In which there is much baby talk

Mike: You need to get out of the house.

Me: No! Then how will I know how much Mrs. Oleson paid Mrs. Ingalls for eggs?

In an effort to stave off boredom and curb what has been deemed as way too much information about the goings on in Walnut Grove, I joined a Mom’s meetup group called Seattle Hip Mamas. I’ve been feeling more like a Seattle Hip Replacement Mama lately because all my breast-feeding shirts have holes in the front and are designed with bears and stars. At today’s soiree, no one threw me out because I lacked in the hip department. No one asked me if I’d been rocking the easy-boob-access-wear. There was even applause for my return to civilization. My son was the youngest one there and shrunk in the shadows of the enormous 10-month-olds. God, I can’t believe he’s going to get any bigger than this.

Here’s Nathan when he’s not throwing up gang signs or calling his fellow babies to get crunk.

You're taking me where?

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