You go through big chunks of time where you’re just thinking, ‘this is impossible – oh,this is impossible’. And then you just keep going and keep going, and you sort of do the impossible.
You transition as a mother from literally just pulling a booger out of that person’s nose whenever you see one until at some point they assert: “No, I’m a person. You can’t fix my underpants on the subway.”
Now every girl is expected to have: Caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy.
I want every day to be the most boring news day ever. I want every day to be about spelling bee champions and baby basketball. It’s better to have no comedy material than a horrific news day.
I can’t possibly take time off for a second baby, unless I do, in which case that is nobody’s business and I’ll never regret it for a moment unless it ruins my life.
