When we moved back from Denver we rented an apartment and the lease on the apartment is up June 30th. Baby boy is due August 2, so we pretty much needed to figure out if we were staying or going and if going, where, pretty quickly. Not a lot of flexibility when you’ve got a baby on the way.

After various negotiations with our unpleasant landlord, we decided the choice was definitely going. But where? We didn’t want to move into another rental only to have to move again in a year. After two cross-country moves in the last two years we’re pretty much over moves.

So we entered the housing market. Which happens to be insane in Chicago right now. A new place would come online, I’d favorite it and two days later it would already be under contract. We knew we needed to move quickly anyway (that damn June 30th deadline) and the market was telling us we needed to move really quickly.

We looked at a bunch of houses, put in an offer on one, lost in a bidding war, and then put in an offer on another one that we liked much better. That we even – joy of all house-buying ventures – loved. After another bidding war and late-night negotiating, we got the house!

Well, a townhouse, but still. No more landlord! No more upstairs/downstairs neighbors with dogs that bark all day and kids that run around screaming until 11:30 P.M. We can actually settle in. Paint the walls the colors we want. Make changes. Make it a home.

the new house!

It’s also only 6 blocks from where we currently live, so it’s almost in the same neighborhood. We get the benefit of going to the same park, same Whole Foods, same train stop, but it’s all a lot closer. And we get some new neighborhood stuff too: the cute custard shop across the street, the (excellent!) local school two blocks away, the new local restaurants to try.

In a word, I’m excited! We move in less than five weeks, which is kind of insane. We’ve already started packing, so the apartment is slowly becoming more and more chaotic as boxes pile up. The animals are starting to freak, but Adeline is super excited about the “new house”. Every time we drive by it she shouts and points it out. I can’t wait to get in and start unpacking and getting everything ready for the baby. Once we’re in, the baby will be only six weeks away!

In the intervening four weeks I’m also hoping to finish this new book, I’m taking my first book to a week-long workshop in Madison, and we’re going to Portland to visit my sister. Things are a little busy right now. But good busy. So yay!

We missed her swimming class because she absolutely refused to cooperate with getting ready. Then she not only refused to nap (which I should be used to by now since she hasn’t taken a nap in almost a month) but also refused to even do her quiet time. The day was going from bad to worse.

I had a moment where all I wanted to do was scream and completely lose my shit. I desperately asked Twitter for advice on how to deal (and received this lovely advice from Laura at I’d Rather Sit on the Couch: “some days we’re just not going to be able to deal and that’s ok”) and then I thought, hey, I wrote a post about this once.

I looked back at my own advice and looked out the window at the perfect, sunny, 78 degree day and decided we needed to get our butts outside. And from then on, things got better.

We started off our adventure with a train ride downtown, which is automatic goodness because Addie loves trains. We went to the Art Institute first, where I calmed my nerves with some fabulous Impressionist art and then we wound our way over to the Modern Wing for some Jackson Pollock and friends.

Addie was not impressed with Twombly. She thought it looked a lot like a piece of paper after she’s been using it for an art project for a few days. Or maybe that’s just what I thought.

From the museum we went to Millennium Park. First to the gardens because I was still in need of a little calming. We found a perfect little spot to sit in the sun and dip our toes in a fountain and enjoy the flowers and skyline views. We were surrounded by couples snuggling and professionals enjoying a quiet lunch break. I felt very Zen.

Then we went over to Crown Fountain because Addie deserved a little wild and crazy fun by that point. We got soaking wet and Addie could have stayed forever.

Finally I dragged her away and we boarded the train back home.

We rounded off the evening with a little al fresco dining across the street from our place.

And the best part of all? Addie was so worn out by her missed nap and her big afternoon that she’s already asleep. Halleluiah!

All of which is to say, I’m fully seconding my original advice that getting out of the house is one of the best ways to deal with a crappy crabby two-year-old!

This month’s picture is brought to you by Mother’s Day, as Addie and I are all dressed up and on our way out to Mother’s Day brunch. (Btw, I wish I could take these pictures myself – they’re never quite up to my standards but I guess I can deal.)

