Adult Rompers, etc.

Posted the Jumpsuit comic today and I’m mentally reviewing the six (or so) times in my life when I’ve tried on a glam one-piece jumpsuit. All six (or so) of those times produced the same result, and I inevitably form the same conclusion: jumpsuits are created for some other type of woman who may or may not exist. Like JLo.

It’s probably for the best anyhow. I’m not keen on the idea of having to get naked to take a wizz.

Oh, I included this drawing just for funsies, so this post wouldn’t look too sad and empty. The drawing is still in progress and represents my Saturday morning state. Pants always optional. Rompers prohibited.

Wedding Chic

I went to a wedding tonight and, unlike 99.97% of my days, I looked pretty slammin’. It was by complete accident but it felt nice. And it also felt nice to be out on a Saturday night sans child. I know, “BLASPHEMY!!!!” It may be a publicly unpopular notion but it’s most definitely a common one: Sometimes it’s fun to do things *without* your kid. Call CPS.

Anyway, as I was out having fun and eating all the pie, I realized I’d unlocked the secrets to seeming fabulous. I decided to draw them right quick. Because that’s what I do.



A few people have asked me what my character Kate looks like IRL. She can be a bit elusive, but I was able to track down a recent photograph of the bun-donned maven. So here you go: real life inspo hot off the press.

Preliminary Sketches

Sometimes I end up enjoying the preliminary comic sketches more than the final product. It has become an ongoing focus to try to maintain the energy and movement from the under drawing in the final rendition, which is not always a straightforward task. The finished versions of these drawings accomplished that fairly well.

Also, this week I geeked out on another comic artist’s work and it inspired me to play with a different style. Coming soon, so stay tuned.


Portrait: Slinging BB

I adore the reference photo that I used for this piece. The Girl tolerates slinging for only twenty-minute chunks max, and when we do sling it’s the sweetest, coziest thing. (She does enjoy being cozy, just like her mom. She also gets real pissed off in the heat… Just like her mom.)

At the moment, she’s luxuriating in her morning nap. It’s rather thoughtful of her to give me a window of time during my “creative hours” to work on projects and ponder the existence of the universe. The rest of the day will be spent examining mom’s face, attempting to get that pesky foot in her mouth, and contemplating whether she really is ready to roll.


Morning Doodle – 6/29/18

I’m calling this one “Target Practice” because drawing a baby who is not asleep is like trying to pin the tail on a moving donkey. While blindfolded. And drunk.

Also, it feels good to play without too much concern for the end result. Helps lube up those sticky neural channels.


Portrait with BB

My Aunt came to visit from out of state last month and she met our baby daughter for the first time. I snapped a couple photos and fell in love with the composition, colors, and emotions. By some friggin’ miracle, I was able to bust out a lovely drawing yesterday start to finish, despite being smothered (in a good way) by my four-month-old.

Thank you for making the trip, Auntie. ❤️


On Poop

We don’t talk about poop any more frequently than we did pre-child.  And we definitely talk about poop a lot now that there is significantly more of it in our life.

I didn’t give The Girl a bath last night because she’d been sleeping like an anvil since one o’clock, and making small poops throughout this epic snooze.  No problem, I thought.  I’ll just give her a bath first thing in the morning before taking her to Grandma’s house.

She had a mess of poop upon waking.  Then, as she cooed and squealed on the changing table, she pooped ON the changing table, into my hand.  I am fairly certain there is a reflex which causes humans to not allow feces to flow unrestrained into the open.  Or perhaps I’m telling myself that because I naively placed my hand under The Girl’s erupting butthole as it vacated, without really understanding why.  She giggled and grabbed her toesies.

I plunked her in the bath.  At first she was confused because baths are typically a nighttime endeavor.  How novel! said her wide-eyed expression.  (She is easily thrilled, just like her mom.  That’s why she has rags for toys and chats with the ceiling.) Three or four ah-goos in and she fart-pooped right in the bath water.  I knew this day would come.  I’ve feared it since her birth, suspecting it would most certainly happen, because virtually any ridiculous thing you can imagine happening with a child will inevitably materialize. Also, I suspected it was coming because last week a mom blogger I follow on social media posted a mommy meme in which the speaker muses, “They should teach you practical things about motherhood, like what to do when there is poop in the bathtub.”  Upon reading it I felt my spidey sense tingle and I knew right then it was a runaway poop train.  I bet The Girl’s bowels started prepping at that very moment.

Even though I was fully expecting poop in the bath it still came as a surprise. It’s probably because when you see something like that for the first time it is both horrifying and remarkable, despite seeing it four thousand times in your nightmares.

The quiet events of the morning were quickly unraveling into something much more complex.  The situation suddenly became rather logistically confusing, and I had many questions.  She is now soaking in poop water, so the logical action is to bathe the baby.  But where do I bathe her, as she is already in the tub?  Is it okay to place her *gently* on the bathroom floor while I empty the poop water?  How thoroughly do I need to clean the tub, if it will soon be filled with more clean water and soap?  Is it really that bad if there is a little bit of poop in her bath water?  Will she die if she accidentally eats her own poop?  Is this a typhoid situation?

Fortunately I have some mom instincts (my kid is still alive, so that’s gotta mean something) and I did everything that needed to be done without falling too hard into paralysis.  I don’t remember exactly what transpired, as everything went white and all the sounds became distant echoes, but The Girl ended up clean, did not eat her own poop, and the tub that her tub sits inside was covered in little poop pieces which I left for myself to clean up later, hopefully before Husband needed to take a shower.  He doesn’t see very well, and could easily overlook the catastrophe of stepping into a shower strewn with fecal bits.  I thought about leaving him a note.  Then I forgot.

I dressed The Girl in something adorable (cue onslaught of existential queries: Does she only have adorable clothing?  Or is all of her clothing adorable because she is the one wearing it? If I put her in something not adorable, does my perception actually change or is it like “beer goggles,” but “baby goggles?”) and placed her in the car seat.  She smiled at me with that giant, squinty-eyed shit-eatin’ gummy grin she gives me when I perform my Broadway rendition of Iz’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in the kitchen, using a wooden spoon as my microphone.

Heart… melting…

I clicked her carrier into the car seat base.  She gazed at me lovingly, almost like she knows me. Like, really knows me.  I was swiftly lured in by my sweet baby’s newfound flirting skills, wondering if they really had arrived overnight, when I heard another wet fart and inhaled a whiff of warm, sour air into my mouth.  Another poop.  Maybe I’ll leave this one for Grandma.