The Honest Truth About Finding A Safe Newborn Teething Ring
When my oldest started gnawing his own fists off at four months, the unsolicited advice came flying at me faster than I could dodge it. My mom told me to just rub a little whiskey on his gums, my sweet...
The Messy Truth About Ditching the Plastic Jungle for a Wooden Play...
I was sitting on the floor of my living room at two in the morning, nursing my oldest son, Beau, while a plastic mechanical toucan aggressively flashed red and blue strobe lights into my sleep-deprived retinas. The toy was attached...
Debugging 3 AM Meltdowns With The Happiest Baby On The Block
Here's exactly what you shouldn't do when your system goes down at three in the morning: try to read the manual by the light of a camping headlamp while bouncing on an exercise ball and holding a screaming infant like...
The 4 AM Starfish Incident and the Happiest Baby Swaddle
It's 3:17 AM on a Tuesday, though in the windowless temporal void of my daughters' nursery, it might as well be 1994. The room smells faintly of Calpol, sour milk, and my own evaporating dignity. I'm standing over the cot...
Hang In There Baby: Surviving The Fourth Trimester Beta Test
The digital thermometer on the nursery wall read exactly 68.4 degrees. It was 3:14 AM on Day 42 of our daughter's life, and she was executing a continuous, high-pitch audio loop that I was pretty sure violated several international treaties....
The Wild Strength of a Grip Baby (And What Not to Do)
My oldest son, bless his heart, came out of the womb clutching the collar of my hospital gown like he owed somebody money. He had this vice grip that left tiny red half-moon fingernail marks on my chest, and if...
The Truth About Baby Skin Flare-Ups (And Why I Stopped Panicking)
I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in Daveβs grey Georgetown hoodieβthe one that already had three distinct spit-up stains on the left shoulderβwatching my four-month-old son try to rub his own face off. Seriously. Little Leo was...
The Day I Realized My Baby's Nursery Was Basically a Loud Nightclub
I was sitting on the itchy wool rug in our old apartment, wearing my husbandβs college sweatshirt that had a very distinct, crusted-over spit-up stain right on the collarbone. It was raining outside. I was clutching a mug of French...
The Hey Baby Won't You Look My Way Lyrics & Infant Eye Contact
I'm lying flat on the faux-sheepskin rug of our nursery at 3:14 a.m., my face hovering uncomfortably close to Florenceβs nose, aggressively humming a 2011 pop-rock anthem. I've been trying to get her to acknowledge my existence for forty-five minutes....