Baby Steps to Sleep: Part II of Team No Sleep


Oh happy day... Oh happy day. Queue Lauren Hill!

Yep, there is a happy follow up to that sad, sad song I was once singing. The baby is learning to put herself to sleep. Hall-la-frickin-lu-yaaaaaa! I think it's funny that I was so distraught and sick over the idea of teaching my baby to put her own darn self to sleep. 

I thought only monsters would allow such a thing. Of course I should put her to sleep and rock the shit out of the girl for hours on end...until it turned into hours and hours for months and months and I hit the proverbial rock so hard I was screaming not so proverbial nice words at 2 in the morning. 

Now we get her ready for bed...from bath to bed is an hour process and then we get actual grown time to eat and play and be frickin merry. 

Life is better. 

Last night she slept a five hour stretch and I about lost my darn mind. I had to get up and pump because my lady parts weren't used to going so long without a snack. WORTH IT THOUGH! 

It's weird how life just calmed. I'm gonna love it up while it lasts! Look out for part III when Miss Thing starts teething. Having a baby is some kind of adventure, yo!

Sleep Regression. Otherwise Known as Hell on Earth


If you can't see the video, go here foo. 

I don't know why I thought making a video would somehow be easier than writing. I had to wait four days to get some damn sleep before I could even begin to process the idea that I would have to then edit said video.

(It ain't Snapchat after all!)

A couple of days later...after quite a few tearful meltdowns I have the beginnings of a sleep journey documented. I'm laughing as I type this because the pessimist in me keeps slapping me stupid and reminding me that I don't really believe Z is in a phase. I kind of think she's going to take 20 minute crap naps her entire life. She'll be 20 years old, still sleeping only 20 minutes at a time, living at home and asking me if she can nurse.

I may be losing sleep, but I haven't lost my sense of humor. (I think. Everything hurts so I may have and just not felt that yet.)

The sleep trainer is calling us today. I might cry because I'm totally waiting for her to say "Oh this kid is hopeless! I've never seen someone this wound up and clearly gone. You've rocked her and nursed her to sleep?! You've ruined all chances of her self soothing!"

Hopefully she comes in like Super Nanny and saves the day. I had a dream this morning (she actually slept for TWO WHOLE HOURS!) and in that dream I was Super Mom and I had the power to magically scan Z's body for ailments so that I would know why the fuck she keeps waking.


"She's wet."


"Her eczema is flaring up!"


"She's teething!"

Wouldn't THAT be grand.

... wish us luck.


One dazed and confused walking zombie.

ps can we all just ignore the weird thing on my lip in part of the video? Who knows what it was... a chili flake, baby poop. This is motherhood in all its glory. Lets just chalk up to life in the trenches and call it a mother truckin' day.

Rebel in the Open

I'm back...sporadically (queue the scene from Clueless!) and I have so many thoughts and feelings and things I've been meaning to share, but there's too much and the hole/window to release all those things is super small right now. Instead, I share this article that made my heart swell.

I love messages like this. I print them out and neatly fold them into Z's baby book for her to read when she's older.

This one in particular was near and dear to my heart because it reminds me of something my Grandma Mary has always shared. When I was younger and filled with a precocious need to tease her I'd end our visits with, "Now remember to be good."

She'd pull away from me with a look of disappointment and say, "Oh Tish...never tell a woman to be good. Where's the fun in being good?"

She was and is still a wise, wonderful and witty woman. AGREED! Where is the fun in limiting girls that way? Now that I'm older and have a spunky little nugget of my own I'm much more sensitive to what my daughter hears...what she learns. The messages that float around have to be positive and clear.

It's a harsh world out there for our girls...we have to fight like crazy to build them up so that when Society the Bully comes a'knocking (and it will) they're ready and able.

Rebel in the open, women!

Luv and Kiwi,


Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes. Turn And Face The Strain

...So it feels like it's been a million years since I've visited my dear old blog. Eons since I've picked up a pen or had the quiet moments to sit and process some dang thoughts about my life as it is now.

The struggle, currently? Balancing the internal me that's never changed with the external predicaments that come with having a baby. Como say what, you ask? What's changed?

Well, I still google like a mother trucker, but now it's crap like "Is my baby going to die because she has crap in her nose? How do I get said crap out of her nose? What's the best nursing bra? How do I get my boobs to stop hurting when I start working out?"

I so miss the days when googling entailed finding out what the Kardashians were up to...

I also physically look different. I'm bigger on top and have a soft belly now. I wear the same four outfits that are conducive to flashing a certain chunk a boob when she sees fit. My skin is different and my hair is a frazzled, hot mess. I just don't have the energy for makeup and hair gel. Who knew squirting crap in your hand took so much energy...

