I think I can speak for a good portion of America when I admit that I've always wanted to have something in common with Angelina Jolie. Ms. Pouty Lips and I have finally got a connection: We've got parent problems. And we're willing to set them aside for our kids.
I could hear the teenaged girl in the next stall. The forced cough. The strangled noise. The rush of vomit. Do I step out to the sink and gently whisper, "I've been there? I'm a recovering bulimic"? Do I watch to see if her mother is outside, and whisper out of motherly concern, "You might want to go check on your daughter in there"?
I can't say I'm looking forward to the birds and the bees talk with my daughter, but I'm not dreading it with the same ulcer-inducing fear that some parents face. I have a surefire plan.
I blame the cold. That and the kid-friendly New York City guidebook. With them to bear the burden for our foray into the little girl's fantasy land that is the American Girl headquarters on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, I can still hold my head up high and proclaim I'm not just some sucker mom. I hope.
If breast vs. bottle is the Gettysburg of the mommy wars, then the fight between the out-loud- and-proud breastfeeders vs. the hide-in-the-corner types must be our own personal Bull Run.
Woody and the gang are back for the third movie in the fun-loving animated series -- and momlogic sat down with director Lee Unkrich to get behind-the-scenes dish.
Approaching the front door of the bank, I wrap my daughter's hood tightly around her chin and hold her face to my chest. It doesn't matter that we're headed inside, away from the bitter New York cold; I'm not trying to avoid the wind. I'm trying to avoid the smokers who congregate outside the entrance to puff on their sticks.
I used to call my lapses in memory "pregnancy brain." Then I gave birth.