Friday, April 14, 2017

Bo Cobb-Guest Blogger!

Hey everyone! Bo here! I'm doing a guest blog for my Mom! Since I'm not really talking yet, I decided to do more of a photo essay for you, so you can see what I've been getting into now that I'm 20 months!
The funny thing is, all of my Mom and Dad's friends who have kids told them that it gets easier when we get older, which is HILARIOUS!!! Oh man, I have shared a chuckle or two over that with some of my Gymboree friends! Anyway, here are a couple of snaps Mom took of me one night getting into some stuff I shouldn't!
The evening started with me watching my favorite musical, Shrek, with my parents. They figured I was occupied for two seconds and could step into the other room to clean up. This is always their first mistake.

I noticed that no one was looking for a brief second, so I went into the kitchen to see what was within arms reach, what would make the most noise when I yanked it down, etc. 
 This looks perfectly unsteady. Nice!
 Hmm, this drawer still opens! Mom must've forgotten to put the safety thing on this one. Good to know!
 I'm just gonna see how loose this towel is....oh! Hello Father! Nice to see you again! I was just...checking out the foundation of this kitchen! Pretty solid!
At this point I could feel eyes on me, so I just casually brushed my fingers along the grip of the stove, which I'm always being told no about. If only my silly parents knew, that only fuels my desire!
With the fuzz nipping at my heels, I decide to return to the living room to give the impression that I'm rapt in this gripping musical adventure. I even force a chuckle or two. That really throws the old people off! But as soon as they go back to what they're doing...I grab one of my new shoes and head to the kitchen!
This right one seems like it would love a bath. And I'm just the right person to give it to them!
Here you go Righty! Almost there!
Even though I knew that Daddy was right there, I feigned ignorance, laughed a little and pushed the shoe into the water. Whoopsie! 

Before anyone could even blink I got old Lefty in there too. Mommy rushed to empty out the water, but the damage was already done. I stood there enjoying my work. Some of my best to date, IMHO. 

After that I moved on to the screen. This is where Mommy and Daddy really go wrong, because they think that if they put up a barrier between me and something they're trying to hide I don't go directly for it. Sigh...someday they'll get it I hope! 
In the first picture I'm starting to move the screen and am being told "No" and "Off limits" the whole time, but I'm a baby you guys! I "don't understand that yet!" 😂😂
This is a whole box of things my parents haven't unpacked yet. It looks like a bunch of papers and other things that would make a huge mess if I dumped it on the ground. 
Oh yeah, I'm really checking it out now. It's definitely one of those messy boxes. 
Welp, hm, let's just take a gander at how heavy this sweet lil baby is! 
Oh wow! Surprisingly light and easy to dump over! 
Out of the corner of my eye I see my Mom taking pictures of me, which she does constantly. Sometimes I like to mess with her to NOT dump over the boxes. Like, pretend she has any authority over my whatsoever. 
Here you go Mom, it's "off limits" like you said! (PS, the second she stopped taking pictures I dumped this over! I am an adorable evil genius!)

To end the night I pull off my top and do a little interpretive dance and tambourine bit to one of Shrek's solo's. It gives my old lady a kick, so why not give the people what they want, right? 

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

5 Current Fashion and Beauty Trends That Moms Have Been Doing All Along!

I love being a mom more than anything else, but I have to admit I do miss the old days when I was sort of on top of my fashion and trend game! However I’ve noticed that as of late, my mom friends and I are not only still on top of it, we are the trendsetters! Check out this list of current beauty and fashion trends that we have been doing already!

1-Fuller Eyebrows

Gone are the days of the thin, perfectly maintained brows that you plucked and waxed and threaded until all you had in the space between your eyes and your forehead resembled a John Waters ‘stache and the impression that you are always surprised. Now the look is reminiscent of a young Brooke Shields’ two fuzzy caterpillars sleeping peacefully.
Finding out that this was a new beauty trend was a lucky turn for this mom, because frankly I hadn’t paid attention to my eyebrows for about two years. At the moment I’m rocking a lighter version of The Peter Gallagher circa “American Beauty” and have been asked if I use a serum or go to a specialist for this look. When revealing my secret, I always lean in and whisper “A tidy combination of exhaustion and not giving a fuck. “

2-Unwashed Hair

“How often do you wash your hair?” my stylist asked me a couple of years ago. “I don’t know, two or three times a week I guess.” I replied. She sucked her teeth for a moment, shook her perfectly coifed head and said, “No more. Once a week at the most. It get’s good after five days and beyond!”
What some would refer to as “dirty, greasy hair” is now called “beach waves” or “sex hair”. Ever take a stroll through the Trader Joe’s parking lot in Silverlake? It’s nothing but a bunch of beautiful people with filthy locks enjoying their half-cafes with almond milk and discussing their next indie project inspired by Shia Labeouf. For moms however this look is simply referred to as “How I look now.”