I go to bed at frickin' 7:30. If I'm up at 8:30 it feels like midnight and I'm hurting...mighty bad.

I can't go super far from my kid...she feeds A LOT (have I mentioned that before?!) and hates the bottle. You have no idea how happy I'll be when she starts eating solids. Everyone says I'll miss the constant feedings but I miss the days when I could get lost in a Barnes and Noble for a couple hours without worrying if I was killing my child slowly by puttering around the fiction aisle.

I eat like a beast. It's not cool to watch... I went to a two year old's party recently and had two helpings of cake, a sandwich, veggies, cookies... I just kept going back and back..and back. I'm sure people were side eyeing me. Move over kiddies! Mama needs to eat!

With all the weirdness I have little time to see if the old me is still in there doing ok. I'm hoping that me is just biding time. I know I'm getting an itch to audition again, which is good, but I'm terrified of jobs that would take me out of town.

We're supposedly out of the fourth trimester...meaning things are supposed to ease up a bit, but my wonderful Miss Z hasn't gotten the memo. Or maybe that was all an urban myth to give me the strength to carry on...

Only time will tell.

I'm back at work now so I SHOULD have more time to write. That being said I have to have something groovy to write about. I'm okay with life drifting by quietly and nicely... with sprinkles of awesome news circling around acting gigs and Z milestones.

I have no idea how to end this so I'll do so awkwardly. That's it. I have nothing more to say. [She turns abruptly and walks away.]

The First Rule of Parent Club...


The first rule of Parent Club... you will forget every rule of Parent Club (Exhaustion is a bitch.)

I began this post when Ziggy was three weeks old. Cute that I assumed I could think or write...or that I had actual time to do either. She's now eight weeks...the picture above she was six weeks. Time is a stupid unicorn lately.

I've read so many great posts from women who get the kind of motherhood I've been thrown in to. While some moms experience nothing but joyous bliss and look at their sleeping babies lovingly I spent the last two months sobbing about how hard it's been. 

I had breast feeding issues out the wazoo... I got mastitis TWICE. Had a wee case of the baby blues when my mom left after six weeks and have been dealing with a baby who can't sleep longer than 20 minutes at a time. If I hear a sneeze or fart coming from her general direction I weep. 

"And she's up." 

She's adorable and wonderful, but home girl refuses to let me put her down and she LOVES the boob. Can't get her off the boob. She's the champ of cluster feeding. 

I'm pretty sure acting's going to get put on hold for quite some time. Mark plans to take off a sweet amount of time after my maternity leave ends to care for her and then we're hiring a nanny once she's five months old, but nothing about having a baby has been easy or manageable. It's a tornado of scary new and just when I think I've figured her out she goes and has a leap and changes up the game again. 

Oh.My.God. My child is the Goblin King! She's totally cheating and changing up the maze. Why is this just occurring to me?! Forget Ziggy Stardust! She is the other Bowie persona reincarnated! 

Basically I'm not going to get my hopes up that the me I miss will return magically when it's Mark's turn. If we can even call it that... 

So yeah, what I moved to LA to do...what I've loved my whole life and dreamed of...envisioned on a daily basis is so blurry. It seems so far away. I hope it comes back. I hope I'm able to get a chance...but right now I have a fussy baby trying to poop her brains out and I need to drink my cold, three-hour-later matcha green tea.

Three days later because yeah time is a unicorn...

So here's where I am. I don't know what the heck to do with a newborn. I'm supposed to be playing with her how much? She's supposed to nap...on her own? Without my boob attached? Will I fuck her up if I watch TV or when I let her cry while I go to the damn bathroom?!

A new mama friend sent me this article which I so want to plagiarize because it's everything I've felt. I actually despise people telling me I have postpartum depression..that somehow mourning the person I was before I pushed out a kid is bad or abnormal. Props to Renegade Mama. Seriously. Thank you for speaking out and sharing your brand of honest. I dug it. 

I feel like I really need to re-read The Awakening. Ever read it? For this awkward mama it's ringing true...Well all the parts except taking crappy lovers and going into the ocean and drowning. 

Don't know when I'll be able to write again, but for now that's the world I'm swimming in. 

Over and out. 

The Broken Places


The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places. ~ Ernest Hemingway

There are sooo many bizarre and annoying things that happen in the third trimester of a pregnancy that no one warns you about until you're there. Google insights ain't got nothing on the friend who says, "Yeah that happened to me too. I just didn't want to scare you so I didn't mention it." What?! Where were you when it was happening at 2am and all I had was a computer, symptom and my tear ducts? I need to be warned of any and all oddities just in case I, too, end up experiencing that ish.

