Trouble

Since Nora has learned to pull up on the furniture, life is a total guessing game, as in, which thing could the baby potentially hit her head on next. I look away for a second and she's hyper-crawled over to the basket of newspapers we keep in our living room, up on her feet, a death grip on a some section of the New York Times at the top of the pile as she wobbles and smiles at me. I did some basic babyproofing after realizing she can and will hoist herself up on the heavy metal fireplace set, but it doesn't matter, because all hitting your head requires is a floor. And you can't get rid of the floor.

So, you know, no more quietly drinking our coffee while watching Nora lie on her back on her activity mat. On the plus side, though, Nora is always up for showing us her dance moves, and a lot of the time she's more entertaining than the morning news.

Confessions (Summer 2009-unemployed-raining-all-the-time edition)

I have only read about two sentences of "Ulysses" despite my claims. "Oprah" makes me feel good.

I want to do something great, but I don't know where to start.

I'm going to do it until she's one, but I'm sort of excited to stop breastfeeding in a couple months.

I just got a pedicure even though I swore I wouldn't do anything like get a pedicure, since I don't have a job, but you wanna know what IT FELT REALLY GOOD.

I was mildly intrigued by the Infinite Summer idea at first, but now I think everyone doing it is insane (ok, this isn't a confession, it's a statement, fine, I know.)

Despite the fact that I have a blog and am currently addicted to Twitter, the Internet is usually very boring to me.

I recently preset a rap station on my car stereo.

Lately I've found the "Modern Love" column in the New York Times - which I used to love - rather self-absorbed and I rarely want to read it anymore (one notable exception was June 26th essay by Simon Van Booy, which was fantastic and you should read it right now.)

I wish I was a better gardener.

I like all the rain.