I was at an internship the year after college, surrounded by leftover sexually graphic cake someone had brought in from a bachelorette party, when I received a phone call. My mom was crying. My aunt…(technically my mom’s first cousin), who was also my mom’s best friend, had a severe heart problem and had been getting surgeries and other treatments for years. My mother said it looked like she was going to die soon. My aunt loved giving gifts, and she frequently sent me beautifully decorated packages containing all sorts… >> Read More
I am a big woman, and I nursed my second child in public without a cover for four and a half months. Amid all sorts of articles about hateful things being said to women feeding their children, I was…prepared for the worst. Being constantly topless in public was not my first choice, but the kid didn't like the nursing cover. After making our whole family nuts spending weeks pumping eight times a day, and then six times a day, I wasn't going to let some mere modesty stand between me and my meager… >> Read More
The Friday night dinner I made two Shabbats ago was not the best example of my cooking ability. My son had neglected his usual, glorious, three-hour nap, and instead had catnapped a bit while I ran…errands. Whenever I tried to chop anything, he climbed onto something not designed with toddler safety in mind and then attempted to jump off. This added an element of terror to cooking that I could have done without, and did not enhance the final product. “I think this might be the worst food I have… >> Read More
I come from a long line of people who have great difficulty recognizing faces.
The technical term for this is prosopagnosia, and I don’t have a full-blown case, I can recognize people I know…well. That said, I've definitely failed to recognize my first cousin in an elevator, I have been known to say, “Hi, Shabbat Shalom, my name is Amanda. What’s your name?” to the same people in shul many, many, times, and I was very upset to be voted down in my desire to have everyone at my… >> Read More
I had planned on weaning my son from the bottle roughly around the time of my death. I took a bottle until I was 2.5, and my husband thinks he may have had one until he was 4. We are both…fine--why wouldn't we be? What magic wand waved on our first birthdays made one of his and my favorite activities suddenly harmful? I loved his bottle. He loved his bottle. He liked to fondle it while muttering it's name (Baba, obviously). He like to talk about it, stroke it, and think about it. I loved when he cuddled… >> Read More
I knew my life had gotten strange when I found myself standing in my in-laws' living room, having recently purchased my son from a priest, as my husband threw chocolate silver coins down my hooter…hider while I breastfed my son. We were at my in-laws for my son's pidyon haben , a ceremony where a firstborn male child who meets all sorts of criteria, such as resulting from a vaginal birth and not having a mother who is the child of a Cohen or a Levi, is redeemed from… >> Read More
I went to my first postnatal checkup wearing maternity pants that I didn't realize were covered in spit up.
"Next time I see you, I will be sure to make sure that this doesn't happen," I said to…the midwife. Seven months later, due to some rather high doses of steroids, I am still in maternity pants. They are still almost always covered in spit up. Had I known I'd spend longer post-pregnancy in maternity pants than I spent during pregnancy, I definitely would have invested in more pants--particularly since they're regularly soaked in foul-smelling… >> Read More