3-Ombre Hair Color

To compliment your dirty ass hair are dark ass roots! Every hot chick in LA has this going on. They call this an Ombre, where the roots are dark and it gets lighter towards the bottom. You know, like how every mom of a small child’s hair is right now, except they don’t pay a gazillion dollars to get it done like that. Ladies, no need to spend all your money trying to achieve a look you naturally get by simply not having the time to go to a salon and sit for several hours reading magazines. I think they should change the name of this style to a “Mombre”. Who’s with me?

4. Natural Nails

In 2017 the trend is leaning towards either natural nails or something called gray scale, which in most cases is simply the top of the nail being painted in a color I can only recognize as “dirty water”, but I’m no expert! So basically it looks like a gel manicure that was done two months ago but you simply can’t find the time to go to the damn nail place so they can apply their magic potion in those tin foil witch finger things for 30 minutes for the color to be removed. This is also a look moms have rocked for a while called “I napped instead”.

5. Bush is back baby!

That’s right gals, you’ve heard the rumors and I’m here to confirm them. Grow out them bushes because spring has sprung! Gone are the days of having a stranger pour hot wax on your nethers to rip out all your pubes and give your vag the appearance of a freshly plucked turkey! Nowadays it’s all about hair down there! Most of the moms I know have been rocking out this full bush look since the 2nd trimester when their bellies got to be too big to bend over, and the amount of fucks that they gave in order to shave it whittled down to zero.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

A Second Letter to our Downstairs Neighbor-Mom Hulking Out Edition

Dear Neighbor Downstairs

Oh my, what a day it's been! I had to teach this morning early so I got up around 7:20 or so, which is fairly reasonable for the employed, and was out the door by 8:00am. What fun I had with the 3rd graders I have the pleasure of teaching the basics of creative writing to! They are so full of life and creativity. It fills me with endless joy and enthusiasm for the future of our country after a day of teaching!
However, my afternoon wasn't so jolly as I got some bad news.  Oh the blow I took this afternoon after my husband read out loud to me yet another noise complaint from you, which is the third one. (I didn't feel the need to write you a letter for the second, since our landlord explained that she thought you may be one of those "people who just need to complain for attention") which made me feel sad for you. But now, dear neighbor, I've decided that you have crossed a boundary that few have ever crossed with a mother. You have hastily and unknowingly crossed into what many would refer to as "Shit Town".

Shit Town refers to the delicate space that you enter into when you anger a mama lion. I am a mama lion, see,  and I take great pride in my...well, pride, if you will and at this point I insist that you do.

Your complaint, as I understand it, is that around 8:00am on a weekday you heard "the pitter-patter of little feet" which drove you over the edge. So much so that you were persuaded to record the sounds you heard from what you deemed as "the apartment above you." With the second complaint my husband and I explained to our building manager that we aren't usually up that early since our 18 month old, Bo, is never up before 8:30am. We're just lucky that way. However, on occasion I have to work in the morning! Ugh, I know right! It's like, what's my deal?! Trust me, I totally hear you, neighbor, but unfortunately in most cultures in order to feed and clothe my toddler I have to somehow bring in income, LIKE AN ASSHOLE!!! It's a shameful practice and my hope is that your complaints will somehow make a change in our society to push work times to noon or so, since you reported that "you work really late, and we're interrupting your sleep!"

My goodness, dear neighbor! What on earth do you do that an 8:00am pitter patter could injure you so? I did a little research and found a selection of answers. You are either a 1. Freelance Writer, 2. Air Traffic Controller, 3. Casino Dealer, 4. Firefighter, 5. Babysitter, 6. Mail Sorter.

What a list, right! You are a mystery wrapped in a tiny titted conundrum. After careful consideration about each of these professions it seems like the only logical conclusion is that you're either a mail sorter or an air traffic controller. Let me break down how I arrived at that, in case you're curious, which I'm sure you are, you playful spirit you!

