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Apparently, I’m The Emergency Contact.
Somewhere, on actual paperwork, I am someone’s emergency contact. This feels like a catastrophic oversight in the system.
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Pitch Black Titty Meditation
At 3 A.M., after one hour of sleep and a refusal to pump, I founded an ethical strip club with benefits, offended a tiny monarch, and accidentally invented Pitch Black Titty Meditation™. This is motherhood. Apparently.
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Is this a sensory meltdown? Or am I just a bitch?
Sometimes the chewing is too loud, the lights are too bright, everybody is touching me, and someone has committed the unforgivable crime of getting the designated dry towel wet. Is this sensory overload—or am I just being a bitch?
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Motherhood is MESSY!
I dreamed about motherhood long before I understood how much of it would involve bodily fluids, emotional regulation, spilled breastmilk, and apologizing to tiny humans. Turns out, the mess and the beautiful parts aren’t separate.