In case you haven’t been counting along, 152 pounds means that I’ve gained 24 pounds already. That puts me on track to gain almost 40 pounds. So that’s fantastic. My midwife was a little concerned with my gigantic weight gain over the last six weeks, but lucky for me I just had my gestational diabetes screen and it came back negative. So I guess these are healthy pounds? I’m getting ready for breastfeeding? I need to stop eating so many cookies?

The other fantastic news I got at my last appointment was that the ridiculous pain I’ve been feeling in my pubic bone is probably Symphysis Pubic Dysfunction which means that my public bones are coming apart a little too early and a little too much. So I have to be more careful about getting up and down off the floor, out of bed, out of the car, etc. Basically, I need to keep my legs together. (Get your minds out of the gutter!) And I should be careful about picking things up and carrying anything too heavy. All of which is, you know, super easy to do when you have a two-year-old.

The midwife also bolstered my anecdotal evidence that personality in utero tends to carry forward into (at least) the first few months of life. She said that it’s normal to have one baby who is much more active in utero and that those babies tend to be more alert, harder to settle, etc after birth. Since this boy is so incredibly calm, I’m hoping that means he’ll be “easy” when he comes out. Fingers crossed people!

Other than that I’m just carrying on, trying to get through this whole pregnancy thing. Only 12 more weeks. . . 12 . . . MORE . . . weeks . . . .

Immediately I felt the guilt. We all read that article a few years ago about why we should stop calling little girls cute and pretty and, yes, beautiful. We should focus on their smarts, their efforts, their interests, their virtues. I believe it: I don’t want her to think that being physically attractive is all that matters or that I’ll somehow love her less if she’s not beautiful.

Even as I felt the guilt wash over me, though, my heart rebelled. “You’re beautiful” is the most perfect way I know to say what I mean and I don’t want to stop saying it.

I suppose I do, in a way, mean that she’s physically attractive. I happen to think she’s adorable and that her blue eyes are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. But I don’t mean it in some superlative way. I don’t think she’s any more beautiful than every single child is. I don’t think she’s destined to break hearts or be a supermodel. I don’t mean that she’s just another pretty face.

I mean SO MUCH more than that.

I mean that her smile is so bright that it shines out from her face, suffusing everything around her with an aura of light and happiness that’s contagious.

I mean that her energy is so radiantly positive that I can’t help but feel lighter when I’m with her. That even when she’s in the throes of a tantrum I sometimes smile because I just love her so god damn much.

I mean that she’s empathetic – always giving me a hug or a pat when I’m hurt or upset and always sharing her snacks or toys with other kids – and that empathy is so pure and innocent that I know the world would be a better place if we could all harness something even remotely close to it.

I mean that I feel in the deepest recesses of my being that her soul is good and wonderful and that she will grow up to be an amazing person, filling the world with grace.

I mean that when I look in her eyes I feel so overcome with love that I feel it boiling up inside of me and I can’t possibly keep it all locked up – I have to let it pour out of me, releasing it in a hug, a kiss, a whispered word, or else just giving it up to the universe, letting it lift me up and spread me out and cleanse me.

I mean that just the thought of the amazing miracle of her existence is enough to bring me to tears.

A friend of mine frequently says that we need to reclaim “Beautiful”. I think this is what she means and I’m joining the movement.

I’m on board with the need to stop calling girls pretty and cute – words that contain little more than a judgment about their physical appearance. But I refuse to give up beautiful. I think we should all call our daughters beautiful and we should mean it deeply and fully. And while we’re at it, we should call our sons beautiful, too.

This motivated me to Just Keep Writing.

It also happened to coincide with a strong hatred on my part of my current finished manuscript (Book #1). I’ve heard that this hatred is common – that it happens when you’ve spent too much time on a book and are simply too close to it. The recommended fix? Step away from the book. For a good long time. As in, several months, at least. When you come back, things will be clearer.

I’ve been working on revisions for the last six months, pretty much constantly. I’ve left the book for a few weeks at a time, but I was always still thinking about it. Trying to work through the problems even when I was supposed to be taking a break. This time, I need a real break. One where I completely leave it, refusing to give it even a moment of my attention.

So I’m really doing it this time: I’m taking a complete break from Book #1. I’m not going to work on it, think about it, or devote any emotional energy to it.

So what will I do with all my free time now? And how will I stop myself from thinking about Book #1? Write another book, of course!

