Once upon a time, I was knee-deep in earnest pitches from young writers, galleys of new books on every topic that could potentially be tagged as "women's issues," and piles of red-ink-stained page proofs. Then I had a baby girl and two weeks later my other girls up and moved shop to Portland, Oregon. Suddenly bereft without my weekly infusions of pop trash courtesy of free subscriptions to InTouch and Us, and with my TV stuffed into a closet (the lazy person's version of babyproofing), I found myself obsessing over a whole new world of cultural flotsam: the absurd marketing of baby gear, the wacky world of parenting magazines, the new crop of websites targeted at hip parents, how to be a feminist parent without being a fun killer, and oh yeah, the cultural anxieties over motherhood.
If you find any of the latter compelling, stick around. Who knows, maybe I'll even regale you with a toddler tale or two. Just don't call it a mommyblog, ok?