the smell of my desperation has become a stench

And to think, there’s SO much I don’t write about

While preparing Leta for bed the other night Jon reached into my closet which is in her room (did you know that families circa 1926 only needed two closets? PER HOUSE?) and he pulled out one of my old nursing bras.

“Wow,” he stammered. “Remember this?”

“Oh. My. God. Why do you have that in your hand?”

“Why is it still in your closet?”

“Have you ever known me to get rid of anything? Please, put it away.”

“Why? LOOK at this thing.”

“I’d rather not. Why are you doing this to me?”

“I thought it might be nice if you had a memory flashback.”

“A memory flashback?”

“Or even better, a MAMMARY flashback.”

“I’m so going to write about this.”

“Get it? Mammary. MAMMARY!”

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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