The workshop was last Monday night. Tuesday I started brainstorming and tentatively writing down my thoughts for a new book. Wednesday (one week ago today) I started writing.

The idea has been percolating for about a month – prompted by a conversation with my therapist. And now that I’ve started writing, it’s coming pretty easily. I have 17,000 words so far. At this pace, I’m hoping to have a first draft done by the end of May.

(That’s my “Hold Me Accountable” phrase there, so don’t let me get away with not keeping you updated!)

Like Book #1, this novel is also YA Dystopian. But it’s more YA and it follows more of the typical conventions for dystopian fiction. I’m hoping this is a good thing.

Wish me luck!

But the truth was, there wasn’t really anything special about that day. She kicked like crazy ALL the time. Her kicks hurt me, they were urgent, almost frantic. It was as though she had something important to communicate, somewhere that she needed to be, things she needed to do.

That personality only strengthened after birth. From the very first hours she was overly wakeful, alert, and interested in the world. She could hold her head up from the beginning and she would turn to a new voice in the room. Strangers and friends constantly commented on how “awake” and “alert” she was for a newborn. The girl never stopped moving.

Now, at roughly the same point in my pregnancy with this little boy, he seems like a completely different person. He moves, but he rarely ever actually “kicks”. His movements are little nudges, as though he’s changing positions, getting comfortable, stretching out. Maybe a little bump now and then, as though he’s testing the edges of his little world. So, incredibly, different.

And I wonder, is this a real personality difference? They say that you pay attention to the second one less because you’re so busy with the first one and because, well, it’s just not as big of a deal the second time around. Honestly, though, when we’re hanging out at the park and I’m watching Addie climb up the ladder and slide down the slide for the tenth time in a row, there’s not much else to do BUT pay attention to this little being inside me. And especially since I started contemplating this post last week I’ve really been paying attention. This is a legitimate difference.

Which gets me thinking about why. Is it just genetics? Probably, to a large extent. But I’ve also read a lot of studies recently showing that when pregnant women are highly stressed, their babies suffer. All of those stress hormones flood the amniotic fluid and baby gets what mom gives. And those babies are shown to be more stressed after birth.

I think of the first five months of my pregnancy with Adeline: working on an incredibly intense case, typically working 20 hours every day (even weekends) and often working straight through the night and into the next day. Working with a horrible partner and crappy senior associates. Throwing up in my garbage can because I literally could not take a minute to go to the bathroom to throw up there. Crying at my desk. Yeah, you could say I was highly stressed.

Is this boy reaping the benefits of a relaxed, happy, peaceful mama? Or is he just naturally different?

Or is all of this just in my imagination to begin with?

Did you notice differences between pregnancies? And if so, did those differences continue once the children were born?

1. Persistence. This was my biggest takeaway from the evening. Holly has been writing for ten years. In that time, she says that most of the people she knows who stuck with it did eventually end up selling books. But it took some of them a long time. Including her. It took her almost ten years. And the novel that she finally sold? It was her fifth. She went through two useless agents before finding a third that has been great. She received hundreds of rejections. But she just kept going, and eventually it paid off. This is both incredibly inspiring and terrifying.

2. The High Concept Idea. This was my second biggest takeaway. I’ve heard this over and over again, but never really understood it until Monday. Holly defined it as a way to describe your book that can be captured in a brief statement that will automatically generate interest in a wide audience. It should be compelling, commercial, and it should make a story out of something universally appealing. As of now, I do not have a High Concept Idea pitch of my book. I need to work on that.

3. Keep it Short. I find it really difficult to summarize my book in a page, let alone in 200 words. But that’s really the maximum word count for your pitch in your query letter. 150 might be better. Again, something to work on.

4. When to Query Who. We talked about the strategy of when you query which agents. Make a list of agents you want, with a 1st, 2nd and 3rd tier. Query some from the 2nd or 3rd tier first just to see if you query letter is working. If no one asks for partials or fulls, then you know you need to fix your query letter. But if you’re getting asks (probably from about 30% of the agents you query) then it might be time to start querying some of your top tier agents. If you don’t have many top tier agents, then take it slowly. If they request materials but then don’t want anything, you might need to do some reworking and it’s better if you have some top tier agents left to query after the reworking.

