knows a mama who had sex last night.

Is feeling the estrogen drop and the testosterone rise. Would give up alcohol and sugar if her son would stay small forever. Wonders if her exhaustion is life threatening. Still doesn’t floss.

…

I know a mama who woke up with cream cheese icing in her hair, cupcake crumbs between her breasts, red wine staining her lips and teeth and sheets.

…

Spends work meetings assessing the fuckability of all men in the room. Braises meat for comfort. Pees a little every time she coughs, sneezes, or laughs. Drinks her second glass of wine in a mug.

…

(Excerpted from Phyllis Grant’s full post/poem/granola recipe, which was compiled by ten women from a string over 100 emails. ”Hoping more men will read it,” Grant told me over Twitter. Right on. Advice: read in full, then repeat)