You simply can't be a freelance writer, because that's what I am, and I work during normal hours. You know, after 8:00am and before happy hour. So that's not it.
You're not a casino dealer, because we live in LA and not Vegas or Reno, and you're not a firefighter or a babysitter, because you clearly lack normal human compassion for children or any other living thing, with the exception of your aging, giant dog, who the entire building feels awful for due to his incontinence and your lack of responsibility AND/OR cleaning products to sop up his runny poop that you dump from his doggy diaper into the front walk like the beacon of human class that you must be!

So I'm stuck on mail sorter or air traffic controller. An air traffic controller is supposed to be even keeled at all times, but according to this article about personal experiences deals with a great deal of stress, which in turn, may consequently turn them into sullen, shit tossing, asshole fuckshit dickheads, so that tracks. But a mail sorter in turn sorts mail all fucking day and, if my imagination serves me, can only have an orgasm during a national emergency or if the stamp price rises astronomically, which also works out in your favor!

In any case, ole neighbor oh mine, I'm gonna need for you to take it down about eight million percent on the bitchy, unfounded complaints. Because one, they're unreasonable, as we are adults and get up before midday. Also my baby is a baby and you should be sending us muffin fucking baskets on a weekly basis because of how quiet and late sleeping she is. Third, you should know that you're what I refer to as "a piece of shit". You're a 20 something year old, spoiled, sour, bitter little fucking twat. You sulk around and even what I say hello to you, you pull your dirty hooded sweat shirt down over your blood shot eyes and pretend that you didn't hear me. Not only is that childish and lame, but your "pretending" skills are sub par at best. If you need some pointers, I used to teach a character development classes at The PIT in NYC, so hit me up, I'll give you the "I fucking hate your face" discount.

All in all neighbor, what I'd like to recommend is that you move out of an apartment building. Because this, my dear, is communal living. It's not ideal in the sense that there are a ton of people under one roof. Did you not know that before you moved in? Did you think this was just one big ass house you were moving into by yourself? Ugh, that's a bummer wake up call, eh?

In any case, please go fuck yourself and stop throwing your poor dogs runny shit in the walkway, you nasty, poorly raised, snatch.



Monday, February 13, 2017

Dear GOP-Stay the Fuck Away from my Daughters Uterus

I started having sex when I was 15 years old.  I lost my virginity to some dude from a neighboring town of the Minnesotan suburb where I was living at the time. To this day I can't recall his name, but I think it started with a B...or an R. It was a letter of the alphabet for sure, so I'm a little closer to solving this case.
I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school. I was a Varsity cheerleader, had hideous clear brackets for my braces, and met this guy at the Mall of America in line at the Hot Dog on a Stick. He was 18 and we humped in the front seat of his '89 Corolla (how sad is that, right? I can remember his shitty car but not his name?!) after dating for a couple of weeks. We didn't use a condom, it was painful and irresponsible and the worst. Thinking back on that now I don't know why I was so eager to rid myself of that pesky old hymen, but apparently I felt strongly that it was holding me back.
Evidentially it was, as I went on to have sloppy, unsatisfying, awkward, embarrassing sexual encounters with a handful of other guys in my teens and 20's who make me shudder out of regret at the very thought of it. Ew.
Miraculously I never got an STD and I didn't get knocked up. I went on the pill and was on various forms of it for many years. When my lovely husband and I decided we would like to try to have a baby, I went off of it and got pregnant with our daughter, Bo, who is the light and love of our lives,

Though while, yes, it was a miracle that I didn't get knocked up, the truth is I didn't really worry about it one way or the other because I knew that an abortion was always an option. I was much more concerned with an STD (like, obsessed about it. Probably because I went to health class and freaked out about how many there are!!) and I knew that no matter how badly I messed up and with whom I messed up, it could always be fixed if I needed it to.

I know that abortion is a hot button for a lot of people, and I don't care to argue about that. This has nothing to do with whether or not you feel that a cell is a human and if abortion is murder or not. Everyone is entitled to their opinion on this subject (except for that weirdo asshole Twitter troll who Internet stalked me and kept making comments about how I "like the sound of babies being ripped out of the womb". I asked, "Does it sound like a Kenny G cover?" She responded with, "You're going to hell baby killer!" Boy do I miss her!) and I would never tell someone that their feelings are wrong.

