I am just sick today over the news of the Upper West Side family who lost two of their little ones to the hands of their apparently deranged nanny. I cannot bring myself to type the details, but my heart aches for all of them. It is an unimaginable horror, and while I do not pray often, I am praying with all of my might to Whomever Is Up There that this family can find peace one day.

We will take flowers to their building tomorrow, although all I want to do is take yesterday away from them. I don't think I've ever wanted the power to turn back time as much as I have wanted it today.

Sending all of the love and warmth I have for my family to theirs.

Mom guilt. The worst. My nanny just called to tell me that my girl has a little fever and that while she is in mostly good spirits, she can tell she isn't feeling well. Knock on wood, this is only the second time in 9 months that I've gotten a call like this, but, it makes me feel awful for a few reasons. First and foremost, I'm sad for my sweet little munchkin who doesn't need a millisecond of discomfort. Secondly, as I sit here at my job, I wonder: should I go home right now? Am I a jerk of a Mom for even asking that of myself? I go across the hall to the only other Mother of a toddler in this 14,000 square foot office to tell her that my girl has a fever and she replies that hers does, too! She's not as worried, her girl is a few months older than mine and she has had many a fever, likely teething related. There is no emergency (knock wood, again) and they are in the very capable hands of our carefully selected caretakers. We both have loads of responsibility at work, too, and this will certainly not be the last time our babes have low-grade fevers in the middle of a weekday. See that? I just attempted to make myself feel better. Didn't work.

Here is a preview of little one's Halloween costume, you're welcome:

Do you guys make deals with yourselves? I think I make an inordinate amount of deals with myself. Deals like: if I go to the gym every day this week I can have IHOP on Sunday morning AND put cheese on the hash browns. Or, like this morning when my alarm went off at 5:45, I had this going on in my head:

"That's not my alarm. Can't be. Ugh. It is. Okay, I have to go to the gym. I said I would go every day until Thanksgiving and I didn't go yesterday. Get up. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh I don't WANT to. I'll get up in five minutes. No, I won't. If I don't get up now there is no way I'm going. If I don't go then I will be fat forever. I am not fat. I am NOT FAT. I cannot set my daughter up to have a negative body image. But, if I don't lose 20 pounds then I am going to complain about it and she will think that it's normal. Is 20 pounds reasonable? That seems like a lot. Okay, okay. If I get up now and go to the gym, then Joel and I can order dinner tonight instead of cooking. Deal?"

I took the deal. With myself. I do this in so many facets of my life that I am beginning to think it's some kind of compulsion. I also put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to do everything. All of it.

Today I MUST:

Go to the gym
Eat a healthy breakfast
NOT wear those tights again
NOT go to the expensive coffee place on the way to work
Finish a,b, and c at work
Eat the lunch I brought DO NOT go out for lunch
NOT eat sugar
Finish x,y, and z at work
Drink more water
NOT get frustrated with Person A or Person B, it's just who they are
Think of fun things to do with my daughter, WE LIVE IN NEW YORK! DO MORE STUFF!
Write a blog post! Slacking! DO THIS EVERY DAY!

How are we supposed to do all of these things all of the time? I want to be an outstanding Mother, a fit, healthy, successful woman at work, an attentive, emotionally and physically nourishing partner to my Baby Daddy, a great friend to many, an Aunt and Sister worth my weight in gold, and a Daughter of whom my parents are proud. Also? I have to keep the grey out of my hair and my nails polished.

This instead:

I took a little blogging break because,well, I'm really busy. I know, I know, we all are. But, my day starts between 5 and 6 AM and goes non-stop until 9 PM. Every day. Including Saturdays and Sundays. I'm not complaining, mind you, because I'm totally in love with my life in a HUGE way, I just can't always think of things to write about. Until this morning.

This is how my nanny makes me feel sometimes:

Now, before you utter the over-used and outstandingly annoying phrase "first world problem", I would like to clarify that I don't give a shit about what you think. We can afford to have a nanny and we have to work so we have one.

Our nanny is a sweet little lady who is amazing with our daughter. She is fun, energetic and really loves her, and our girl loves her back. At the end of the day, this is the most important thing. However, there are a few hundred things in between that drive me bat shit. In the beginning, when I first came back to work (which, btw, was the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life, hands down) our girl was not napping well, not taking the bottle because I'd exclusively breastfed her my entire maternity leave, and over-all being displeased with the fact that Mommy wasn't around. I cried every day for months. My nanny only served to make this worse by complaining that the fussiness and non-napping was making her job difficult and that we "really had to do something" and that our girl "wasn't like other babies". At the time, I wasn't really sure how to negotiate this new relationship so I just stifled the urge to quit my job and toss her out a window. Finally, I had a full-scale meltdown on her, and she stopped. While I want her to be happy every day since she is taking care of the single most important thing in my life , I was also not able to stand for that bs any longer.

