The Baby Needs String. 

I talk in my sleep.

Sometimes I wake Mike up, and have a whole conversation with him before one or both of us realizes I’m sleeping, and we I have a good laugh, and we go back to sleep.

I rarely remember what I said. I usually just wake up in the morning with a vague recollection of having been awake, and laughing about something, or Mike asking me some follow-up questions, and then he gets to tell me what happened.

On extremely rare occasions (like, I can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand), I get out of bed, or I sit up, or I throw something, etc. before I realize I’m dreaming.

Unfortunately for Mike, last night, was one of those nights.

I woke up this morning, with the vague memory I’d tried to explain something to Mike, but was doing a terrible job getting my point across. Mike was already in the shower, so I went into our bathroom for confirmation.

“Do you remember what you did to me last night?” he asked me, right away.

“I remember trying to tell you something, and laughing,” I said. “Was it bad?”

“Well, at 2 a.m., I woke up, because you reached over and pulled my hand toward you and said, ‘The baby needs string!’ And when I was like, ‘huh?!’ you said, ‘The baby needs string. For the MACHINE.'”

“I asked you if you were asleep, and you just started laughing and said, ‘Yes. AND SO ARE YOU!’ and then you let go of my hand, and went back to sleep.”

Just take a second and imagine you’re sound asleep, and someone sloowwwwwly takes your hand and starts pulling it towards them.

My poor husband. Good thing he has a sense of humor, and knows what to expect after all these years.


1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Five years married, today.

Four cars, and three houses later.

Two adorable and annoying dogs.

One gorgeous, hard-won, baby boy.

Countless hours laughing, worrying, hoping, planning and dreaming of a life that keeps surprising us at every turn.

Gone are the days of lazy mornings reading in bed, and eating whatever, whenever, wherever we want, or last minute trips out of town.

Instead I get to watch my son take his first tentative steps to his daddy, and listen to them make each other laugh before bedtime each night, and see how excited they are to see each other everyday when my hardworking husband gets home from work.

And while I change the majority of the diapers, he takes care of easily 90% of all the disgusting dog- and nature-related things that happen around here. (“There’s a headless dead animal in the yard I can’t identify. Happy Anniversary!” — true story, so romantic.)


Love you, boop!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Gus enjoyed his second Thanksgiving, and first Thanksgiving dinner — particularly the stuffing and the cranberry sauce, apple pie, pumpkin pie, and whipped cream.

I’m so thankful for this gorgeous baby, and my wonderful husband, and our amazing family and friends.


I’m also really thankful for these Vera Wang super stretchy/somewhat realistic looking jeggings, which made my second plate of food a possibility.

Totally Silent

I talk in my sleep, a lot.

And yes, sometimes it’s random nonsense (“rainbow sack, double blueberries!” or “that briefcase is hilARious!”) but more often than not, it’s totally clear and concise. Mike usually can’t tell right away if I’m awake or not.

Mike always asks me if I remember what I said the next morning. Normally I wake up in the middle of one of our “conversations” and realize I’m asleep, (so I do remember) and apologize, because I’m bossy and stubborn, even when I’m unconscious.

Like the time I got up, convinced the dog was stuck under our bed (even though she sleeps in her crate in another room) sat down and started patting the floor, saying, “come on, puppy, you can do it!” while Mike was all WTF are you doing, dear?

“THE DOG IS TRAPPED! Why aren’t you helping me?! Can’t you hear her? COME HERE PUPPY! Ooohhhhh, I’m asleep? Oh, ok. Sorry.”

So last night, when Mike woke me up, because I was allegedly snoring, I was quick to prove him wrong.

“Babe, you’re snoring.”
“NOO. I’m not.”
“Umm, yeah you are, you woke me up.”
“No. I was totally silent. Zzzzzzzz.”

And while I do vaguely remember the brief conversation, I still maintain I wasn’t snoring. He must have dreampt it.

We’ll never know for sure.

First Mother’s Day

The last few years, Mother’s Day has been tough. Every year, you think, “Well obviously next year I’ll finally be able to celebrate,” and then, nope. Nothing. Empty arms. Still a useless baby maker.

And so, if this is the boat you find yourself in (again, or for the first time) feel free to stop reading now, and know that you’re not alone.

My first Mother’s Day was full of carbs, coffee, and chicken.*

Also there was a baby in a tuxedo when I woke up (after sleeping in, whaaaaaaat?! Husband of the year.)

Oh, and?! Emeralds! Everywhere!





It was a wonderful day, and Gus and I obviously need to bring our A-game next month for Father’s Day.

*I feel compelled to add, we don’t normally just eat plates of bread and potatoes, but given my dairy restrictions, my on-the-go breakfast options are limited, and Mike was trying to get everything together before I woke up, and I’m weird about how my eggs are cooked, and I wound up with — well, a plate full of bread and potatoes. And it was delicious.