As Harper approaches her 1-year birthday, a sad reality is dawning on me – she has one friend.

Maybe her daycare peeps are her friends, but because I’m not friends with their mommies or daddies, they aren’t really her friends.

Unfortunately, for Harper I need to be able to hang with the parents if she’s going to be able to hang with the kid.

Call me selfish, but I’m not hanging out with the guy who tells me, “Yeah, she’s in, like, the 150th percentile for height” when talking about his daughter. I’m also not hanging out with the mom who says, “Yeah, we’re looking into preschools, and OH. MAH. GAWD. It’s sooo competitive.”

This is how I feel about even saying the word daycare before a child is ready.

So for the most part, my friends have remained the same, and most of my friends don’t have babies.

Now that Harper is getting older, play dates would be nice. So I’m putting myself out there, and trying to meet some cool parents.

Because it is awkward as fuck scoping people out at the playground and trying to determine if they fit your criteria.

“What about them?”- Me

“Do you see what he is wearing? That’s his playground attire.” – Laef

“Oooh what about them?” – Me

“That’s the lady we met when we were out on a walk with Harper, and made that racist comment about the people who work at Ralphs.” – Laef

“The fuck?” – Me

There we sat on the grass, perusing all the parents, sizing them up as if we were trying to determine if they were hot enough for a foursome, when in reality all we need is to be able to tolerate them (with clothes on) for like an hour each Saturday and Sunday.

There was another couple sitting near us on the grass, and after talking myself up for 5 minutes, I nervously approached.

“How old is your son?”

“He’ll be 1 tomorrow.”

“Aww. Congrats!!!” (in my head: Fuck I hate myself right now. Am I really engaging in this conversation hoping she’ll think I’m cool enough for her, and potentially give me her number at the end of this bullshit conversation?)

We chatted a little more, and things were looking promising when the Dad said that his 3 year old is way cooler than his 1 year old, and that basically being a parent to a person under the age of 1 sucks, and anyone who says it’s bliss is a liar.

And then the mom got up, and walked to their stroller. A few minutes later the 3-year old came over and said, “Dad, we’re leaving.”

That is totally the parental version of “She’s Just Not That Into You.” Dumped by a 3-year-old.

And so the journey will continue, and I will approach random strangers in the produce aisle hoping to get lucky.

10 Months Old

UCLA basketball season is over. The NCAA tournament is definitely more fun when you have a team to follow, but I can not lie: I am happy that the season is over, and that Laef is home more often. Yes, I’m happy to see his mug everyday, but, again, I can not lie: What I missed the most was his hands. As in: Please hold the baby while I do A, B, C. Or, please take out the trash, bring in the laundry, clean the litter box while I give the baby a bath.

So, anyway, Laef had his first day off from work on Tuesday. I assumed that he’d spend it eating CheezIts and watching Storage Wars while scratching his balls.

But, he proudly proclaimed that Harper would not be going to daycare, and that they were going to spend the “whole day together having so much fun!”

I immediately gave him my Parent of the Year banner, because, again, I can not lie: If I had a day off from work, Harper would be going to day care (at least for part of the day). Judge me all you want, but I’ve been looking for a spare 4 hours for a while now, and the only way to get that is by having a day off when day care is open. Which, frankly, never happens.

When I left for work Harper was eating a blueberry waffle wearing nothing but a diaper and a bib.

Laef: “I don’t want her jammies to get messy.”

Me: “OK, well, it’s a little cold.”

Laef: “Go to work.”

The key for any mother is this: Out of sight, out of mind.

If I don’t see that Harper is wearing stripes and plaids together, then it probably didn’t happen, and I will never know, and then I won’t lose sleep. If I don’t see that she ate a piece of cat food from the floor, then it definitely didn’t happen (unless I see it later in her poop).

Later that day, Laef brought Harper to UCLA to visit his coworkers. Then he brought her by my office to say hi. So. Cute. The two of them out and about spending their day together.

At 12:30, I told him he should probably get home because they’re now approaching the danger zone of her afternoon nap. If it’s me, I don’t fuck around with nap time. I stay within a 5 centimeter radius of the house so that we can be in the crib before the wheels come off.

Which is why I had to shoo them away. Because if I don’t see that it’s 1 p.m., and Harper is nowhere near her crib for her nap, then it’s not happening and I don’t have to worry about what this will mean for the rest of the day.