5.Queries Work. Holly said that almost everyone she knows who has sold a book has sold it through the simple process of querying agents. They didn’t have special connections or “Ins” in the industry. People talk about how hard it is to break in. But the best way is to just keep querying. It really does work.

6. Once you send the query, let it go. Once you cue up that query email and press send, it’s out of your hands. There’s nothing you can do to help it along. So just let it go. And in the meantime…

7. Keep writing. Let me go back to something I mentioned in point 1: the novel that Holly sold was her FIFTH novel. All the time that she was querying, going through agents, etc, she just kept writing. She was so embarrassed by her first novel that she wouldn’t even tell us the name. She said her writing just kept getting better and that she needed to go through those early efforts to get where she is today. So just keep writing. Don’t give up.There’s one more installment of the workshop next Monday, so I’ll be sure to share any other great insights.

The latest example of this unfortunate view? The mother who read her daughter’s diary and then posted pictures on the internet for everyone to see. This, despite the fact that her daughter locked it, kept the key on her wrist, and clearly told her mother not to look in it. But mom was just SO curious that she couldn’t help herself. And then, I guess, so desperate for something to post about that she had to complete her already disgusting invasion of privacy by letting the entire world join in.

Would you read your husband’s diary? Or your best friend’s? If not, then why on earth do you think it’s appropriate to read your child’s?

Reading through the comments on the original article, I see some of the justifications:

You’re responsible for your child, what if she was thinking about killing herself and by reading her diary you discovered that and saved her? I’m sorry, but if you can’t tell that your six year old (or even sixteen year old) child is suicidal without reading her private diary, you have much bigger parenting problems. If you have any kind of relationship at all with your child, you will have seen many other signs of any brewing problems.

It’s her room, but it’s in your house, therefore you have the “right” to look at anything in there. Let’s be perfectly clear here. If you think your daughter has weapons or drugs or something else that may pose a danger in her room, this might be a conversation. But it’s her DIARY. There is no “safety” reason for reading the diary – and certainly none that the mom in this case claimed. Just because you “can” doesn’t mean you should.

In an open and honest relationship, no one should have any secrets. This apparently applies to husbands and friends as well. I mean, I honestly saw people saying this. It’s hard to even respond to something so completely insane, but I’ll try. Trust does not mean that neither party deserves any privacy because they shouldn’t have anything to hide. It means that all of us have private aspects of our personalities, aspects that we don’t want anyone else to see. Not for any nefarious reason, but simply because it’s part of the human condition. Trust is allowing those you love to have privacy because you know that they wouldn’t use that privacy to harm you. Trust is letting your daughter keep a secret diary. NOT reading her diary.

But let’s stop beating around the bush. The primary justification for this complete and utter invasion of privacy seems to be that the daughter is only “almost six” and therefore not a complete person deserving of respect. Her diary was a list of the things she loves, so who cares if everyone sees it? She doesn’t have any serious or weighty concerns yet, so it’s just entertaining for all of us. I even saw comparisons of children to animals– neither of whom, apparently, have any rights.

Children are people from the moment they’re born, and they deserve all the respect that we give to all people. They are not your property, not your toy, not your little doll to mine for entertaining stories. They are not an inconvenience to be managed or a dog to train.

And if I need to get legal here, I will. Children absolutely have rights, separate and apart from their parents. The laws of our country recognize this, but some people, apparently, do not. You cannot beat your children. In a custody dispute, one parent cannot unilaterally kidnap a child. You cannot kill a child. Oh, and just to be clear, you can’t be cruel to your animals, either. Turns out, they have rights, too.

I understand what this mom was going through. I love to look at my daughter’s drawings, to see how her inner thoughts play themselves out on the page. I love to watch her play, listen to her talk to herself, witness the blossoming and flourishing of her personality. My daughter hasn’t started keeping a diary yet, but I can imagine the curiosity. I can imagine it might be almost painful to know that your daughter has secrets from you, that she has become so mature and separate that she doesn’t want to share everything with you anymore.

That’s normal and completely natural. A child’s job is to grow and, bit by bit, to separate from her parents. A parent’s job is to nurture her child and foster that independence. I get that it would be hard not to read the diary, but allowing your child to have privacy is part of parenting. Your child deserves that. You owe her that.

I think he went through a growth spurt over the last week because I’m finally feeling and looking legitimately pregnant.

