Today Nora is four weeks old and, thanks in no small part to the above comment, I’m already starting to think it’s time to be back in shape. Or at least to get myself in gear. OK, maybe not in gear just yet (I’m not sure I have the energy—or the time—to work out right now), but perhaps cut back on the bagels and the cookies and the cheese. I’m not eating for two anymore and I’m not breastfeeding so I really have no excuse for the overindulging. And, despite the fact that they’re predicting a foot of snow here tomorrow, summer is just around the corner and, well, I’d like to not be fat when it arrives. Ugh.

Everyone's entitled to their opinions -- I won't fault you for yours if you don't fault me for mine. So here we go: I don't find the kind of adult lifestyle and entertainment content we do here at Playboy offensive, nor do I find it demeaning to women. (Okay, Conservative Moms, have at it!) The last story I wrote was titled "Top 10 Ways Not to Suck in Bed" -- it was geared toward men to help inform them, from a woman's perspective, about the little things they can do to improve their sex life (from man-scaping to being respectful in the sack). It's debatable if the story was actually a little demeaning to men, though that wasn't its intention either. How are our articles any more demeaning to women, than, say, "How to Touch a Man Naked," a cover line on this month's issue of Cosmopolitan? Or what about their "Sex Position of the Day" on Cosmopolitan.com? Compare women's magazines to Playboy -- you'd probably be surprised to learn that men aren't the only ones thinking about sex.

But I don't expect everyone to embrace Playboy's sensibility the way I have -- working here for almost eight years has desensitized me to the tasteful nudity and sexually driven content; if you've seen one pair of surgically enhanced boobs, you've pretty much seen them all. Can we at least agree on that? (She says with a wink.) What I'm trying to say is, not much fazes me anymore. And not to ruin the mystery, but it's not as "pornographic" around here as people might think -- have you seen a porno lately? Our content pales in comparison. However, I respect the fact that it fazes some people, so if this blog isn't for you, I will not twist your arm to continue reading it. No more than we twist the arms of the girls who pose for us.

It was supposed to be a simple assignment -- a little something to remind the kids about their lesson on adjectives. Magazine and newspaper clippings + lots of glue + fancy descriptives = an easy lesson and the perfect student work display for the parent/teacher conference.

We all drank in the oversized poster boards, us parents patiently waiting in the hallway for our turn with the teacher. Mari pointed lazily at the big navy blue sheet she worked on with her group; there were cars that were "slick" and "fast," desserts that were "tasty," and chairs that were "pretty" and "comfy."

And then there were the postage stamp-sized, newspaper cutouts of young black men, three of them spread out across the paper. Beneath each of them, written in simple, neat black bubble letters was one word: Evil.

The hell?

If you follow my personal blog you are no doubt sick of hearing me talk about my HOUSE and how it is SMALL and my various CRACKPOT IDEAS for how to extricate ourselves from this situation. Most people, because they are NORMAL, would work with the house they have, be thankful and shut up about it on their personal websites. But not me! Oh no, I prefer to whine (eloquently, of course) about the near-impossibility of getting my kids to sleep in the same room and woe is us and maybe we can sell it now, rent a bigger house for a year and THEN find our Perfect House, once Phillip is done with grad school. Oh yeah, did I mention grad school? And how people must be crazy to think about selling one's house in a difficult market when they are shelling out tuition money every quarter? RIGHT.

I know we can't do everything but I wonder if we're doing the RIGHT things. And although ballet or soccer seems like a small choice, our lives are made up of all the tiny decisions we've made or someone else has made for us. How different would my life be today if I'd pursued basketball instead of instrumental music? I don't know. I sucked at basketball. Maybe I could have gotten better if I'd had more time on the court. Maybe I would have spent my life feeling frustrated and wishing I could play the piano.

If I'd chosen different activities I would have had different friends, different skills, different job and school opportunities. Overall I'm really happy with the way things turned out for me. I hope Laylee will be too. It's so hard. Being the mom. Making decisions that will change the course of a person's life.