At 2 p.m. I got a call from Laef.

“I don’t know what to do. She fell asleep in the car, but only slept for 20 minutes. Now she doesn’t want to go back down in her crib.”

Me: “Well, she’s probably passed the point of napping, and will just stay up the rest of the day.”

Laef: “But, Dad needs a nap.”

Me: “Welcome to motherhood.”

So, they played and hung out for the rest of the afternoon. By the time I got home, it was evident that both were in desperate need of a nap.

Bed time came early. She fell asleep sitting up. Didn’t even bother to finish her bottle.

Daddy Day Care Day absolutely wiped her out.

Well, here goes.

How to explain the long lapse in between blog posts?

There’s no simple way to explain it, because I can’t even explain it to myself. I have conversations with myself quite often these days, and always on the agenda is, “Are you going to write on your blog ever again?” For the last month, my immediate answer was, “I don’t want to, and I’m not making myself do anything else that I don’t want to.”

I figured when Harper came along, the blog posts would just write themselves. Just as they always have. Babies provide endless material, I figured.

It’s true. She does provide material, but I will be honest: Most of the time I am barely keeping my head above water. Part of me was disappointed in myself for a while because it didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. I thought I’d be able to do everything, and do it seamlessly. I thought I’d be able to be a mom, a wife, have a career, continue to be an avid runner, cooker, writer and friend.

Sometimes it felt like all I was doing was being a mom. And forgive me for not wanting to just be a mom. I know that doesn’t sit well with some people, but I want more. I want to be ME and be Harper’s mommy. I want to have friendships and spend time with other people. I want to have a night out with just Laef. I want to head out for a 6 mile run by myself.

My life is not defined by her, nor should my every waking hour be about her.

But before I knew it, my life was all about her. And I didn’t mind. Something just kind of takes over where you feel this overwhelming need to be there for your child every second of every day. Then months went by and I hadn’t gone running. I hadn’t written. I hadn’t gone for drinks with friends. I hadn’t had a night out with just Laef. We were scrapping by eating Taquitos for dinner. We weren’t sleeping much.

And it broke me down.

Being a parent is a combination of so many things. It truly is the greatest thing on good days. And it is abysmal on bad days. When she smiles at me or reaches for me for comfort, I melt. When she cries all night because she has a fever and her teeth are coming in, I have to dig to the deepest part of my being to comfort her without getting any sleep.

When you have to dig deep and find inner strength just to make it through some days, you don’t have a lot left over. That is what I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t realize that it would be so hard to maintain all these other aspects of my life.

I started reading things about moms who do it all, and realized that I was going to have to start making time for myself. If I want to run, the only hour in the day to do that is 5:30 a.m.-6:30 a.m. Not my first choice, but my life is different now, and I’m going to have to adjust accordingly.

If I want to have dinner with friends, or get my hair done, or have a date night, I’m going to have to let go of my anxiety and let Harper stay home with a babysitter.

If I am going to start writing blogs again, I had to write this post. I had to put it out there that I’ve been struggling, and I’m not perfect. I always try to write funny blogs, and keep things light, but in order to get back to that, I had to put this out there.

It’s a big weekend for change: Dinner with friends tonight, hair appointment tomorrow and a movie with Laef on Sunday (yes, we are going to spend $1,000 in babysitter fees, but we’re getting some balance back into our lives, and it will be worth every penny).

“No it won’t” – Laef.

Sometimes I think about how much money I would spend for free time.

When we were in Maui, Laef had Thanksgiving Day completely off. Just knowing that I’d have an extra set of hands to help made me beyond excited. And then Laef agreed to watch Harper for 1 hour so I could go to the pool. ALL BY MYSELF.

Then of course something happened with work, and he got called away seconds before I was to escape. I’m not kidding, I almost went Harper on his ass. I had to fight back a serious meltdown. I could taste that one hour, and it tasted like a Pina Coloda spiked with Banana Boat SPF 4.

In the end, he didn’t have to be gone very long, and when he came back I went to the pool.

And let’s be honest, I totally missed them both after 30 minutes. But since finding an hour seems impossible in real life, I forced myself to order another Corona and tough it out. It was so hard. Times were tough.

