4:45pm update: I have enough writers now, thank you!! If you want to add to this section and credit yourself (I’ll translate your credit- and a personal link if you want- to the final post): http://piratepad.net/ouFmXQOWos
Otherwise, the end result will be up soon!
Feel free to make suggestions- but I seriously want to pay someone…thinking, thinking….I’m open to suggestions.
And yay, to the stock photo offers, send them over and make sure to let me know how you want credited!
I’m looking to pay a longtime reader to write posts that will help update my blog. One that is an updated FAQ and another that’s a Who’s Who with a list of names (e.g. Asia, Logan, Liz, Deepa). The only catch is that I don’t have time for back-and-forth email messages. A quick coffee shop meeting might work, but may not be necessary.
Eventually, I’m also looking to update the blog format. I’ve tried having friends do it long distance but I’m too visual. I need to stand over a computer and point to things and make weird facial gestures to communicate my point. If you do this kind of thing, live in Brooklyn, and are familiar with my style- give me a shout.
Also, I’m in constant need of photos for my babble posts. These would not be paid, but I’ll definitely credit you and link to any website you’d like. Right now I need a baby with Santa Claus photo. Otherwise, baby anything photos work. We can’t use istock anymore and I’m much more conservative with the baby ladies’ photos on babble than I am here.
my email address is at the google mail: fosterhoodblog
I don’t think you have to be high to think about this. Trying to force Sandy into switching from formula to cow’s milk is weirding me out.
We got our Santa photo at Habana Outpost after some nudging and promises of help from Liz. So glad we went. However, it was a scene from hipster hell. The event was done well- very well (Shout out to the ever patient Mrs. Claus!) but it was packed. Imagine a standing room only bar, and hand everyone a baby. Now hand Rebecca two. But don’t serve any alcohol. Or water.
If you have baby fever, allow me to cure you by inviting you to attend with me next year. You’ll be knocking down your doctor’s door in the morning to get the 10 year IUD. As with any well run NYC event, there were several steps so that you don’t murder someone by having to wait in line. After signing in, find a place to park your stroller. Take out your already screaming children. Find Mrs. Claus, push past 25 people, accidentally step on babies’ toes, artwork and a crayon that makes you slide and fall into an already unraveling family of 5 (very rare to see a family with more than 2 kids in nyc they should be allowed to the front line of everything). Give Mrs. Claus your ticket- tell her you’re the lesbian couple (it’s just easier- Liz didn’t care) with a black and a white baby and head up to the arts and crafts bar to let your children eat stickers on top of normal children making Christmas cards. Wait an hour. Realize that parents are getting in a line and bullying their way past the ticket procedure and up to Santa. Join them. Look like a saint when Mrs. Claus calls your name and then asks if the asshole dad can take his family ahead of you. Give Mrs. Claus a high-five wink when she says “Merry Christmas!” to the asshole dad. When called, throw Clementine at Santa because we all know she’s going to love a man who looks like a giant stuffed animal. Begin 17 step desensitization program with Sandy who has no intention of being near Santa. Follow the photographer’s directions to abandon intervention and just get in the damn photo myself. Done. Grab Clemmie and Sandy and carry them over the crowd like a tray of drinks. Watch as they spill all over. Find stroller missing. Be ungrateful for valet stroller parking. Retrieve stroller. Toss raisins at starving Baby Ladies. Wrestle them into stroller. Make lots of promises of milk and cookies at home. Have them both spit at you.
Debate whether or not it’s worth waiting for the dude to bring us our photos. Dude is cute so decide to wait. Watch as dude tells your child she has attitude. She does. What can I do? Try not to scratch dude’s eyes. Tell Liz to fuck the gift bags and it’s procedure. Allow Liz to convince you it’s all about the gift bags. Go across street to retrieve gift bags. Clementine’s Christmas gift bag happens to be full of Hanukkah stickers. Laugh. Walk the mile back home.
Taking the Baby Ladies to see Santa tomorrow. My prediction is that Clementine will crack-up and Sandy will flip out. I think I’m going to bring some raisins to give to Santa to bribe Sandy with.
This is what living with the Baby Ladies is like. Every morning and each time I come home from work, or even when I walk back through the door after taking the garbage out. It’s just crazy joy, joy, joy. I guess this awesome baby stage is all about paying it forward for when they are failing Algebra and jumping the turnstiles, right?
Hid these little notes all over to keep up morale. Cleaning up after the Baby Ladies is endless.
Asia’s on vacation in Atlanta now recharging. Last night she, her friend Destiny, Liz, the Baby Ladies and myself all suffered through Carrie Underwood’s live performance in The Sound of Music before switching over to our ritual of watching Scandal and eating ice cream. I also discovered that Asia and I both know every single word to Mary Poppins.
Sandy woke-up and I was cuddling her back to sleep when she stuck her finger so far up my nose it started gushing with blood. I have weird baby injuries all over my body- marks on my fingers from Clemmie’s playful but sharp teeth, alien abduction bruising on the inside of my arms from Clemmie’s tiny fingers pinching the hell out of me. Then there’s the accidental head-butting, hair pulling, eyelid rolling episodes…. Why don’t I ever hear news stories of babies accidentally killing their parents? It HAS to happen. Like the time Sandy pushed her hand so hard into my neck I almost lost consciousness. And I’m healthy!
Parenting really is a contact sport.