Watch Me Turn 30, by Holly C.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I'm a 29-year-old New Yorker who inherited this site from my pal, Holly P., to document the final year of my twenties. Right up until I turn the big 3-0 next January, I'll use this blog to indulge my inner-narcissist by voicing the good (I can date men anywhere from ages 21 to 50 without it being scandalous) the bad (I keep getting ma'amed) and the ugly (is it possible to get cellulite on your stomach?!). Here's to waving goodbye to my youth, accepting adulthood and remembering that every ending is really just a new beginning.
the photo for November 7, 2007
DAY 282  |  November 7, 2007
Dina took me up on my offer for my babysitting services. So I hopped on the subway to her Spanish Harlem apartment to watch the baby while she and her boyfriend enjoyed a rare evening out.

I lugged my laptop with me and had illusions about the little bundle of joy sleeping peacefully as I caught up on all my work. I’ve obviously never watched a newborn before. Every single time Vida fell asleep in my arms and I’d try to gently place her in her snowy-white crib, she’d scream and cry at the top of her lungs.

The only thing that would calm her down was to rock her in the rocking chair and sing “Sweet Child of Mine,” by Guns ‘N Roses in her ear. (Hey, I can’t remember any lullabies and it’s the only song that came to my mind!). Let me tell you, that stunned her into silence. Ha! I eventually accepted the fact that this baby was going to be attached to my body for the next five hours. So I snuggled us into the couch and watched “The Departed” while Vida acted like a little oven to keep me warm.

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