There are 2 women in this world that I have always wanted to spend time with. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. Now, people claim that Amy P. is my doppelganger so I can pretty much die a happy woman. Any one who has taken a picture of me, spent 2 seconds around me or seen a picture of me knows I have an issue with facial expressions. You see my issue is that my face decides to turn on me and contorts in ways that even Ernest himself would be scared stupid. I’m going to try and go through my pictures and make my own expression chart but here is the one that my friend Zeke sent me.

My other woman love is Tina Fey. She is incredibly witty and I plan on going to buy her new book, Bossypants TODAY even though I have other books that I should be reading about this crazy thing called BIRTH I have coming up. I’ve been keeping this journal to my son of letters and prayers for him since I got pregnant. I might share some of the things I’ve written later on since they are full of invaluable wisdom like how to pick all of the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms box without anyone noticing. When I read this prayer for her daughter that Tina (we’re on a first name basis) wrote, I almost peed in my pants. Please enjoy:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.



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