two months

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Dalia at one month // Dalia at two months

Dalia Loves:

+ Neil Patrick Harris. I’ve been listening to his audiobook while feeding her, so I’m pretty sure she thinks he is her mother.

+ That weird eye pattern that’s threatening to become stylish. I think I heard her say it was on fleek. Look at that smile… she’s into it.

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+ The mating habits of penguins.

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+ Modern art


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+Dance parties. We even have the same favorite French rap song.

Dalia hates:

+ 6 pm – 10 pm.

+ The sound of Ike’s tags when he shakes. She throws her tiny little hands up in surprise every time.


+ Opening and closing her fists while eating — is this something all babies do or does she finally have her first very own Thing?

Lessons learned:

+ I can’t fit myself and the carseat through my tiny old kitchen without breaking the knobs off the oven. I guess life in the 1920s was a little smaller.

+ My neighborhood library has a story time for ages 0-2. Great, I thought, That will be a nice walk and maybe I’ll meet some people who live in my neighborhood. Side note: there’s a weird phenomenon in Minnesota of NEVER seeing your neighbors for 4+ months. It’s too cold to spend any more time outside than is absolutely necessary, you see, and outside is where you meet your neighbors. I think I started looking pregnant around November, right when we all went into hibernation mode, so when we walked out of our house in March with a stroller, all of our neighbors were shocked.

Hence the desire to meet some people in my neighborhood.

ANYWAY. Story time at the library. So we get there (late), and as I walk  in I immediately realize that no other child is under the age of 1, and here I am with this little baby who a) doesn’t comprehend stories and b) has suddenly fallen asleep. What’s the saying? “Watch other people’s toddlers read stories while your baby sleeps?” Something like that.

Also, no one else there lived in my neighborhood.


+ On more than one occasion, I’ve thought:  I REALLY can’t leave her in the car for three minutes while I ______? 


+ “I like it when you talk about your milk production. It makes you sound like a country.” — Y


this week in adult things

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Less baby talk, more tug of war, capiche?

Weekly ramblings about things other than baby:

In books

So, I sniffed a book the other day.

It was after I realized that my days of reading actual paper books might be long gone, seeing as my main reading time right now is when my hands are busy but my brain is idle. Holding a lightweight tablet and swiping at a screen to turn a page is doable; holding up a thick book with one hand and turning a page with the other is downright impossible.

I’m struggling through a book called The Fifty Year Silence, about a woman trying to solve the mystery of why her grandparents haven’t spoken for fifty years. It started out pretty promising, but never lived up to its potential. My next book is the light and fun Ghettoside: A True Story of Murder in America.

In eating and drinking

Have you ever had a Cara Cara orange? I’ve eaten at least one a day since January. Usually three a day, which a nurse informed me was “not moderation.”  I don’t know if the oranges were a pregnancy craving or what, but I am pretty confident I will not be developing scurvy anytime soon. I just ate the last orange from our latest bag, and I don’t see them at the grocery store anymore, and I think I’m getting hives.

Unrelated: This weekend we tried a new restaurant called Revival specializing in your basic Southern cuisine: fried chicken, biscuits, grits, macaroni and cheese. This Southerner was into it. So into it.

In music

When you need to put a baby to sleep, you do what you gotta do, so there have been a lot of baby bouncing dance parties happening in our living room lately, to the tune of music from Stevie Wonder to the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack to…most often… Carly Rae Jepsen. We just have so much in common these days — “late night watching television / how did we get in this position?” are thoughts I have nightly while cuddling with my breast pump. 

Also, I’ve been listening to the new Alabama Shakes album (now that I know the lead singer is female) and I’m instantly a fan.


I met Y for lunch on the University of Minnesota campus and I was late because hoards of students crossing the street turned a 30 second right turn into a 15 minute situation. This would have been fine, but I got irrationally angry because these kids looked like they were taking part in a “Worst of the 90’s” fashion show. THERE WERE YIN YANGS. Get off my lawn.

on breastfeeding in public

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With some clever timing, I was able to avoid breastfeeding in public for the first five weeks of Dalia’s life. I know, I know. it’s natural, it’s beautiful, we need to normalize it, etc. I’m with you. But can you grant me that it’s a little intimidating the first time? Great. Moving on.

In an adorable neighborhood in South Minneapolis lives a bookstore called Wild Rumpus. Imagine the most magical independent children’s bookstore you can think of — that’s Wild Rumpus. A tiny child-sized door leads into the store. Animals roam the aisles, most notably a pair of fluffy chickens, and children’s book authors regularly drop by to sign books. The day we visited, the store was packed but quiet as an author read from her latest release.


That’s what it looks like when your newborn fills a pleasant silence with screaming, FYI.

 My streak of good timing had ended. There happened to be an overstuffed arm chair ten feet away from me that looked like it had seen many nursing sessions, so we became its next customers. The sound of Dalia’s screaming was replaced by my inner monologue, which went something like this:

Oh god, this chair is next to the front window. Hello, passersby! It’s my first time! Enjoy the show! STOP SMILING AT ME. Pretend I’m not here. Wait, are they smiling because they can see everything? STOP FLAILING DALIA. This is so awkward. OW. I’m bored. I wish I could reach a book. Maybe if I lean a little bit to the left I can reach this exciting-looking chapter book? Okay, reaching… oh shit, I reached too far. WARDROBE MALFUNCTION. Wait, maybe not. We might be okay? Would it be so bad if everything was hanging out? Probably not. But yes? STOP LOOKING AT ME, CHICKENS.

Suddenly, a little girl ran toward me frantically.

“TITTY! TITTY! TITTY!” she screamed.

