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Issue 36: Spooky, Scary

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I have a note on my phone titled “blood mouth,” which constantly reminds me to tell you about the tim
 

Woman About the Internet

November 2 · Issue #36 · View online
I am a writer, mother, and decent human being living in Seattle, Washington. My monthly newsletter pairs perfectly with the everyday and the End of Days. I think you're swell.

I have a note on my phone titled “blood mouth,” which constantly reminds me to tell you about the time my daughter looked up at me, face beaming and covered in blood.

My first move, of course, was to determine the source, all while not letting on that anything was amiss. “Look at you!” I said as if being handed a great gift. But really, there’s nothing scarier than watching a toothless infant cackle with blood caked around her lips. After a few moments of pure terror, I was relieved (relieved!) to discover that I was the one bleeding. My right nipple, such a brave warrior through months of endless feedings, had finally cracked. And I along with it. 
Last week during an otherwise unremarkable blood-free nursing session, Frida began laughing at the empty hallway just outside of our bedroom door. Every time I gently turned her head back to the meal at hand, she rolled away, happily gazing and giggling at whatever Victorian ghost had chosen that exact moment to reveal itself. “Not today!” I said out loud for good measure to anyone listening, “keep it invisible!” My methods might be foolish, but I stand by them.
In the early days of parenting, I would rock Frida for hours in her nursery, wondering how many generations of women had done the exact same thing in the exact same room. If any of those good-intentioned spirits are now planning on entertaining her I’ll need a full backstory first. 
Elsewhere
Frida as Edward Babyhands
After making the decision to stay home with Frida and write full time (but really to do the same four infant-related tasks over and over again twenty-four hours a day with no salary) my brain began melting. In an anxious move to keep my mind and hands occupied and ward off the impending darkness, I glue gunned my fingers together making many Halloween costumes for the baby and posting them to Instagram. If you haven’t seen them already, I would encourage you to bear witness here. I now understand why homemakers of decades past sculpted bananas, mayo, and Maraschino cherries into candlestick salads.
I love you and you are deserving of great things.
xo Drew
Need to catch up on an issue? Explore the archives right here. Some of my other writing lives here. If you’d like to follow me on Instagram, you can do so right here. I also hang out on Twitter.
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