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About Me

Just a woman trying to navigate life in her 30's: An international marriage, a baby, a dickhead dog, a freelance writing career, anxiety, and a love for weird and majestic animals. I occasionally write about my childhood (my immaculate conception, my dad's unibrow, my mom's camel-toe 80's jeans) as memories are roused to life by my weekly therapy appointments. I have no idea what I'm doing.

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My Travel Blog

My Current Life In Italy

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Conversation with my dad part 2: https://t.co/MZiPAiSdF8 1 day ago
Conversation with my dad this week: Dad: I have a nickname for Leo! Me: what? Dad: GOLDEN PENIS me: nope Dad: D… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 1 day ago

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Me + Leonardo @dustontodd I love being a mom. I honestly never thought I’d say that since growing up I never wanted kids. Turns out, the parts of motherhood that never appealed to me were the parts that society dictate. “Moms can’t have their own lives. Moms can’t be sexy. You lose your identity. Moms have to aggressively drive a mini van and cut you off while shooting you a glance that says I HAVENT SLEPT IN A MONTH AND WILL MURDER YOU. Moms cant travel or have friends.” Turns out, you can be whatever kind of mom you want. I won’t say that it’s always easy to hang out but it’s doable. It takes more planning and a tad more effort but I still brunch, wear boob dresses, travel (next month, ITALY!) and still have a glass of wine with dinner. Some days im tired and some days im frustrated but overall most of the time I’m just really happy to hang out with this perfect little human and his sassy facial expressions. Ever been glared at by a baby? No? You will. #amwriting #memoir #artist #nakedinitaly #motherhoodsimplified #motherhoodrising

I don’t know if you watched The Center Will Not Hold on Netflix but it made me cry a lot. There’s something so beautiful and tragic about a creative life well lived, punctuated by heartbreak.

Leo was yelling at my painting. He does this a lot and I wonder what he’s reprimanding it for. Is it haunted? Or Am I raising a really angry art critic? If I were to do more painting of this style but smaller and sell them, would humans be interested in buying them? It’s been a long time since I’ve painted and I miss it so much. Why is this my brain? I don’t know but it is and Im okay with it. Yesterday I met with my therapist at a coffee shop because she’s awesome like that and she told me to stop reading terrifying articles because the world is much safer than it used to be and as a mother I have a lot of power to keep my family safe and healthy. That made me feel better so hooray therapy. She also told me that I need to make art for me and stop being afraid to put it out in the world. “You’re only afraid because you’re wanting validation. If you just make it and put it out in the world because you feel it needs to be out there, and you don’t care what anyone thinks, you’ll stop being afraid.” At first I was like that’s not true because I don’t care what people think. But then I realized that when it comes to my creative stuff I am worried people won’t like it or won’t consume it. Or will consume it and then make themselves throw up in a Target stall. And why do I care? I guess the same reason most creative types do, because the things we make are a part of us and it feels very much like personal rejection and I have daddy issues. So 2019 is the year of saying fuck it, my friends. Of creating and unleashing and having zero fucks to give in the process.

This quote is often attributed to Hemingway but there’s no proof he actually said it (and he advised people to be sober throughout the writing process anyway because he was a buzzkill, apparently.) Anyhow, I have this hanging in my office via a postcard from my cousin. And I wish that I was actually able to write anything decent while guzzling down the wine. Unfortunately I can’t. Me+wine=nonsensical rambling about small animals followed by terrible ideas. You win some, you lose some.

My hair hasn’t been dyed in months. I’m tired and this coffee isn’t cutting it. Im behind in 10,000 projects and I haven’t put on real pants today (or underwear if you want to know the truth. Im walking around in a blouse and nothing else like a rogue toddler). There are books I want to read, lipstick I want to wear, girls nights I want to have, and countries I want to visit, but right now I just need to focus on this book. My first baby. I quit my job to get it out in the world. I’ve spent countless hours laboring over it. I’m scared and exhausted. But I just keep reminding myself that as soon as this thing is out, I can drink a gallon of wine, do all the things, and breathe for ten minutes before starting the next project. In the meantime, I look like shit, and smell like a big troll. And that’s fine because all that I can handle rn is my dog, my Leo, and this goddamn book. Also if Francesco comes home one more time says “did you shower today?” He’s going to get stabbed with a fork. No I didn’t shower fucker. Get used to the sweet aroma that is me taking care of OUR BABY. Love you.🖕🏽

This isn’t news to anyone.

You Might Be Interested In: M. E. Evans

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12 Weeks Postpartum: Surprising Things I’ve Learned

Dante

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

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