Fast forward through about 5 months of her only getting on my nerves occasionally and sans thoughts of window-tossing, she has now found a new way to make me crazy. She is instructing me daily on things that our girl should and should not be allowed to do and how I should be keeping my house. For example, this morning our girl was running around with a container of my eye cream. I gave it to her to distract her while I got ready since Baby Daddy had already left for the day. The minute Nanny walked into the door she said "Oh, no. Jesseeecah you cannot give her that. She will choke on it. Let me tell you something, hear me: you have to tell her no sometimes." Here is what went through my head:

"First of all, you annoying twit, she is NOT going to CHOKE on the small TUB of eye-cream that she wouldn't even be able to fit all the way in her mouth. According to you, she would choke on a spatula if I let her have it. Secondly, thanks for the lesson in PARENTING ONE OH FUCKING ONE!Get out! Get out! Get out!!"

Here is what I said:

"Yes, I tell her no all of the time. I just personally didn't see it as an issue that she was carrying around my eye cream."

Here is what she said:

"Oh, you shouldn't tell her no ALL of the time. That's not good."

Somehow, she is still living.

A week ago, she came in, looked at our living room and said "Jessecah, this place is a mess. What happened?". Startled, I said that our girl had been playing all morning so of course it was a little messy. She replied that she was referring to the remnants of an animal cracker massacre on the rug, and went on for 10 minutes about how we were all "supposed to work together" to keep things neat. Here is what went through my head:

"HEY. LADY. Guess whose house you're in? Just guess. I'll wait. TIME IS UP. You are in MY HOUSE. MINE MINE MINE MINE."

Here is what I did:

Vacuumed while she was still talking, then left for work.

The next morning she was sweet as pie, clearly feeling a little guilty for her OCD outburst. She asked nice questions about how I was doing, how is my Mom and what are her paintings like? Everything inside of me wanted to smile sweetly and chat lightly, all while walking to the pantry, filling a ziploc bag with animal crackers, walk out to the living room, toss the bag casually onto the floor, crush them with my foot, pour the crumbs out all over the rug, kiss my sweet girl goodbye, and skip off to work.

If I close my eyes I can imagine of horror on her face and it is amazing.

The truth is that I put my underwear on backwards more often than not.

Happy Friday.

Walking in New York is like driving anywhere else. There are invisible lane divisions on every sidewalk and every stairwell, coming and going. If you get behind someone going too slowly, you look around them to see if there is space in front of them and to make sure you're not going to run into oncoming "traffic", only then do you make the move to pass. If someone cuts you off in the middle of the sidewalk or while walking up the subway stairs then has the nerve to slow down, well, most people don't yell out loud like one would do if they were alone in their car, but the screaming that goes on inside the heads of most New Yorkers is special. Yesterday I was walking very quickly to the train after work, anxious to get home. I try my best not to take the touristy streets to the train (Broadway and Canal) but sometimes those sneaky bastards find their way over to Howard or Lafayette. Three women, arms LINKED, cut in front of me and proceeded to walk at a glacial pace. My instinct was to shove them out of the way. Not wanting to risk assault charges, I walked behind them with this exactly, word for word, going through my head:

"BITCHES! UGH. Oh my God. Oh my God. So annoying. Fucking tourists. Jesus. I can't get around them. Fucking garbage piled up on the sidewalk like we live in some 3rd world country. And you're all wearing the same goddamned sweater. How can you ALL THREE BE WEARING THE SAME SWEATER AND NOT CARE??? Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Way. You can't walk three deep on the sidewalk! You can't walk three deep on the sidewalk! Oh! They're turning, they're turning...aaaand YES THANK YOU FUCKING GOD."

How am I not medicated?

Meanwhile, here are a couple of reasons I really like walking down a street in NY:

First, this:

Secondly, I want to talk about something I know nothing about: establishing and maintaining relationships with the parents of the children my daughter befriends. You guys? How does this stuff work? I received a call this morning from a woman who is the mother of my daughter's "boyfriend". Apparently, our nannies hang out every day and our babies are, like, totally going out. So, this woman called me to arrange a play date for our babes and for us to meet. I was thrilled! I don't have very many Mommy friends here in NYC where there is little pressure to have a kid before the age of 40. But, now I'm also nervous. What if we don't click? What if she's crazy? What if she thinks I'm crazy (she'd be right)? Will my daughter still marry her son even though their Mommies don't get along? I'm mostly joking, but there is a real fear here that my ability or lack thereof to establish and maintain a friendship with this woman (or any other parent) will impact my daughter's friendships from now until eternity.

I joined a Mommy Group in our neighborhood for the sole purpose of meeting other Moms and to encourage some healthy social interaction for my girl. Before the first meeting I felt like I was getting ready for a date: butterflies in my stomach, debating what to wear, hair up or hair down? When I walked up to the group of Mothers, I smiled broadly and introduced myself and my little girl. It quickly became obvious that my little girl was the only mobile one in the group. She looked like baby Godzilla as she crawled around all of the younger babies, taking off their hats and pulling at the other Mothers' necklaces. While I knew that she wasn't hurting anyone, I could see that the other Moms were nervous, which in turn made me nervous, so I made up an excuse and left. Throughout the brief gathering, I also learned that I was one of two ladies in the whole group who worked at a job 5 days a week. This also made me feel left out in a way. I'm not proud of this, but, I never went back. I wanted so badly for it to work but it just didn't.