So, anyway, we came home from Hawaii on Friday. Laef had to work all day Saturday and Sunday. When he got home Sunday evening I handed Harper to him so that I could do a few things.

Laef: “OK, well, I need to poop first.”

Me: Side eye. “OK. I guess you can poop.”

10 minutes later I realize I am still on Harper duty.

Me: “Um, this is NOT one of those poops. This is not a “read the entire Week cover to cover poops.”

Laef: “What?”

Me” “NOW. If I can’t take a shower longer that 4 minutes, you certainly can NOT poop and enjoy a magazine for 10 minutes areyoufuckingkiddingme? Do you want me to cut you?”

I think it was at that very minute that Laef finally realized how valuable time is.

He was about as excited to sit on the toilet as I was to sit by the pool.

You are going to read some things here that might make you ew. Don’t worry, it’s not about sex. Because, um, well … what is sex?

It’s about Harper’s wandering mouth.

You are not allowed to type comments about how disgusting she is, or how I am subjecting her to diseases and filth. I can only control so many things in any given day. So far she has not died, gotten sick or swallowed her hand.

So, she’s a baby. Which means she drools bucket loads. And, to be honest, I hate baby drool. Except for Harper’s. Kind of the same way I don’t love having other people’s cats crawl on me. Sanch is the only one who can put is litter-box paws and stank ass anywhere near me.

Harper has been drooling for a long time. I mean, we’ve been using the term, “Maybe she’s teething” for like 3 months.

The bitch is not teething. She drools just because. I guess that’s what babies do.

However, over the last month she has gotten ambidextrous. She can use every finger and every toe to figure out a way to put EVERY F’N thing in her mouth. Sometimes she will put her foot so far down her throat she gags. Or she will gag on her fingers. At first I was worried, like, is she going to vom all over me from putting her fingers down her throat? Is she going to become the next great supermodel?

But, days go by and she doesn’t choke herself, and she doesn’t barf so I just laugh at her. “Hey dummy, chill on the fingers.”

Every time I put her anywhere, her first thought is “Where can I put my mouth?” When we did sleep training, I checked on her because she got quiet pretty easily. Well, she had her face smashed up against her crib sucking on the wood. When we do bath time, I can not get her to focus because she insists on leaning over and sucking on the tub. Or her bath book. Or the wash cloth. Reading books is a whole other issue. Apparently books taste better than rice cereal (which is about the only thing she doesn’t like putting her mouth on). I have seen my shoe in her mouth, Sanch’s tail, the Bjorn, the remote, my cell phone, her towel, my hair, my cheek, the baby monitor … basically whatever she sees.

I have given up freaking out.

Except for when we boarded a Southwest flight the other day. I put her on the seat so that I could put my bag away. I looked down and she had her mouth on the arm rest. I promised myself I wouldn’t be that spazz traveling mommy, but EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

I’m sure it’s all totally normal, but it cracks me up every time. Especially when I come into the living and see her licking the floor.

Licking floor > Fun toys.

To be fair, she is also starting to put some real food in her mouth.

So, right after Harper was born, I started noticing that I couldn’t hear very well out of my left ear. The problem proceeded to get worse, and after asking Laef to repeat himself 400 times over the course of the last month, he insisted I go to the doctor.

I don’t know exactly what I thought the problem was, but I certainly was not prepared for them to tell me that I have otosclerosis and will have to have surgery to replace a bone in my ear. This condition is apparently common in women late in pregnancy or during menopause.

So, yes, this is yet another thing that I will be blaming on Harper. I mean, it’s not enough that I pee while jogging, average 4 hours of sleep per night, have a beer gut (without the enjoyment of beer), and brush out giant amounts of hair each morning.

No, I also have to be practically deaf in one ear.

Now I am wondering what could be next.

All joking aside,  it doesn’t matter all that much.

We just experienced our first holiday with Harper, and I have to say that it brought out the kid in both of us. We took her trick or treating (yes, she is only 4 months old and did not know what the hell was going on) Monday night, and our excitement level was quite high. We both realized that this might be the last year we can eat all of her candy without her throwing a giant fit.

When we started walking down the street and approached the first house, we stopped and looked at each other.

“What do we do? We just knock on the door, right?”

Yeah. OK.