I was very lucky I didn't ever have to get an abortion. Somehow between the drinking and the drugs and the bad decisions I made over and over again when I was young, I was fortunate in that way. While there were other bad things I had to deal with and apologize for, which includes getting a tongue piercing and owning a pair of Z Cavaricci Jeans, I didn't have to deal with that.  However the point is I knew that if I absolutely had to, I could and wouldn't have to ruin my life and the life of a child I would have no means or business caring for at that time until I knew that I was stable enough to provide that child with a solid and safe existence.

Now with the way things are in this garbage fire of a country thanks to DT, a woman's right to choose is being threatened. Which means my daughters right to choose is being threatened. Which means I'm ready to burn this mother fucker down. Chances are, even with my amazing, insightful guidance, structure and almost perfect parenting I plan to do throughout her life (cue laugh track), I have a sneaking suspicion that my daughter will fuck up on more than one occasion. I can't predict if it will be something small, like getting her nipples pierced, or something huge, like banging a member of One Direction accidentally. Shit happens. And while the idea of my perfect angel having sexual intercourse before she even has a drivers license makes me want to vomit all over my Mac Book Pro, the nightmare of the concept that in her lifetime we as a country and society would take such an epic step back in moral values and human rights that she couldn't fix both of those issues with some antibiotics and a doctors visit actually makes the bile rise.

So with all due respect, I'd like to request that the GOP and any right winger's who are living in the dark ages get their filthy paws miles and miles away from my daughters uterus, and even farther away from her choices. Unless you're ready for a big ass fight that this Mama doesn't intend to lose.

Monday, January 30, 2017

Opinions Are Like Assholes, Everybody Has Three...

Recently I logged onto Facebook and one of the first entries in the feed I see reads:
"Parents, stop giving your kids iPads, you're creating idiots!" followed by a bunch of emojis I didn't understand, but it looked like Christmas Tree, Face with Tongue Sticking Out, Hands.

I barely know the person who posted this, however I'm pretty sure that they themselves don't have any kids of their own at the moment. Childless adults are pretty quick to judge parents, and God knows I did it constantly before I had my kid. Some phrases I would regularly utter would be:
"Oh my God, how could you let your daughter out of the house like that! That's shitty parenting!"
"Jesus Christ, shut that kid up already! No one wants to hear them screaming in Target/this airplane/museum/etc!"
"Are you serious? An iPad for a four year old? See, this is why kids are so stupid these days! Nice work, awful parent!".

The first statement was in reference to when I spotted a 13 year old girl in a mall rocking shorts so short her butt hole was practically exposed. The second statement was something I would say any time I ever felt inconvenienced by a sound a kid would make, and the third was probably muttered under my breath on a daily basis.

It's very easy to judge when you don't have kids, probably because you still have enough room in your brain to allow judgment to seep in. Once you do have a child, that brain space is reserved for such thoughts as "oh no, did she just poop again? I changed her five minutes ago!" and "Get a haircut? What am I, the fucking Queen of England?"

I do feel that iPads and video games are not appropriate babysitters for your kids, nor does it replace your job as a parent. It's pretty clear that too much exposure to things like violent video games, movies and TV shows can be detrimental to their development and ability to focus, and also suggests that violence is okay in real life. I truly believe that kids need structure, stability and rules. But sometimes you just want to take a peaceful poop, and the only way to make that happen is if you plop your iPhone in their laps as a distraction tactic.

It may seem like a crazy concept to childless adults, but children aren't always going to behave the way you'd like them to. In fact, they're going to do whatever the hell they please, especially between the ages of 18 months to 3 years, and then again at 13 until forever. Did I just blow some minds?
Of course there are some terrible parents out there who don't give a hoot about guidance, rules, structure, health or providing that extra bit of fabric that covers their teens precious dirt button, but most of us are really great parents who are just too exhausted to fight with our toddler in a Macy's because she wanted to rip all the clothes off of a mannequin was wasn't allowed to do so(the nerve!).
Sometimes, in a pinch, an episode of Sesame Street cued up on an iPad is your only option to get anything done at all. So if a few moments of distraction is what you need, I say, let them eat cake! No seriously, cake works too sometimes, it's natures mute switch.

Look, I get it! When you don't have a kid you judge others that do because you just know in your heart that you would never do anything wrong ever, because duh, how hard can raising a human be, right? Just do the right thing! It's simple!

And it is! It's also simple for that 13 year old girl to wear something completely different to the mall and after her parent drops her off, she changes into that cloth strip known as "shorts", and that if a kid is crying on an airplane it may be because the pressure is hurting their ears, and that the iPad in front of that four year old may be the only thing taking their mind off of teething or a slight fever.

