Tag: memories

  • Transmissions From Baby-Town: “Everyday”

    Here at terribleminds I talk a lot about our new son, He-Who-Is-Nicknamed “B-Dub,” and this time I thought maybe I’d show you him in motion. From Then until Now. I apologize in advance for the diabetes and cavities this will cause you. He’s very high on the Glycemic Index, this baby. Just too sweet.

  • Transmissions From Baby-Town: “Conversations With The Dictator”

    He’s growing up, one little thing at a time. Whether it’s how he now interacts with his own feet or how he tries to chew his tongue like it’s a piece of gum, he’s starting to become more than he was, more than just the weird little glowworm he’d been for these last months. Smiling and laughing and babbling and yelling. Not just at nothing, but at the world.

  • Transmissions From Baby-Town: “Turning Corners”

    Let me be your birth control, those without kids: the first six weeks of raising a Tiny Human provide a lesson in small miseries. You have not slept. The pieces of your life — the schedule that holds your sanity together — has been hammered apart like so much peanut brittle.

  • Wait, What? Who Let Me Be A Father?

    And like that — poof — I’m a father. Didn’t have to fill out a form. Didn’t have to get a license. Didn’t have to kill a wild boar with my spear and eat its still-beating heart. No test. No spirit quest. No nothing. The strange thing is, for the last several years now, Father’s Day has been something of a maudlin day for me.

  • Transmissions From Baby-Town: Love In The Time Of Diaper-Changing

    “You’re building the walls of your own prison. And the baby, the baby is the warden. Oh, he’s a cherub-cheeked warden, all right. He’s cute. Chipmunk cheeks packing love and adorability the way real chipmunks store acorns. But don’t misunderstand. He’ll run you hard.”

  • Blue Eggs From Bitch Chickens (Or, “Scenes From A Farmer’s Market”)

    I fucking love the farmer’s market. Sometimes, crazy shit happens at the farmer’s market. Maybe it’s something in the air. Maybe everybody’s goofy on rhubarb. No idea what it is, only that it is. This is a story of just such crazy shit. It is the story of the blue eggs, and the bitch chicken that lays them.