Mention it people! Mention the hemorrhoids you have to name and pray to. Mention the cramps and the not sleeping and all of the joyful reasons why you can't sleep and the nightmares about your baby being born pregnant.

...How pent up farts will rock your house and cause you to fear early labor or your husband divorcing you because he never said nothing at all in his vows about putting up with the bog of eternal stench making home in your ass or even worse than all of those outcomes--a shart.

Also mention that it may suck for you to dress yourself if you don't submit to a girly ass pregnancy mentality. Where is all the tomboy maternity gear? Can't a woman just spread eagle without fear that someone's staring at her baby's forehead? (My kid chills super low. I know she's a fart away from saying howdy. Did I mention I fart... a lot?)  I hate dresses and I hate pink and I don't like maternity designers. I wear my husband's gear.

Have I mentioned Mark hates me?

No one mentioned these things to me when I was trying to get pregnant...when I assumed feeling "fat" was the only thing I'd have to contend with.

So now I am thankful for the Erin and the Jen and the Vikkie who text with me and share hilarious, but truthful anecdotes on new motherhood. We ask questions...we lift each other up. We laugh. We're inappropriate and brave enough to share the not so flattering parts of our daily thoughts. It's so helpful. I find myself sending encouragement and reminding myself to do the same once I'm in a similar situation. I'm also thankful for Amy effing Poehler who wrote THE book on motherhood. I mean it was Amy who said, "It's easier to be brave when you're not alone."

I am not alone. Chicks may never have mentioned that weird bruises could possibly show up around my belly button because I've stretched too thin, but somehow the good ones showed up just in time to save me from the Googling "you have cancer and/or you're dying" doom of all dooms. Find your crew. Share a really gnarly fact about poop or hairy nipples and see how they react. If the response you get chills you out and reminds you that billions of women have done this for thousands of years then you've found home. If they listen to you discuss your broken places and commend and remind you of your strength then try to do one of the following:

suggestion a: convince them to move with you to a commune and live happily ever after.

suggestion b: name a child after one or all of them (Jerrinkkie?)

suggestion c: write a blog post or email and make sure they all read it.


38 weeks, five days Tish

Pregnant Forever...Will I Be THE One?


third trimester, pregnancy, miserable

So I've decided I'm a pregnant Bipolar type. I am done, done, DONE with being knocked up, but I'm not so sure I'm down for the labor part to come. One minute I'm complaining I want her OUT and then I get pains and I'm pleading with her to give mama a break and go to sleep...because I suck at pain and I'm a wuss and I am not ready. Yeah, I know there are pregnant unicorn mamas out there in the world who actually enjoy labor...even orgasm like G's BUT I've been experiencing false labor and cramps and I'm pretty damn sure I'm not going to be the woman who flushes a beautiful flush and giggles like a fairy every time  I dilate another centimeter. 

I had jury duty this past week and on my way home from the LA downtown area I went into full blown false labor...meaning I had these crazy, no good, horrible pains that didn't ebb and flow. They just consistently shot up and down my belly and into my crotch and had me screaming to Mark for 45 effing minutes.  Note to future mamas: Never get knocked up in Los Angeles. If you can't help yourself and you do get pregnant, never leave your home. Never go into traffic. 

He'd ask me to pull over, but I just knew if I did I'd have a baby on the 101 and I just couldn't be THAT Californian with the obnoxious freeway birthing story. 

luv and kiwi, californians, la, traffic, freeways, SNL, Kristen Wiig

I drove myself home like a boss... promptly peed and felt completely better. 

Mark now hates me.

Third trimester = When you feel all the feelings and I feel miserable. My belly is big for me and it's tight and she kicks me and I swear she has three legs and nails like Flo Jo. 

Luv and Kiwi, pregnancy, baby fingernails

That's incentive for birthing her...please let me see that she has two legs and two arms only...and that her nails are clippable. Not Wolverine-ish stuff that can't be cut or damaged. I've gone through airport security scans one too many times. I actually think and worry about such things. 

So yeah, for all the friends and family checking in to see if I've popped and how I fell: there ya go. I'm kind of a hot mess, but I'm owning my madness. 


OUCH! Mark! Can we get a cupcake? If you ask me to walk one more time I'm going to kick you in your piss pump.

The Nursery


I started planning this durn nursery so early. It's what Type A, anal retentive and hormonal folk do. It's super almost done at this point. We have one large white basket to purchase for the gazillion soft blankets the kid's tush will be playing on and then I shall calmly take a chill pill.

I think I've found THE only creative outlet my mama brain would allow...I can't read. I can't really write a lick of anything clever, but gosh darn it if I didn't super focus in on gliders and art work for Miss Ziggy.

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