I mean, it has been like 25 years since I have been trick or treating (I just barfed typing that) and like 6 years since Laef has gone. We were rusty.

Most of the houses in our neighborhood had bowls with candy on the porch. I don’t know if it’s because people were out with their own kids, or if that’s how it’s done these days. That’s not how it was done back when I was a kid, which is a good thing because I didn’t exactly follow instructions, and a note that says, “TAKE ONE ONLY” wouldn’t have meant shit to me. Actually, yes, it would have meant, “TAKE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT AND RUN AWAY FAST!”

I tried really hard to only take once piece to put in Harper’s trick or treat bag, but it was not easy.

Laef: “Remember, you are trying to set an example for her.”

Me: “Bah. Fine. But we can take three pieces. One for me, one for you and one for her. That is totally legit.”

Laef: “Oooh. Get that flavored tootsie roll.”

I mean, no matter how old you are, a bowl full of candy is a hard thing to resist.

And no matter how deaf, tired or decrepit you feel, spending the holidays with your kids will make you feel like a child all over again.

While Harper passed out from her first Halloween experience, Laef and I dumped all her candy on the table and took turns picking what we wanted. It was like the fantasy draft of candy picking, and of course the last thing left was some janky candy corn.

Candy Corn > Tebow.

I took Harper to her four month appointment last week. I asked the doctor about weaning Harper from her swaddle, and if we could start letting her cry herself  to sleep. I told her that we usually rock her for at least 30 minutes before she is sound enough asleep to put her in the crib.

You should have seen the cut eye the doctor gave me.

“Stop doing that, ” she said.

Me: …

Doctor who obviously doesn’t have kids: “Put her in the crib when she is still awake. No paci, no rocking. The last thing she will remember before she falls asleep is that she didn’t have a paci and she didn’t have you rocking her.”

I walked home thinking about this, and built up my confidence to take the plunge. Of course, my fear is that the last thing she’ll remember before falling asleep is that her mommy and daddy have abandoned her, and um, WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PACI? ONE THING AT A TIME, PEOPLE.

Sidenote: EVERYONE has a different approach, thought, comment on parenting. I am not telling anyone what to do or judging what anyone else does. I’m simply relaying what we are doing, and how it is going for us. I know we could pick her up from the crib, or give her the paci, or rock her to sleep. We are trying to teach her to fall asleep on her own because we believe that in the long run it will be better for us, and for her. We have never let her sleep in our bed, and she’s been sleeping in her crib, through the night for a long time. It’s not that I don’t want to snuggle her and have her sleep next to me sometimes, it’s just that I have to be functioning at work everyday. And if she sleeps next to us in the bed, the only person sleeping is Harper.

Maybe this is selfish of us, but we also save ourselves a lot of time and headaches if we can teach her to fall asleep by herself. The first night we tried this, she cried for 20 minutes, and then fell asleep. We have spent more time in the past trying to rock/bouce/shush her to sleep. There are times when we spend almost 40 minutes trying to get her to sleep so that she can take a 30 minute nap.

Anyway, it was the absolute worst 20 minutes ever, and we had to work some serious restraint not to go in and pick her up.

After she fell asleep we went into her room to look at her to see if it was real. Then we stood over the crib watching her sleep, like totally proud of ourselves.

“Holy Shit! She feel asleep! By herself. She’s such a big girl.”

High 5!

Woop.

And while we were standing there gloating over this magnificent site, Sanch cruised in to her bedroom meowing his face off trying to see what was going on. So, OF COURSE, she opened her eyes. As if on cue, Laef and I both dropped to the ground, below crib height. We didn’t want her to see us. So, we sat on the floor of her room, inches from her crib, on all fours. We looked back and forth at each other, like, shit. What do we do??

Finally, I gave the hand signal that I was crawling out.

Then Laef crawled out.

I mean, REALLY?

It was like we were trying to avoid a major explosion. We took cover, and crouched in fear.

Of a baby.

What the fuck?

P.S. It might have been us high-fiving and celebrating while standing over her that woke her up. But, it’s way easier to blame everything on the cat.

Yesterday Harper went to her first-ever birthday party for a friend. The party was in Irvine, about an hour from our house. This is the farthest Harper has ever been. Another milestone completed.