While I'm certain that this little rant won't change any ones minds when it comes to judging, maybe it can be viewed as a peek into a parents thought process. Perhaps the next time you see a kid with an iPad, or doing something gross like eating the rest of their frozen yogurt off of the floor in between nose and butt picks, shift your judgment focus onto something else, like Donald Trump.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

My Kid Started Walking And Now My Life Friggin' Sucks.

My 17 month old daughter started walking about two months ago.
I, like an idiot, encouraged her to do it. I would hold her hands and have her let go for a second, she'd wobble and fall, but discover it wasn't such a big deal. After a bit she got braver, taking some steps by herself before reaching for my hand again. Then one day she woke up and decided she wasn't going to need anymore of my lame ass help, she was on her own. And she was ready to fuck some shit up.

That was the day that my life really took a nose dive to sucksville, population 2. Well, three if you count our dog, Dave, who I'm pretty confident counts himself because his life sucks now too. We're all going down with this ship.

Look it wasn't like I didn't know this was coming. All of my other mama friends with kids who were walking already had a commonality among them. They'd say, "Oh, just you wait! It's going to be so crazy soon! You'll be more tired than you were when she was a newborn and your place will be trashed, trust me! Oh man, you have it coming to you!"

I dismissed these comments with a smile, thinking that they couldn't be more wrong! My Bo is a dainty flower who will acquire the skill of walking by herself with grace and dignity. She will use this new found power for good, not evil! She would never do anything to disrupt our happy household or make things harder on her kind, loving parents. For she is of my loins, and I have raised her right.

Turns out, nope! Not only is she super into destroying everything in the house, leaving only a trail of smashed blueberries and crushed leaves (why does she have leaves? Where did she get them? Did she somehow smuggle those out of the park without me noticing? If so, where does she hide them? She doesn't have pockets on this her cheeks? Oh Jesus, I'm so tired!) in her wake, but she isn't having any of my input on the subject. The second I gently suggest that perhaps pouring Dave's dog food all over the floor and then covering it with his water isn't the most fun thing for mommy to take care of, she morphs into this adorable Godzilla who has enough energy to rip out the pages of ALL of her books and throw herself on the floor in a screaming fit because she doesn't want her juice. I simply cannot keep up with her!

Already today she has tipped over the laundry hamper, taken out five or six pairs of my underpants and one bra, wrapped them around her neck until it looks like she's wearing a really jenkie cowl neck scarf, stuff a majority of her raviolis in there, and chase Dave around screeching until he hides in the closet. He hasn't come out, someone send food.

Then we go to Costco where she demanded that she walks the entire square footage of the place. When we quietly explained that she has to follow us because, you know, we could go to jail for letting her do her own thing for too long, she yelled and began pulling down the entire display of Kleenex boxes.
In my 20's I would've worn a badge of honor for being such a wreck I was thrown out of the Costco, but nowadays, not so much. We had to buy a lot of Kleenex. If anyone needs any, hit us up.

When we finally got home to unpack our Costco purchases, we took our eyes off of her for literally one second and she went into the bathroom to un-roll all of the toilet paper. Not just the one on the holder, mind you, but every single roll. Even the ones still in the package. I mean, damn, right? That takes skills! When we get ready to move I'm going to task her with dismantling the Ikea furniture since it appears she's the only one in the family who has any shot at it!

Here's the most perplexing thing about this; all she wants more than anything else in this world is to walk all over the place, all the time, and it's frustrating and infuriating to her that on occasion she can't. This baffles me, because I for one would fucking LOVE it if someone would make me sit down once in a while. That would be incredible since walking blows. Hell, let's trade places, kid. You walk and I'll just sit here in this grocery cart and smile at people who coo at me. You're living the fucking dream! Don't you know what you have? Are you aware of how much people in other countries pay for what you get for free? Do you realize what I could charge in Thailand to change some dudes diaper while he eats a grilled cheese and watches Sesame Street? BIG BUCKS little lady! Sure, the money I make will never erase the horrific experience of it or stop the night terrors, but at least your college will get paid for in record time!

Look, don't get me wrong. I'm pumped that my kid is independent and kicking ass, just as long as it's not my ass she's kicking. On the other hand, I can look on the bright side of things. I now have an actual excuse for why my house always looks like a hurricane ripped through it, and why I simply can't get it tidy under any circumstances.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to try to get a 20 second power nap/pee break in before my kid remembers that she has the ability to open up the fridge, identify only the breakable items and cover the floor with them.

