Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a freelance writer, and have been for more than a decade now, which means I’m a little too comfortable spending a good chunk of my life unshowered and alone, in comfy pants, in front of my laptop.
I’m married to a thoughtful and handsome carpenter named Clint, who can craft beautiful bay window seats and dry martinis with blue cheese-stuffed olives equally well. I’m a lucky lady.
Clint and I are proud parents to an observant little 16-month-old named Roy, who is currently into trucks, vacuums, trucks, birdies, trucks, and brooms. And also? Trucks.
The final piece of the family puzzle is Nico, the sweetest little mini parti schoodle ever, who most certainly misses the days when she was our only mammal. Still, she puts up with Roy’s clumsy, drooly toddler love admirably well.
The four of us live in Saint Paul, Minnesota, in an 1890s urban farmhouse that we’ve (almost) completely renovated, from the original wood floorboards up. This spring, we’re hoping to add a patio. Or a vegetable garden. Or maybe even a chicken coop. We’ll see.
I would not deprive you of that juicy moment at the cocktail party where the generous wine pours finally massage my social anxiety and self-censorship: To be honest, we really weren’t sure we wanted kids. It took us more than a few years to decide that OK, we’ll give it a shot.
Fast-forward two years and here we are, completely smitten with #1 despite the worries, sleeplessness and plentiful body fluids—oh, the body fluids!—and actually contemplating #2. These days, it really is all about love and diapers. Seems that first part is what gets you through the second.
Check back, OK? I’ll be digging deep into this mess called parenthood, specifically the highs and lows of toddler-chasing, contemplating (and maybe even conceiving) child #2 and whatever else happens to spring to mind. Any questions, ask away. Cheers!Add a Comment