I can’t pinpoint reason for upset tummy… Anxiety over potential Minetta Tavern reservation? (Hostess, please call back!)
Or is it something simultaneously bigger and smaller… say, something smaller than a pinprick that is rapidly multiplying in mass (with every breath I take, every hunk of cheese I ingest) that within 9 months will be the size of a small watermelon? Let’s break it down–am I about to pee on a stick and discover that Jamie and I will be the proud (and totally poor) parents of Irish twins come summer?
Or, maybe tender tummy, etc is psychosomatic and total result of Thursday night dinner with the girls…? (Holy molasses I exhaust myself… Hmmm… wonder how Hubby must feel…)
I’ll say this: eggs are the new hot topic. Eggs with a side of sex, that is.
After banana mash coup, I feel it’s time for a Date Night. After all, baby got homemade mush, Hubby got delightful banana bread to accompany morning coffee and our entire apartment smelled like one of those fabulous, over-priced bakeries in Chelsea Market.
More to the point—I want romance and I don’t want to do any dishes…
My third column… Don’t worry, I’m going to try to reformat my home page so that the column won’t be my main posting.
Sometimes I do a Ryan Seacrest-style countdown to 5pm. “Four, three, two, one–Chardonnay!” Is that so wrong? The early drink is usually preceded by a day that has been equal parts hectic/non-productive/boring. Take yesterday…
1:00–Haul self, Baby, monstrously huge stroller to the Associated, Citarella, Ottomanelli & Sons and myriad other markets and specialty food stores.
2:30–Once perky, Paula Deen-like disposition has morphed into a shunned Kathy Lee Gifford-like temperament (circa husband Frank’s sex tape/stewardess shenanigans) because no one has suitably exotic ingredients…