Why My Kid's Baby Dino Obsession Is Ruining My Life (But Not Really)
It was a Tuesday at like, 7:14 AM. I was standing in the kitchen wearing my black leggings that have a mystery yogurt stain on the left knee, holding a mug of coffee that had already gone lukewarm because I'd...
The 3 AM System Crash: A Letter to Past Me About That Sound
It's 3:14 AM, and you're currently standing over the crib with your phone flashlight pressed against your chest so the glare doesn't wake him fully, intensely analyzing the rhythmic, aggressive hacking sound coming from your five-month-old son. You're sweating. You...
Choosing the Perfect Baby Costume Without Losing Your Mind
It was late October, and I was standing in the middle of a crowded Target aisle, sweating profusely into a stretched-out grey maternity tank top I still couldn't stop wearing. I had a screaming four-month-old Leo in one arm and...
Letter to My Past Self: Surviving Twin Girls and a Baby Cat
Dear Tom. You're currently standing in the kitchen at 4:13 AM holding a half-empty bottle of Calpol, shivering in your dressing gown, and staring at a tiny, bewildered creature that your wife just brought home in a cardboard box. You...
The Mobile Sleep Unit: What I Got Wrong About Baby Transport
The rain is coming down sideways in the Trader Joe's parking lot, and I'm standing next to the open trunk of my Subaru, violently jiggling the folding mechanism of a twelve-hundred-dollar rolling chassis while my eleven-month-old screams from the backseat...
The Great First Birthday Smash Cake Disaster (And What I Learned)
There's a specific, deeply unsettling textural horror to finding mashed avocado and coconut cream crusted into your left eyebrow three hours after the guests have gone home. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, picking dried oat flour...
Debugging the baby boy wardrobe: A first-time dadβs logs
My thumb was actively bleeding. It was 3:14 AM on a Tuesday, rain was aggressively battering our Portland bedroom window, and I was locked in a physical struggle with a tiny, angry, poop-covered human. The adversary was a rigid denim...
Searching for baby bowser: Screen time, hair bows, and pure panic
It was 6:14 on a Tuesday morning, a time when civilized society is safely asleep, but my living room looked like the aftermath of a minor coup. Twin A (Mia) was clutching the Nintendo Switch controller to her chest like...
The Truth About Baby Bows (And The Red Marks They Leave)
I was standing in the middle of a dusty Texas bluebonnet patch off Highway 290, sweating completely through my shirt while my four-month-old screamed like a tiny, furious baby Bowser. She was thrashing around, clawing at her own head, trying...