It’s 4:48 pm. I have just spent 2 hours trying to get my son to take a nap. He gave me all the indicators that he was sleepy: he yawned, rubbed his eyes, threw a tantrum. So I picked him up and latched him onto my boob.

Many things have happened since then, including but not limited to a diaper change, cannibalism of my nipple, a pulled out eyelash, a bite on my right thigh, and a missing chunk of skin on my chest ripped out by tiny human claws.

There’s probably more, but it is too painful to remember.

I claim defeat.

He wins as I lay here writing this while he destroys my glasses to the rhythm of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song.

I guess he won’t sleep today. Again. 

Whatever. He’s the boss anyway. It’s days like these, when I am trolled by a ten month old, that I question my existence.

Haters, rejoice.

This is a glimpse into the fabulous life of America.

It’s not all glamour… although it does sparkle a hell of a lot (that’s that Anastasia highlighter for you, boo).

Yet, lately, I find myself having to take a long breath and/or chuckle when people ask my favorite question: are you ALWAYS at a party?

Yes, yes I am.

My life is a party.

And this? Consider it your VOGUE’s insider guide to the latest gossip.

I mean, I get it. Visit my Gram page, and you’ll see a myriad of fabulous outfits and outings.

Like this one… go ahead, double tap!!! Stop lurking 😜

And I’m not going to lie, it’s not all misery. I do go shopping all the time (mainly walking at the mall, but who’s here for details?), lunch with my biffles, pool days with the girls, fashion events, photo shoots, modeling experiences, brunch….. these things DO HAPPEN… but you know what else happens? Achilles.

Let me start of by expressing one important detail: I am a FULL TIME MOM. My mom doesn’t take care of my kid. My MIL is disabled and has a nurse (who helps me out considerably), but I am still the principal caretaker of my son.

Wherever I go, he goes (and that includes happy hour 🍻🥂🍾, he’s a fun babay). For the most part— 90% of the time— if you guess he’s BTS, you’re correct! He is! And guess what comes along with that?

Hysterical crying to and fro my destinations (he still doesn’t love the car), poopy diaper changes, breastfeeding breaks, lunch, snack and dinner breaks, fussiness-control breaks… pretty much anything-you-can-think-of-related-to-an-infant breaks….

So yes, my life is a party… but when you see this:

                            Remember that this

                          Is right around the corner.