What a great collection of essays.
Amy Corbett Storch’s The Starbucks at the End of the Universe was so my life in a nutshell when the kids were younger. How do you go from having LOTS of time to get somewhere to “Oh, crap, I’m so about to be late and where are my keys?”
The inopportune pooping part reminded me of the time that Peter and I, shiny new parents of infant Honorée, took her to Artisanal restaurant in NYC in the late afternoon (thinking that would make it less crowded and fraught) and it was! It was less crowded and fraught. But, Honorée made a total poop-splosion. A very odoriferous one, given that pure breastmilk poop usually smells, at worst, like cream cheese. I got up, went into the wee bathroom, and ended up having to change her on the floor, avec small changing pad. Not enough wipes, no change of outfit (the one time)…repurposing brown hand paper towels as wipes (so not the same thing)–and me, making lots of goony fun faces so H. wouldn’t start screaming her head off.
Slightly bashful confession: Sleep is for the Weak is perfect bathroom reading in terms of the length of the essays. Being able to read a really hilarious/poignant/arch/sassy essay in one, um, sitting, is hugely satisfying in the world of motherus interruptus.
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