Oh, Pandemic life.

Well, hello! It’s been a while. I’ve been writing a lot lately, about all aspects of these terrible times. A sampling! Pour toi!

I wrote about forming a pod, which has, no joke, saved my life.

About my strange and complicated loneliness.

About how the pandemic has stolen my marriage.

About missing my parents.

About the pandemic making me yearn for another baby.

About parenting an only through quarantine.

About how to not kill your spouse.

And I’ve done a bunch of great interviews with Dr. Jane Rosen and Barbara Kaiser, on talking to kids about race and racism, helping them deal with uncertainty and stress.

And of course you can always find more on my Tiny Letter, People + Bodies.

Sending love,

xoxoxo

On Baby #2

The jealousy peaked when the second round of pregnancy announcements started to roll in. By then my daughter was 2 and I was 37, but neither my husband nor I had broached the subject of a second child. Instead, my tactics were cheap, comments lobbed at inopportune moments: I mentioned my (old) age and boy names I liked, and reminded him that we had to “get it done” before we left Europe, our temporary (family-friendly) home. When I got salmonella poisoning from eating bad chicken, I secretly hoped my symptoms meant I was pregnant. My husband prayed they didn’t.

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Our avoidance of the discussion, followed by our inability to agree on trying for another, was heartbreaking. It seemed to symbolize some fundamental rift in our marriage: Almost everyone we knew had — or was trying for — more than one child. Why couldn’t we handle it, too?

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I wrote this whopper for The Cut. Please read on here.