'Bass Ackwards and Belly Up' and 'Footfree and Fancyloose' tell the story of four best friends who commit the ultimate suburban sin: putting off college to pursue their dreams.
Publisher's Weekly said: "Full of romance and adventure, laughter and tears, the story is a reminder that veering from the straight and narrow road doesn't always lead to a dead end."
I love it for all the reasons women who love breastfeeding love it. (And not all women do, also for very good reasons.) I love having an excuse to spend several minutes, several times a day, doing nothing but looking at my daughter. Marveling at her eyelashes, her fingers, the way she hooks her foot in the crook of my arm, her determined grip on my bra strap. How she looks up at me, from time to time, just to make sure I'm still there. The moments when her little hand flutters from my cheek to my nose to my breast and back again. The fact that no one but me can do it. (At least, with this particular baby.) The way she smacks her lips when she's done and turns her whole body up to look at me with a smile.
Truly, I find it magical.
Also, it's a great time to read.
Since my daughter was born five months ago, I have read six books by Ann Patchett (every one she's written, I believe-- except Bel Canto, which I read when it came out in paperback); Lucy Grealy's Autobiography of a Face; 2012, by Dustin Thomason; and The Twelve, by Justin Cronin, which is so long I'm gonna say it counts as four normal-sized books.
All while breastfeeding.
In those moment when I'm not ogling my beautiful daughter, I'm flipping pages with my thumb. Thanks to my iPhone, I can read in light or dark, and easily hold my "book" in one hand while flipping "pages" with one finger.
And I don't have to feel guilty... because what else could I be doing?
L.A. 2009. I’m stuck in traffic on the 101 freeway, listening to Isabella Rosselini on NPR. Isabella, for some reason, mentions that starfish are one of those rare species that can reproduce asexually, and I realize that if I could do that, I wouldn't have to worry about finding a boyfriend/husband. I wouldn’t have to internet date! I wouldn't have to figure out if I want to/can/should have a baby/adopt a baby/child on my own. I wouldn't have to stress about things like FSH levels, or weigh my feelings on in vitro versus adoption.
I would just have a baby. Thus began my starfish envy.