All of which brings me back to my original point: YOU GUYS? How does this stuff work? Please share with me your experiences, wherever you may live and whether you are a working Mom at home or a working Mom at work.

Oh, and, Happy Monday!

Today is the perfect day: no plans, gorgeous weather, and, no plans. The last few hundred weekends have been over-flowing with plans: brunches, play dates, birthdays, moving, errands, out-of-town guests, you name it we did it. I'm not complaining, mind you, we are very grateful to have a wide array of friends and activities to enjoy said friends. The city pace is just like it seems in the movies: GO GO GO GO GO GO! Everything must be PLANNED lest some city-dweller think it is acceptable to do something (gasp!) leisurely or spontaneously. I am just as busy now with a family as I was when I was single with, well, a lot of wine. Speaking of alcohol, last night was Baby Daddy's 33rd birthday outing, all of which I planned for him as a surprise. First, I took him to a lovely little wine bar in the East Village that you must try called Terroir Wine Bar (413 East 12th Street, NYC). They tout themselves as "The Elitist Wine Bar for Everyone" which is fairly accurate. They have an enormous wine list and the staff is super friendly and knowledgeable.

Afterwards, I had a group of friends surprise him for a fabulous dinner at The Smith which was only a few blocks away (55 3rd Avenue, NYC). That place? Amazing. The food, the service, the drinks, all of it was fantastic. I can barely finish a glass of wine these days, but their French 75 cocktail was so good I just had to have two. You should try it! Here is a recipe similar to theirs:

MAKES 1 DRINK (although you will want more, obviously)

INGREDIENTS
1 oz. gin
½ oz. simple syrup
½ oz. fresh squeezed lemon juice
Brut Champagne or a dry sparkling white wine
Lemon twist, to garnish

INSTRUCTIONS
Combine gin, simple syrup, and lemon juice in a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake until well chilled and strain into a glass. Top with Champagne and garnish with a lemon twist to serve.

Happy Saturday! Cheers to doin' some maxin' and relaxin'!

Here's the deal. If I had a lot of money, and I mean A LOT OF MONEY, I would spend it all on clothes and accessories for myself and my daughter. Maybe even Baby Daddy, too. I work for a fashion designer and beautiful, expensive fabrics are always in my face. I have (childless) co-workers who spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of shoes and truly believe they got a good deal. While admittedly I quietly hate them for this, I do not sit in judgement because you can bet your ass that I would do it if I could. This is what I want now, and cannot have:

Today is my little girl's first birthday. Her first! I had no idea how emotional it would be. Every moment that passed today had me thinking of the moments that passed one year ago in the hours up until I had her. Those were not so special. Those were painful, physically dreadful, terrifying moments that I will likely not ever experience again. But, the moment I pushed her out of my body and into this world, well, that was ethereal. Every moment since then has tested me in ways I never knew possible, and I every day I love her more than the day before. That is a fact.

I'm the happiest I've ever been, and I like to tell her that some people grow up dreaming about being rich or famous..but I dreamed of her. I'm so lucky that my dream came true. Happy birthday, my sweet little girl.

Hi! I'm Jessica. I'm a Mom first, crazy lady second, while some (read: many) may disagree about the order of those two things. Here's the deal with this blog: there is no deal. I just like to talk about being a Mom with other parents (how great it is, how much it can suck, where to find the best fill in the blank for your however-many-year slash month-old, what to do when you

r baby does x,y, or, God forbid, z). I also like to talk about politics, fashion, men and how dumb they can be, crap tv shows, the South, the City, AND food. Today I am thinking about how I am crazy. Me, and every other person who lives in New York City, especially the parents. What is WRONG WITH US? It is outrageously expensive. No line of good logic leads to spending thousands and thousands of dollars a month to RENT an apartment and pay for a nanny or day care. I think about this almost every day. No, not almost. I think about how stupid it is every single day as I walk from my building in the East Village toward the hot, crowded, slow-ass train that will take me to my job in Soho where I toil away only to essentially sign my paycheck over to my nanny. That, my friends, is insane. But, Baby Daddy and I (no, we're not married, probably the smartest thing we've ever not done) would most certainly go even more crazy in a smaller city with less amazing food and less access to awesome things like tickets to Frank Ocean and Patton Oswalt. Also, our sweet one year old girl who makes even the most hardened New Yorkers smile on the sidewalk, will enjoy a cultural education that is arguably exclusive to this place where she was born. My Mother was visiting this weekend for our little girl's first birthday party. As we were walking along the East River I commented that it would be really nice if we could do this every weekend. It's very difficult to raise a child with zero family members within a 1000 mile radius. She said to me that she wouldn't be able to afford to live here, ever (this coming from a woman who lives with only my step-father in a three story, 4 bedroom house). But, I thought to myself: NO ONE CAN AFFORD TO LIVE HERE. Even the richest of the rich are paying out the nose to maintain their lifestyles. You seriously have to be out of your goddamned mind to raise a family here. And, yet, here we are, thinking about how we are going to get our daughter into a good PUBLIC school 5 years from now. Five. Years. See? Crazy lady.