I have wrinkles. 

Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable. Small ones. Mostly around the eyes. They’re starting to intersect each other. Like the road map of a city that has started to expand and grow its own suburbs. 

Wrinkles and the garter stitch- slow and steady. Their progress sneaks up on you…

It’s possible they came from my job, which is an endless cycle of massive deadlines. Just as I’m about to get through a particularly brutal one, another one pops up for the next week. Rinse and repeat. 

It’s possible they came from my husband. By marrying him, I’ve set myself up for an entire lifetime of heckling about my driving and the constant annoyance of dishes piling in the sink. 

It’s possible they came from my son, who has meltdowns over things like his piece of toast tearing into two pieces and me not being able to magically fuse it back together even if IT STILL TASTES THE SAME AND THE END GOAL IS TO EAT IT ALL SO IT WON’T EVEN MATTER.

Sorry guys. Lost myself for a second. We get really passionate about toast around these parts. 

Our issues with toast may be directly related to my coffee consumption. #serenitynow

Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. And since I haven’t quite come around to the idea of botox, the wrinkles are seemingly here to stay. 

So instead I have to find a way to embrace them. Perhaps connect good things that come from the decades of stress. 

With each work deadline comes a sense of accomplishment after I’m done. The wrinkles also represent the promotions I’ve received from hard work and dedication to a company I love. 

I’m now basically too anxious to drive with anyone ever because of the endless jabs, but I also have had 7 years of support and love and a few thank yous for when I decide enough is enough and load the dishwasher myself. 😏

And sure, there are terrible two meltdowns on the regular, but I’ve also got a toddler who grabs my wrinkly face and plants kisses on it *almost* daily (he was really upset with me over the toast thing). 

So yeah. My wrinkles are what they are. I guess I’ll own up to them and accept them as a fact of  life. Same as my upcoming, inevitable dive into the mid-30’s scene happening this summer. 


Or I’ll continue to assault them with every single serum and treatment I can get my hands on at Sephora for the rest of my life. 

Yeah, I’ll probably do that. 

– Amy 

When things go to crap

When you’re pregnant, people joke about how your life will be filled with lots of baby poop. But as a person ignorant to being a parent up to that point, you think they’re kidding.

They’re not.

We definitely had our share of poop explosions. Often at the worst possible time and almost always in one of the cuter outfits he owns.


You know what’s also crappy? Having to undo over half a scarf because you ran out of yarn. It’s perfectly acceptable to buy more yarn if you wanted to go that route, however, the whole point of the scarf was to get rid of some of the stash I don’t really have other uses for. So buying more would have defeated the point…)

But a couple of weeks ago was just oh so special.

My little guy has check-ups with a kidney specialist every six months for a mild case of hydronephrosis (it’s less scary than the name sounds). Not a big deal, I promise.

It consists of an ultrasound, urine analysis, and a quick check in with the doctor.

The ultrasound takes approximately the same amount of time as 4 rounds of baby shark, in case you were wondering.

We then go through the waiting room gauntlet until a nurse comes to attach the urine bag. He’s not particularly fond of the tables one lays on in the doctor’s office, but two more rounds of baby shark made it ok.

After the bag was in place, I had that child drinking liquids like nobody’s business. We were going to get a urine sample come hell or high water.


Starting completely over, I found a completely different skein of yarn. Things seemed to be going well. Patience and persistence is always a virtue, right?

Until he pooped. I knew he did it. In a small room like that, and at his age, it’s not hard to know exactly when it happens.

But the issue came when it was time to change his diaper and check the urine bag. It was not a “clean” poop is the best way I can describe it without getting into super detail.

Henry already hated laying on the table. So he was twisting even before I opened the diaper.

Poop in every crevice. Poop covering the urine bag. Poop on Henry’s hand after he grabbed at it, spilling it’s contents in the process. He kicked and wriggled until he had flipped over, spreading the poop issue to his stomach.We flipped him over again (spreading it further up his back), this time met with kicks. His socks getting into the poop that had found its way onto the table. Poop started to be kicked into the air. POOP FLYING THROUGH THE AIR.

I continued to furiously pull baby wipes and just trying to clean up as much as possible when some landed on my cheek. The wipes eventually ran out, which is when the doctor called into the hallway for back up.

Henry wiped his poopy hand in his hair and on his face. He tried to grab for me and screamed even harder when I wouldn’t let him (oh did I not already mention he was screaming this whole time?). Finally, we were able to get my naked, poop covered child to calm down and stand on the floor as I wiped him from head to toe in wet paper towels.

It all lasted about 10 minutes from start to finish. The doctor plainly said it was one of the worst diaper changing incidents he had witness in quite some time.

We excel at making our doctor’s appointments memorable.

crochet scarf

And crap! I ran out of yarn AGAIN. This time I’m not sweating it… I love this particular yarn and have no issue buying more. So we shall wait again… can’t wait to get this scarf done next May…?

So to all the new parents out there, when you think it’s gross when you get poop on your hand for the first time, or under your fingernails, just you wait.

The worst is yet to come

And as a tip, if the option for both parents to be present at a doctor’s appointment is available, always take it.