The Real Me

If you read my blog in its entirety, I sound like the most depressed, melancholy person on the planet.

It’s not the case, I swear!

Having Jackson in April and all the terribleness that happened this summer did cause me to have a bout of Postpartum Depression (it exists, Tom Cruise, so shut it! In the words of Rachel Green: “No uterus, no opinion.”), but usually my writing is witty, smug and subtly sarcastic.

I want to get back to that.

Not that deep, soul-bearing writing doesn’t have its place, because it absolutely does, but in my life, I would rather it not be what I’m known for. I want to be the writer that people love because of the hidden jabs in her writing, that, while don’t make you roll on the floor trying to control your bladder, make you smile as you lay in bed, right before you drop your phone on your face (you’ve done it, fess up).

I’ve bared my soul plenty this summer; it’s time to be a bit more chaste.

So, be prepared to smile a bit more, and tear up a bit less. Which is why, I will leave you with this: MY CUTIE!


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