God speed.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Guest Writer for Real Mom Daily

Hey there! Check out this post I wrote for Real Mom Daily!

By Amy Albert

I love Target.

I love the layout of the place: clothes next to the electronics, across from the seasonal decorations, which happens to be next to the soup. I love that I go there when I’m feeling down and need a little pick-me-up in the form of $5 underpants. I love that I can get all kinds of booze and a breast-pump kit on the same trip, and not only is it acceptable, it’s expected. It’s my happy place.

And someone tried to ruin it.

On this day my 15-month-old daughter Bo and I are taking our usual route (women’s clothes to Tide and Windex, to dog food, then around to baby stuff), and we stop in front of the baby-clothes aisle, where I always find the cutest things for my kid, which she will outgrow by EOD. I’m kneeling down looking for her size in this sweater with a fuzzy dog on it, and I hear a woman say, “Oh, what a beautiful baby!”

I couldn’t agree more, so I quickly stand up, smiling, and say, “thank you so much, can you wave hi! to the nice lady,” etc. Typically after a few moments the social contract kicks in, and the conversation ends.

Not today.

The Voice belongs to a woman in her early 50s with long blonde hair. She asks how old Bo is, and I answer, 15 months.

”She’s a skinny baby, eh?” she squawks.

Uh, b’scuse me? That’s rude and weird and sounds accusatory, which makes me defensive. So I launch into, “Yeah, well she takes after her dad, who’s over 6’4”, so she’ll be tall because she’s super-tall for her age now, and, boy, what a big eater, eating us out of house and home!” Then in a last-ditch effort to show how super-chill and not insane I am, I make some stupid joke about how I don’t know how she’ll survive in L.A. with her healthy appetite.
”She’s a skinny baby, eh?” she squawks.
Thank you and goodnight!

The woman smiles and tells me again how pretty Bo is, so again I thank her, tell Bo to wave bye-bye, and we round the corner into the baby food aisle. As I am about to grab her fave cheesy munchies, the Voice says, “You know, the organic ones keep babies healthy without all the chemicals!”

“Uh, yeah, no shit lady. Of course they do, and I didn’t ask for your advice, so not to be a dick but please mind your business!” is what I want to say. Instead I just go, “ah, haha, yep” as we exit, bound for the cosmetic and soap department, which is close to the toilet paper aisle and nowhere near the baby stuff aisle. But as I turn around there she is again, and I notice the pamphlet in her hand.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to make sure you got this … before it’s too late,” she says.

I think, Oh, geez, are you a “did you hear the good news?” person? Because dude, this is Target, and it’s not even Christmas and I don’t have any change, and …

Then she hands the pamphlet to me and I realize what it is. On the front are bright red, bold letters: “What Vaccinations REALLY Do For Your Child’s Health.”

Holy shit! I’ve heard of these people, but I’ve never seen one in real life. This must be what it’s like to see Big Foot or learn that your best female friend voted for Trump.
“Uh, yeah, no shit lady. Of course they do, and I didn’t ask for your advice, so not to be a dick but please mind your business!”
The Voice charges into a tirade tearing into science and how they’re playing God, how vaccinations are filled with rat poison, arsenic, and tobacco. Unless I want my daughter to grow up a slave to the medical system, she goes on, I need to realize what I am subjecting her to, and that she just wants me to be aware of the facts. Side point: Why are the “Facts” always printed on recycled paper and passed out in grocery stores?

I am standing there in the soap aisle that’s next to the tampon aisle, in plain view of the kitchen accessory aisle. This is my happy place, and I’m being verbally assaulted in front of my smiling, gorgeous, healthy, happy baby girl. My immediate instinct is to tear up her shitty little crinkly pamphlet, open up the FDS gel soap, dump it on her head, and scream, “Get the away from me!”

I do none of those things. I calmly and rationally hand back her crinkly pamphlet and tell her, no thank you and excuse me. Then I go to the first person I see in a red shirt and khakis and tell him a crazy woman has been harassing me. Then I grab a box of Bugles off the dry snack shelves that are across from the cleaning product shelves and hide in the Target family dressing room for half an hour until Bo falls asleep.

The next day I call the pediatrician to make sure I have Bo’s 18-month checkup and vaccinations appointment already scheduled—which, of course, I do.