.

Really? The toddler can't wait outside the door for the 30 seconds it might take?

So instead of getting philosophical, I am getting practical...I ask the mothers out there a few logistical questions. Help!!!

1) Don't kids nap?

2) Why can't you leave the baby in a crib/playpen/bouncy thing and shower? Why is it that new mothers seem unable to shower? Is this for real? What's the shower thing all about? I mean, aside from the general exhaustion and the fact that you may feel uneasy showering with a baby screeching in another room?

3) A Brooklyn friend once told me that she wouldn't sit on her stoop (one flight down from her apartment) with a baby monitor and a glass of wine, even if the baby was asleep. She didn't feel comfortable doing so, and that's fine. But I ask (forget the wine): how is this different from being on another floor of a house with the monitor? Can't I sit on the stoop? Or am I some kind of CPS nightmare in the making?

4) Is some of this "no seconds" conversation down to the fact that moms are now more confessional, sometimes to the point of hyperbole? Can a baby really not amuse himself in a bouncy chair or on the floor for 10 minutes while you send some emails?

I hope you will shed some light on the above for me (without giving me nightmares.)

V-Day!

Peonies at the Georges V, Paris, 2010

This Valentine's Day is not likely to include Champagne or chocolate (primarily because Will made an insanely good flourless chocolate cake this weekend, using chocolate chips from Mast Brothers, and we've been ODing on it ever since.)

Instead, we're thinking of going to Roberta's for some of their very excellent brick-oven pizza and, er, some lemonade. Home by 10, no doubt.

This, incidentally (with the addition of plenty of wine) was how we celebrated Valentine's Day two years ago, after Will googled "Is it cheesy to propose on Valentine's Day?" and decided that it was, in fact, cheesy. He delayed for three weeks and we had a mellow night instead. Last year, we drank Champagne, ordered Vietnamese food, and watched Let The Right One In. Not big prix fixe, foam tasting menu kind of people.

I hope you guys will have some vino on my behalf, however.

Istanbul, 2011 (Have some for me...)