This was also the longest she has had to be in her car seat. She does not like being in the car seat. Not for car rides or stroller rides. She can’t see everything, and that just makes her super pissed.

So we timed the trip around her nap so that she would sleep the whole way there and the whole way back.

She did.

But then she was a grouchy bitch the rest of the day.

Since that is out of the norm for her, thus began our quest to figure out what was wrong with her since she is not Harvard-bound, and isn’t able to talk or sign yet.

1. It’s poop-related. She hasn’t pooped all day. It must be her tummy. Let’s google it.

Me: “Oh! It says you can stick a lubed-up q-tip in her butt to get the muscles going!”

Laef: …

Me: “Maybe she’s teething.”

2. She has pretty much stopped accepting her pacifier unless she is dead tired. She drools buckets. She’s fussy. But, truthfully, we have no idea if that is what it is so we don’t take any action with her gums.

3. Maybe she hates us.

4. She hates the car, and is mad she just spent 2 hours in her car seat.

5. The birthday party wasn’t for her, so she’s jealous.

6. She rode two hours in the car and couldn’t even eat cake.

7. Too much stimulation at the birthday party.

8. She is tired.

9. She is off her routine.

10. She hates Sanchez.

11. The Cardinals lost.

12. She hates her dress.

13. Her diaper is too tight?

14. She’s cold.

15. She’s hot?

16. She’s hungry?

17. A growth spurt?

18. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was a rerun.

19. She hates her skullet.

20. Um, maybe she’s human and she’s just having a bad day.We’re going to go with that because we HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT COULD BE. Why can’t babies talk? Things would be way easier.

We closed the night with our daily walk to CVS and her mood seemed to pick up. So, of course we couldn’t resist helping her pick out her Halloween costume for this year. She is going to be a Toddler without a Tiara.

The other day I was rushing around to find a new purse for work because the one I normally use had an entire cup of coffee spilled inside of it. These are the kinds of things that happen when you have to carry 512 things to the car in the morning now that you have a baby. I swear, the amount of shit I am constantly lugging around is ridiculous.

Half of the time, I forget what I have, and as I’m walking to the car, I quickly hope that I have the most important things: milk, phone, keys, baby. OK, I guess not in that order, but those are the things that I would have to go back for. I usually drink my coffee while getting ready, but on this particular day shit was haywire for some reason or another and I put my travel mug inside my purse (save your comments, I am aware of how stupid that is, but the plan was to have my purse upright. That was until I forgot I brought coffee with me and proceeded to just throw my purse into the car).

When I got home, I immediately threw away my purse. It was a little devastating, but made me realize that I’m actually glad I never got that Coach purse I always wanted. That would have been on the list of “shit my kids ruined” because this definitely linked back to Harper in some way.

Later that night, Laef pulled the purse out of the trash and said that it was salvageable. Um, OK, whatever. I’m too fucking tired to salvage a $50 purse so I will just watch how you do it. He hung it in the shower to dry out.

Me: “Ummm…is that your plan?”

Laef: “It still works.”

Me: “It fucking reaks and I’m not carrying around a coffee purse.”

Laef: “That might be just what you need.”

ANYWAY, back to the main point of looking for a back up purse. I found one. And when I went to transfer all my stuff in it, I noticed two diapers. And I got really excited. WHEN THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN? Why aren’t there lost MAC lip glosses and crinkled $5 bills? Why am I excited about diapers?

Oh yeah. Because diapers = $$$.

I don’t even know why we’re bothering with diapers at this point. The other day we went to a bbq and Harper was passed around all day acting like a little angel. Smiling and cooing and being everyone’s best friend. But the minute we put her in her carseat, she apparently took a giant shit. Only we didn’t know that, and so when Laef took her out of the car, he was holding her, talking to her, and making her laugh. Then he felt something wet all over his brand new Banana Republic shirt.

I am not going to lie. I was laughing my ass off. Her legs were covered in poop and Laef was just trying to keep it together, but the look on his face said, “WHAT THE FUCK, I NEVER SPEND $40 ON T-SHIRTS AND NOW THAT I HAVE, THERE IS POOP ON IT. FORGET ABOUT THE BABY, WHERE IS THE STAIN REMOVER? WAAAAAAAAAAA.”

I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning the car seat and hoping that my car won’t spell like an outhouse.