I froze. Oh god, I thought, Not only am I  exposed in a bookstore but a little girl is telling the world about it.

The little girl ran past me.

There was a cat sitting behind me.


peeing in a cup, spotify, and crop tops: some last thoughts before baby



39 weeks // 2 weeks

A forgotten post from my 8 million months pregnant brain:

+ Everyone keeps telling me, “you must be ready to have that baby.” Technically, yes… we have a crib and a white noise machine and a car seat and a onesie with a hippopotamus. But in reality… even though my back hurts and putting on boots requires a crane, being pregnant seems way easier than making sure a child leads a happy life in a world with ISIS and crop tops and Snapchat. I mean, there’s no guarantee that my baby won’t someday get the urge to join ISIS (or snapchat, for that matter). These [admittedly ridiculous] thoughts are far worse than a little back pain. IT’S SAFE IN HERE, BABY.

+ Speaking of boots, recently I had something stuck in my boot all day. It was driving me insane, but the thought of taking my boot off and putting it back on again was just way too hard. At the end of the day, I finally took off my shoe, and out came a quarter. CHA CHING.

+ Frequently seen  cliche on social media: comparison is the thief of joy. I’ve seen a lot of articles lately about how blogs and instagram and pinterest are making us all unhappy and I’m proud to say that I haven’t been sucked into it. You have a beautiful home and adorable dog that never sheds? Good job. You do you. I like my perfectly imperfect house and pulling tiny Ike hairs off of my clothes all day.

Then the other day, I peed in my little plastic cup at the doctor’s office, put it in the cabinet next to another cup of pee, and spent the next five minutes beating myself up because my pee was darker than the other person’s. Why don’t you drink more water? I asked myself. Then your pee wouldn’t be such a gross color. That person probably has a way better life than you do.

+ I realized that I’ve been wearing a maternity uniform: a $7 Forever 21 dress, maternity leggings, boots, and a cardigan or blazer. Editor’s note: Still wearing it. I might wear maternity leggings forever.


I feel like those five photos of me need to start a girl group. Is that weird? Maybe don’t answer that.

+ Modern love is sharing a Spotify Premium account. Editor’s note: Fast forward 7 weeks; now our arguments concern which one of us interrupted Dalia’s white noise playlist. 

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this is not a birth story

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photo by Katherine Louise Harris Photography

“As soon as you hold your baby in your arms,” they tell you, “you’ll forget the pain of childbirth.”

Listen up, They.  Your advice is always iffy at best, but this time you’ve really missed the mark. Six weeks later, I still remember everything. For instance, contractions. They feel like a giant reaching down and twisting your torso like a wet dishrag. Tell me, They, would you forget that sensation?

I’m not really a “birth story” kind of person, but I am a “bulleted list” kind of person:

+ My water broke on my due date while I was lying in bed reading Girl on the Train (my quick review: overrated). A few weeks prior, I had asked my doctor, “What if my water breaks and I don’t realize it?” HA. I realized it.

TWO HOURS earlier, I had been walking on a treadmill in the middle of a crowded gym. I’ll spare you the details of my water breaking, but trust me when I say it is NOT an experience I would want to have a) in front of people, and b) ON A TREADMILL. Thank you, baby Dalia, for waiting until I was safely in my bed to begin your entrance.

+ Did I wait until the middle of this post to mention the baby that came out of all of this? She’s pretty terrific. Welcome to the world and our little family, baby Dalia.

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photo by Katherine Louise Harris Photography

+ I wanted to know what a contraction felt like (I know how to have a good time), so I went into the hospital fully intending to get an epidural after I got the gist of the whole contraction situation. Sure enough, 4 hours into my (15-ish hour) labor, I decided I was getting to the point where I couldn’t handle it anymore. For the next three hours (which is like 400 years in labor time), various medical professionals attempted to put an IV in my arm to start the epidural process, culminating in me on all fours wearing an oxygen mask as I had contraction after contraction with no break while an anesthesiologist put in the IV (which I’m told is basically the equivalent of the pilot passing out peanuts). On the plus side, I now know what “10” feels like on the pain scale and bow down to anyone who gives birth naturally.

+ If you’re ever thinking about going into labor, here’s a tip to distract yourself from the pain: pretend you’re a professional tennis player. Instead of writhing in pain, you’re serving an ace. What’s your signature sound? Perfect it.

+ The next day, my arms were so sore. When I mentioned it to Y, he told me I had been bracing myself on the sides of the hospital bed during my contractions. Could this be the next workout craze?


+ Things got a little scary and I delivered in the operating room — thankfully no emergency C-section was needed. One of my friends saw the picture above and asked, “did you get a C-section or did Y just wear scrubs so everyone would know he was a doctor?” and the mental image of Y doing that still makes me laugh.

+ I think this little anecdote sums up my feelings on my epidural: 12 hours after I got the epidural and a few hours after I gave birth, Y and I were on the hospital elevator with a woman in a baseball cap and jeans. She and I nodded at each other in recognition. “Congratulations,” she said, smiling, as we reached her floor.

“Did you know her?” asked Y.

“That was Sue!” I replied, “Our nurse anesthesist.”

“Wow,” said Y, “How did you even recognize her?” I stared at him.


+ For the first few days, Dalia and I bonded by wearing matching mother daughter diapers.


Beat that, Lorelai and Rory.

+ Dalia had some problems at birth that needed to be monitored, so for the first four days of her life, we sadly didn’t get to see her or hold her all that much. When they gave us the all clear to go home, Y took her out of the crib and we sat and stared at her.

After a few minutes we realized that “Endless Love” had been playing on the radio the entire time we were sitting there holding our newborn daughter.

And so began our adventures in parenthood. Stay tuned for more ridculousness.