Confession #1: I think I judged MOPS too rashly. Almost all the girls who were sitting at my table have friended me on facebook & sent me personal messages… seriously, the level of effort makes it quite difficult to continue being cynical. I think I need to go to the March meeting… I’m never gonna have any friends if I don’t actually give myself the opportunity to make friends.

Confession #2: Rose has recently started doing this attachment thing where she stares at me beseechingly while other people are holding her, & cries when I leave the room. I know that I need to socialize her as much as possible, blahblahblah…. but I’m secretly loving it every time she prefers me over someone else. I’ve waited so damn long to be the mama instead of the friend/aunt/cousin/childcare provider. I love that she wants me the most.

Confession #3: I’ve been spending an assload of money during the last few months. Like as in the last SIX months. First, being pregnant was my excuse. Then Rose was born & OBVIOUSLY I needed to buy her things. Then Christmas happened & OBVIOUSLY I needed to buy gifts. And now I’m just on a spending spree the like of which has rarely been seen in these parts. I’m obsessed with all things ebay, etsy & pinterest. Our finances are taking a beating, & I’m just merrily clicking the purchase button without hesitation. I have bought an insane amount of things for Rose… rompers, swimsuits, dresses, Valentine’s Day outfits (three, to be exact), St. Patrick’s Day outfit (only one thus far), sleepers, shoes, the list goes on & on. Bobby comes in with the mail every day & tosses my package(s) at me & says “Here you go, Denise.” You see, my mom had a bit of an ebay habit as well. Can the uncontrollable impulse to click the “bid now” button be a hereditary condition?

And the worst part? I do the finances in our household. So I just balance the checkbook & pay off the monthly AMEX card & no one (including me) knows just how much is being spent on the wardrobe of the Rosebud. I know it’s a frightening amount…. an amount that I don’t want to know.