Dear A,

Ok, I've had the baby. I'm not going to lie. My boobs are bigger than his head.

'Nuff said.

Love, D

Dear D,

I’d be lying if I said your story didn’t make me hungry. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a hot dog, let alone two. Although, from the looks of me, you’d think I eat them all the time; so much so that I no longer have a “muffin top” in my jeans, but an Egg McMuffin top – make that a Sausage McMuffin top (btw, merely typing the word “sausage” made me salivate).

It’s gotten so bad that I’ve stopped searching for my “fat jeans” and now look for my “fat underwear” - which has lead to another problem: laundry and having to do it more often to make sure my “uniform” is clean. Luckily I’m in France where the rule on wearing a fresh outfit each day isn’t as rigid.

If things continue, I might have to ask F if I can cheat on him and get back together with my confidence-destroying, soul-gutting ex. That seems to be the only “diet” that has ever really worked for me (that and losing a tooth). However, given that today is our 6 year anniversary, I'm not sure it's a good time to ask if he'd like to take a break.

Love, A

Dear A,

So you know, when you're pregnant, funny things happen to your body. Sure, the obvious, you grow a baby in your belly so your belly gets fat, your belly button looks like a Jackson Pollack painting, and your feet get swollen. This is what most never been pregnant women and men think when they think of physical pregnancy changes. What they do not think of is that when you cough, laugh, or sneeze, you can't hold your pee in (sometimes, that stays with you after the pregnancy!). Or, they don't realize that other parts of your body, say, oh, I don't know, your breasts change dramatically. Oh yes, they think the breasts get bigger (and they do, all that breastmilk coming in and the milk ducts getting ready for that). BUT, do they know about the other changes???

Case in point:

Location: Me and my youngest son, now 2, showering.

My son, pointing to my nipples: "Hot dogs!"

Yes, the nipples get incredibly big so that it's easy for the newborn to latch on for nursing. But nothing like a 2 year old's astute observation to make you feel good about those changes!

Love, D

Dear D,

Congrats to the hubby! I’m very impressed by his new gig; yet, I am a little surprised that a man of such few words would be a T.V. commentator. Maybe you can’t help him with his wardrobe, but I know you could write some material for him. Most of the jokes might be at his expense, but he needs to think about his public. I’d be much more inclined to tune in if I knew his commentary about the little arrows going up and down would be peppered with some of your zingers.

I’m having the same problem with gays in Paris. I actually responded to an ad on Craigslist posted by a gay man looking for friends. He claimed he was looking for straight friends too and I believed him. He didn’t even respond to my email proposing that we meet. I was rejected by someone desperate enough to take the time to post an ad. I knew I should have attached a picture of my gay bait husband.

I recently received an invitation from Democrats Abroad to attend their “LGBT Caucus Fund Raiser” – and I nearly went just to troll for gays. The only thing stopping me was the menu - “Jambalaya Celebration” - and the fact that I might be expected to give money.

Now, about the minivan, it really does make sense - just add “BMW” to the list of things you gave up when you became a mom (this being said by a woman who doesn’t have a car or kids). You’ll have the last laugh anyway when I’m begging one of your kids to come pick me and my wheelchair up in a minivan to drive me to my geriatrician. I really do admire the hard work it takes to be a mother. As we speak, the window in my bedroom is open and my cat is on the balcony. The last time I got up to check on him, he was gone. My heart stopped. I thought I was living an Eric Clapton moment. I eventually found the little guy under the bed. But seriously, I can’t even watch a cat without incident!

Love, A

Dear A,

I have to admit, that picture was pretty frightening, sort of Shawshank Redemption-y, if you ask me. But I'm sure a little fecal matter gets in the terroir every once in a while anyway!

So I forgot to tell you that the husband is famous now. He's a television star, with 4 appearances now on CNBC Asia and Bloomberg Asia. Seriously! He basically goes on and talks about stocks (you can imagine that this is not the reality television appearances that I was hoping for, but I think we're too old to be cast for the Asian Jersey Shore). Anyhow, now that he's done it a few times (and got back some constructive criticism), he actually thinks about what he's going to wear. Yes, this from the man who is still holding onto rugby and flannel shirts from 20 years ago.

But here's the problem, he doesn't know how to really match his shirts and ties. The second problem is that while I think I can put an outfit together, I can't match shirts and ties either. And the final, most humongous problem? I don't have any male gay friends in San Francisco anymore that can help me (or him)!!! What happened, Amy? I feel like someone is going to show up on my doorstep and rip away my Democrat card any moment now. I'm thinking of posting on Craigslist with the caption "I'll be your one Asian friend if you be my one gay friend. Must be able to talk shit." To add insult to injury? We decided to get a minivan to cart my many children and dog. Might as well drive that damn minivan straight to Utah...oh wait, I said damn. They won't let me in, anymore.

Love, D

Dear D,

I like the part about eating your kids’ ice cream. I always struggle with choosing just two flavors. I know triple scoops exist, but I don’t think that would be appropriate for me to order in Paris considering some here view drinking a third glass of wine as unladylike behavior. Plus, your kids are young enough that you can still order for them (i.e., choose the flavors you want) and simply appear to be an attentive mother as you pick junks of dried cookie dough off their cheeks and pop them into your mouth. As you said, you are trying to save on Kleenex and I commend you on this Earth Day for teaching your little ones that the environment is a priority!

To be honest, I never really understood how mothers could use those little mini turkey basters to suction snot out of their babies’ noses or suck a dirty pacifier clean. But yesterday I went down to our cave to get a few bottles of wine for dinner and was shocked to find them, as well as a few other negligible items like a computer and armoire, covered in mud - an odd smelling mud.

Our superintendent informed me that the building’s main evacuation pipe (pour les toilettes) had been clogged over the weekend. When it was unplugged, a leak ensued. He concluded that was the source of the mud explosion in our cave. In sum, our belongings are covered in a cocktail of my neighbors’ urine and fecal matter.

Without thinking twice, I retrieved some rubber gloves and pushed aside the computer until I could reach my beloved bottles of wine. I carried them upstairs where I carefully bathed each one of them, dried them with a fresh towel and lovingly placed them in the refrigerator.

Body fluids cannot get in the way of real love.

Love, A

Dear A,

At least the weather wasn't so cold that the snot coming out of your nose froze, leaving a silvery streak of freeze-dried-snot on your upper lip. I'm thinking that's not in fashion in Paris. That said, I feel like I'm constantly up to my ears (or should I say, nose?) in snot? I remember looking at kids and seeing runny snot all over their faces and thinking 'aw man, that is gross. It's called kleenex and guess what, it's not a new invention!'

But now I understand it. Wiping snot away from kids' faces is just a futile way of cleaning up. It's like a hoarder moving one box of crap from one room to another...useless, the junk is still there. And so it goes with my kids' runny noses. Perpetually there, so ultimately, it's a cost savings to not use kleenex and just let the snot fall where it may (most typically, on the left arm sleeve of the coat or shirt they are wearing).

Sigh...I also lick their runny ice cream, another thing I thought I'd never do.

Love, D