Above and Beyond at Barclay’s Center. Diego got the tickets prior to knocking me up so I ate a hot dog instead of drinking a beer and we danced a lot and it was swell.
Black Coffee at the Apollo. They did not have regular Pringles at any of the concession stands. I still had fun. (But, to be clear, not as much fun as I would have had if there had been regular Pringles.)
Cat rescues with Instagram accounts made a decent amount of money off of my hormones in 2018, which I think makes up for the fact that I threatened to leave Griffon and Papi Choo Choo at the ASPCA approximately 2,018 times this year.
Diego being such a good dad to our little chunk makes my heart inflate like Violet Beauregarde and tip over and roll around in its own pool of ooey gooey love. MMM.
Engagement ring was lost and found.
Five year anniversary. I looked forward to that glass of wine with dinner for eight months, managed to drink almost half of it, and then passed out in the cab home. Misty water-colored memories.
Gestational diabetes testing. This fuckery was WAY worse than labor. I can’t even discuss it. God.
Hospital-issued postpartum underwear is both comfortable and a fun fashion statement. I may or may not still be hoarding a pack of them.
Instead of going to labor and delivery when my contractions started, I went and got a pedicure. Then I came home and had a glass of wine and took a shower and went to bed. The next day I called out of work and watched Parenthood until Diego came home and forced me to go to the hospital and three hours later I pushed a baby out. It’s a birth plan I highly recommend.
Joe. Everyone at daycare calls Zoë “Baby Joe.” It was confusing at first but I think I’ve figured out that it’s just how the two women working there pronounce it – I think it’s really cute and have started referring to her as Baby Joe myself because it reminds me of Jo from Little Women.
Kisses. So many. SO MANY. I’m squeezing them all in now before she’s big enough to say “MOM STOP KISSING MY FEET” and honestly even then I’ll probably pretend like I don’t hear her.
Laundering baby clothes is remarkably easy to screw up considering the things are made to be pooped in and spit up on.
My Favorite Murder at Kings Theatre. Their NYC shows sold out in five minutes because insane fan cult members such as my good friend at work were ready the second tickets went on sale. We were front and center AND I got to meet them afterward AND I didn’t say anything embarrassing or try to kiss them or anything! (Even though we were second to last in line for the meet and greet because I had to pee because I drank entirely, entirely too much because it was the first time I Went Out after Having A Baby and "entirely, entirely too much" is two drinks.)
Night feedings. I almost – dare I say it? – enjoy night feedings now. She’s such an active baby when she’s awake that it’s nice to have those quiet moments to just sort of soak her in. It’s also a great time to bond with the cats, since they think it’s time to eat every time I get up. Also the tiny cat climbs on the baby so I’ve gotten good at petting him with one hand and feeding the baby with the other. I’m sure that skill will come in handy someday, somehow.
One World Observatory / Oculus. I scolded a man for putting his sweaty sausage fingers on the windows at One World and finally actually looked at the Oculus instead of rushing past it to get to whatever dumb thing I’m ever trying to get to. (And truthfully, the only reason we went was because we had a friend visiting - I'd invite people over more often and maybe go to more Things if I didn't dislike washing sheets so intensely.)
Psychic readings are sadly no longer available directly next door to me. In her place is a travel agency which I suspect is more of a laundromat. You know. For cash.
Quack! is what ducks say. Is it just me or does it seem like a disproportionate amount of children’s books are about farm animals?
Rest. Building a tiny human took a lot out of me. I napped a lot this year. Usually with cats.
School went well considering I found out I was pregnant one week after paying my tuition. I got through it sleepwalking and vomiting, which I guess is how a lot of eighteen-year-olds do it too.
Twenty-ninth birthday. We went to a matinee of Aladdin and had fancy lunch instead of fancy dinner. (I turn thirty in a few days and requested a repeat of this day date because I liked it so much. We’re going to fancy French lunch and then to see Book of Mormon, and we’re leaving our little chunk with her auntie for the afternoon so that Mommy can eat with both hands and day drink.)
Ubered to and from work for most of August.
Virgo baby! As in, I had one!
Winter Music Conference – JK I DIDN’T HAVE TO GO BECAUSE I WAS PREGNANT. Diego went to Miami with his friends and I got to pretend I lived alone for a week and it was glorious. GLORIOUS.
Also, Waxing (as in the moon) (not eyebrows) (although, also eyebrows):
X… uh, chromosome!
Y? Because we like you!
Zoë Margaret.