Hi, everyone! I’m so excited to be making the move from Project Pregnancy over here to the Parenting Post--and not just because that means I am no longer a giant pregnant lady! As you all know, being a mom means a constant supply of things to talk about/worry about/beam about/wonder about/laugh about/etc. and I love that I have a place to do just that. Especially since I now have double the material! I had my second baby—Nora Jane—three weeks ago (you can read about my adventurous, drug-free birth) and I’m happy to report that things are going incredibly well.

For those of you who haven’t followed my story before (I chonicled my life in a column and blog for GLAMOUR), I am a cancer patient/survivor and still take medication for my disease, chronic myelogenous leukemia. I had to stop the drug to get pregnant, which was a little risky (I wrote about it for Parenting back in September), but I am now back on treatment and Nora and I are both happy and healthy. Yay! And my son, Alex, who’s almost two and a half, is surviving being a big brother and, so far, seems to like his baby sister a lot. Although he did nearly take out her eye this morning with the snot sucker thingy. Baby steps….

There are so many topics I want to discuss on the blog—potty training, pre-school, peanut allergies—and I can’t wait to hear your opinions and experiences but for today I figured I’d just tell you a few tidbits about me as a mom and show you some pictures of my recently-expanded family. OK, here goes:

Hello, parenting.com readers! I’m so thrilled to be here blogging for you every Monday. As a full-time working mom, I face many of the same challenges SAHMs moms face, with the added pressure of balancing a deadline-ridden work day at a major men’s magazine/website. By day, I’m the managing editor of Playboy.com—by night, I’m a new-ish wife to Jay and mom to Preston, our five-month-old son, and our dog Barkley, an English goldendoodle. After taking a few months off when Preston was born, I returned to the strange insanity that is my job, and have been juggling things better than even I expected. Well…some days. I can’t lie: There are plenty of mornings I’m not convinced I can handle two full-time jobs, and wonder whether it’s really possible to have it all -- healthy marriage, major career AND multiple kids. What do you think? I can’t wait to explore this more with you, and hear from other moms out there who have the same (or similar) struggles as I do. (And if you are out there, please comment!)

This. This is what hurts me to the core. Because no baby should have to fight and claw and wrestle like this. And certainly, no mother or father should have to stand by and cuddle and rock and rub and put on the brave face when her or his child is suffering. I can not, for even one second, put myself in Jennae's shoes -- imagine the might she must muster to steel her back and square her shoulders and smile for her daughter's sake, even when tears have sapped every ounce of joy there is to be had.

What's worse is that Jennae's family doesn't have health insurance. Her husband? Looking for work. Jennae? Self-employed. The medical bills? Insurmountable. With all that's on their mind, they're also facing the very sad, very scary reality that the care baby girl needs may not be within their reach because they neither have nor can afford health insurance.

Today was the fourth day in a row of Wonky Naps. If there is a fifth day we are going to require medication. For me AND the kids.

Well, it's just Jack, actually. Molly, preferring to begin each day at Ungodly Hour O'Clock, goes down like an angel, directly after lunch. She requires her blankie, her pacifier and a kiss on the nose, then she's out. Bliss!

I used to be able to say the same for Jack, but for whatever reason, in the sequence of Becoming A Big Boy he's decided to skip Potty Training and go directly to No More Afternoon Nap. You don't need me to tell you that this completely unacceptable.

For one thing, he is only TWO. Sure, he's turning three in May, but I am doing my very best to forget that is even on the horizon. TWO. Two is not old enough to skip naps. For another thing, said two-year-old needs his beauty rest more than any other human being I know. God help the person who has to deal with an overtired Jack (ME).

At his 4-year-old Well Child Visit he made a point of laughing while they gave him his shots so he could say he was braver than me. He'd seen me get a flu shot without crying and the only way to top that was to laugh during his. I think if I'd laughed during mine, he'd have given his shot a roundhouse kick in the face a la Chuck Norris.

When the doctor asked him what animal was painted on the wall, Magoo said it was "prolly a baboon." When asked what it was doing, he said, "It's sitting... Later it will eat." When the doctor asked him what it would eat, Magoo answered, "Bananas and leaves and stuff."

"Then maybe it will write," he said staring at the doctor's hands as he scribbled notes down on Magoo's chart. Comparing the baboon to the doctor. Awesome.