Whatever else Instagram et al would have us believe, parenting isn’t always attractive.
My son won't call me Mommy. I don’t get a “Ma,” let alone a “Mama.” I’m not “Mummy” or "Mother,” “Mami” or “Amma.” I’d be fine with Jess, which is what my friends call me, or some child-specific mash-up like “Jesma” (Jess + Mama) or “Moss” (Mom + Jess). But, nope, he’s not interested in giving me a matronymic of any kind.
Is your baby an asshole? Take this quiz to find out.
I understand the litigious impulse. When my son was born, I thought seriously about suing him for ruining my vagina. Everyone says the lady bits eventually go back to normal, but how is that possible? Some things, like Laffy Taffy or a LIVESTRONG bracelet, can’t be unstretched.
The five types of toddler eaters, explained. Never dread mealtime with a two-year-old again.
You pass off the baby puke on your blazer as polka dots and other signs that you're a working mom.
There’s the age you are and the age you feel, and there’s nothing like a 20-mile hike on a Nicaraguan volcano to remind you of the difference.
I write a weekly column about things to do / see / eat / experience in the city. Recent posts include 5 street art murals to see right now, 7 best unconventional pizzas, and New York City’s best takes on 5 classic American foods.