The very next day we decided to have a nice leisurely Sunday morning in bed with our sweet baby. Laef brought his coffee in bed. Yes, you already know where this is going. Except, washing sheets and doing general chores require an insane amount of energy these days. I was so happy and proud that we had clean sheets on the bed. Then Harper threw up and Laef spilled his coffee trying to avoid puke.

I spent the rest of the day ignoring the sheets thinking that it wouldn’t be that bad. Then I laid down for a nap. Needless to say, the sheets were washed 10 minutes later. I mean, the coffee was on Laef’s side, and I contemplated telling him that if I needed a coffee purse, then he needed coffee sheets. But, the puke was on my side, so I didn’t think this was the time for jokes.

This baby shit is testing my endurance in a way I did not think was possible.

Back to the “why do we even bother with diapers” issue.

After dealing with the sheets, Harper decided that she would play ANOTHER funny joke on mommy. While she was sitting on my lap, she let out a few farts. I mean, I thought they were farts. So I sat with her for a while longer, and then I felt something. I picked her up and there on my lap was a puddle of poop. I mean a puddle. All over me and her and her freshly clean blanket.

My first thought was not to barf.

My second thought was: FINE. I SURRENDER. THE BABY WINS AND WE WILL HAVE STAINS EVERYWHERE.

But, I’m not buying a mini van. Ever.

P.S. It’s a good thing she is cute.

Because I work at a school, I figured the title was appropriate. Plus, I totally picked out my outfit last night, woke up before my alarm went off out of pure excitement, and I totally carry a back pack to work now.

It is so hard to describe all the feelings I have today. Harper has been in day care since Tuesday, but I stayed home her first two days so that no one would see my cry. Also, so I could go to the pool, get a manicure, clean the house, do laundry, and go grocery shopping.

On one hand, I am super excited to see people. Real live people who are taller than 21-inches. People who I can talk to about important things like what in the hell happened to Ali Lohan’s face. Not that I don’t love my conversations with Harper, but one can only assess poop and talk about how the penguin’s wings don’t help him fly because he plays in the water, not the sky.

Honestly, it came down to this: Me getting extremely excited that Harper could start mimicking my fart noises.

It is time to go back to work.

It is time to talk about other things. I often wondered if having a baby is what it feels like to be famous. Laef and I would get stopped a lot when we’d be out on walks with her. People want to ask all kinds of questions or tell you the stories of their baby. Or ask how much sleep you’re getting. Or what is her name. It’s hard to get from point A to point B without lots of baby talk. Which, is fine, until the woman at Bloomingdales told us that Harper was too young to be out in public, and that in her culture they don’t take babies out until they are 3 months old because they don’t want the spirits to get them.

This is a true story.

As is the story of the woman we met at Big 5 in Santa Monica who told us that if we have a boy next time we should seriously consider NOT having him circumsised. “My husband feels like he was amputated. It’s a form of amputation.”

Run. Away.

We also met a woman who stopped us to tell us how much she wanted a baby, but she is 40 and single, and her dog is her baby. She then showed us the “barrette that is for actual little girls” in the dogs hair, and told us that the dog has its own bedroom complete with children’s furniture. We were trying to abort the mission when she told us that she is a psychic and to stand there quiet (on the corner of San Vicente and Montana in Brentwood) so she could “see” if we were going to have a boy with our next baby.

So, there we stood looking at woman with her eyes closed in the middle of a busy intersection trying to tell us the fate of our next baby. We thought about running away and claiming we were just playing hide-n-seek if we got caught, but we figured we didn’t have much else to do so we’d see what she said. “I’m not seeing a boy.”

We met lots and lots of baby people with all kinds of stories. I was able to enjoy an entire summer with Harper. I was able to find out if the moms I see pushing strollers in the morning on my way to work had the life I wanted. I learned that those walks are often out of necessity, and sometimes not by choice. Tammy Taylor walked 5 miles in the blazing Texas heat on an episode of Friday Night Lights and people thought she was crazy. “Gotta keep the baby moving,” she said.

And, it’s true.

We spent so many days and nights walking Harper around just to keep her happy.

She is 12 weeks old today.

And she is a happy, happy baby.

Which makes  me proud and happy.

Now it’s time to work so that we can pay for her daycare, which might as well be called college because it costs almost as much.