By feeling pregnant, I mean that feeling you get where you can’t quite walk right because there’s, you know, a baby hanging down in the way. That sense you get when you stand up that you have to take account of the belly so that you keep your balance right. That constant need to readjust because you can’t do things quite the same any more because that damn bump is in the way. All of that.

Plus, of course, the pressure. Oh, the pressure. I know it’s not even bad yet, but it has definitely started. There’s the pressure on the bladder, meaning I have to pee ALL the time. I’ve pretty much had to pee all the time for this entire pregnancy, but things are getting serious now. It doesn’t matter if I just peed, ten minutes later I could be walking down the street and it feels like I really might pee my pants. So that’s awesome.

And then there’s just the general pressure, meaning it kind of always feels like if maybe I could just lay down I’d get some relief. Except then the baby is weighing on my back so I have to roll onto my side. And then the belly is pulling me forward so my back feels all twisted. I think it’s time to start sleeping with five pillows.

Add to all that the really, really bad heartburn and reflux. It doesn’t matter if I haven’t eaten in hours, it can come up out of nowhere. And when I say “come up”, I mean it. Suddenly my lunch is back for another visit to my mouth. Just a little, but enough to make me feel gross for the rest of the day.

All in all, I’ve really made pregnancy sound great, huh?

I won’t deny, I’m looking forward to it being over. Until I remember that means I’ll have an infant. An infant who might not sleep very much. Who might cry and scream all day and night. And who I will have to take care of all. the. time. Dear god, what have I gotten myself into???

Just kidding baby boy, can’t wait to meet you!

But when I wiped the tears away, I realized there was another voice in the back of my mind, begging to be heard. This voice was telling me the video wasn’t as “good” as it seemed at first. The voice was hard for me to hear. Given how many people have praised this video, I’m guessing many haven’t heard that voice at all. So I want to say it out loud.

The video seems empowering because it seems to be saying: you’re more beautiful than you think, don’t be so hard on yourself, other people see your beauty even if you don’t.

But listen a little closer and what it’s really saying is: look ladies, there’s a societal definition of beautiful and you’ll be much happier if you fit within that definition. The good news is, you’re much closer to fitting within it than you give yourself credit for. Yay for you: you almost live up to the impossible standards that our society sets for you!

Based on the video, the definition of beauty includes: being wrinkle-free, not having crows feet, having a thin face, a small nose, and bright eyes. (And, based on the majority of women featured, being white, blond and blue-eyed.)

Now, there do seem to be some universal ideas about beauty, based, probably, on reproductive appeal. Things like a 7:10 waist to hip ratio, which studies have shown is attractive in almost all cultures. But whether that ratio is 24:36 or 30:42 is set by societal norms in a given society. What’s beautiful is influenced by whether a woman is considered in reproductive health when she has layers of fat that show she’s well-fed, or when she’s thin which shows she has the leisure to work out. When a woman is considered healthy if she’s pale because she doesn’t have to work in the fields, or when she’s tan because she has the leisure to lay out in the sun all day.

The way that we form our ideas about beauty is set by evolution. But our specific ideas about what is beautiful at any point in time are heavily influenced by culture. And Dove’s add does more to reinforce current normative ideas about beauty than it does to break any new ground.

(To be fair, men also face unrealistic images of physical attractiveness. Remember the Calvin Klein Superbowl ad? But the double standard between what’s expected of men versus women is often striking. Women face much more persistent and unrealistic expectations.)

There’s another problem with the ad, though, that’s much deeper and bigger. The video makes very clear that the most important thing for a woman is to be beautiful. Beautiful in a limited sense: to be physically attractive. This is true, of course, of Dove’s entire Real Beauty campaign.

While it’s laudable to expand our definition of beautiful, it’s more important to expand our definition of women’s value. A better campaign would focus on all of the things that make women beautiful inside and out: their personalities, goals, ambitions, opinions, ideas, and strengths. “Real Beauty” is bigger than thin or heavy, blond or brunette, curvy or boyish. Real beauty is about the whole person.

Until women believe that who they are is more important than how they look, no amount of inspirational videos from Dove will make any difference.  Until women believe that their physical appearance is just one aspect of themselves, and that their wants, desires, strengths and values are much more important, this discussion of “Real Beauty” will never end.