I wrote a book! If you have a Kindle, or you don’t mind downloading the free Kindle app, you can buy it here. It’s called New to Me: A Mostly Ridiculous, Highly Undignified, and Occasionally Heartfelt Diary of Pregnancy and First-Time Motherhood, and that is pretty much what it is.

suspicious child is suspicious

If you were a blog reader back in 2005, this will be familiar territory: New to Me is a yearlong collection of entries, from that first terrifying double-line pregnancy stick to Riley’s 6-month birthday. It’s been quite a process, from copying and pasting old entries to embarking on a major edit and rewrite, but I’m so glad it’s all in one place now. I enjoyed revisiting those days and I sure hope you do too.

Thank you so much for this, you guys. I never would have captured this time in my life without a blog, I never would have remembered half the silly/awful/wonderful things I wrote about. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading.

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We used to have one cat but then another cat showed up on our doorstop and so we kept her and then she surprised us by 3D-printing more cats so we kept one of those, too. Now we have three cats which feels a little *twirls finger next to temple while making big eyes at the floor* but I am kind of delighted by the fact that my life feels like a real-life version of Neko Atsume.

All three of our cats are very different from one another. Callie, the indoor one, is prissy and a little bitchy and drools when she purrs. She’s obsessed with Riley and spends every evening biscuit-kneading his bed covers and knocking things off his desk. She hates the other cats and sometimes just stares out the window at them, mentally leaving cowardly comments on their Instagram accounts. Callie refuses to eat literally any other thing aside from Iams Proactive Health Adult Original Tuna cat food, which I have to order from Amazon, which feels like the most high-maintenance cat owner thing ever. Except I also bought her a custom-made gold leather collar from Etsy.

Tiny Cat is the one who just showed up one day and she is in fact very small, the size of a 6-month-old kitten. She is lean, gimlet-eyed, and focused: even when she’s lolling in the sun room she has the vibe of a John Wick assassin briefly relaxing in the Continental. Tiny Cat is constantly hunting, bringing in a never-ending bounty of snakes and birds and the occasional eviscerated rat. She brings in giant dead leaves, which she apparently thinks are some sort of dried-out, immobile prey. We all have deep respect for Tiny Cat, and speak in hushed, reverent tones about the time she brought in an intact Egg McMuffin, still in the wrapper.

Catinator (shut up, Dylan named him) is Tiny Cat’s son, which I would not believe if I hadn’t seen him emerge from her actual body. He is absolutely enormous, a giant luxurious expanse of grey tabby fur, and he is the laziest cat of all. He sleeps for hours in the small top tier of a carpeted cat tower, spilling over on all four sides. He has a funny little deadpan meow: “Wow.” (He sounds a lot like this, actually.) He loves to be carried like a big fat ring-tailed baby. Like Callie, Catinator is comically useless, an unemployed freeloader who occasionally fights with his hard-working mom and gets nervous when it’s a little windy. In the apocalypse, only Tiny Cat would survive.

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