Personal Stuff. And Poop. Also, I am Very Mature.

Hi. My name is Jessichka. Well, my REAL name is Jessica but Jessichka is a nickname I got during the world travels of my single days and it’s sort of stuck with me. This is me:
To explain about the origins of this blog, we’ve got to go back to a conversation I had with my husband Josh a while ago. It went something like this:

Me: Hey, hon. I think I’m going to start a blog.

Josh: A BLOG? What for?

Me: I dunno… to blog about… things? And stuff?

Josh: What stuff? (He is very patient with my wishy-washy weirdness)

Me: Uh, I was thinking I could blog about, like, my art and my creative interests and stuff like that.

Josh: Oh, OK. Cool. Just don’t blog about personal things like the giant corn flake you found in your cereal bowl three years ago and what your baby’s poop looked like this morning. That’s dumb.

Me: OK. I promise not to blog about baby poo or giant corn flakes... Well, maybe not giant corn flakes but I definitely promise not to blog about baby poo.

Josh: All right. Sounds good then. Go for it.

This is my husband:


I’m in there too, but let’s ignore that for a while and focus on my husband. He is amazing. Pretty good looking, too. But that isn’t the best part. He’s an awesome guy. And I know I’m not supposed to write about personal stuff, BUT…

I just have to tell about this real quick.

Real quick, OK? (To my husband--I’m sorry, sweetie. I can’t help it.)

My husband wants one of these.



He wants it bad. Real bad. So bad he looks at the picture of it at least once a day.
But this is the guy who bought me a computer instead of his 3D Big Screen Man TV of Awesomeness.

Also, this is the guy who put up with THIS. FOR 8 MONTHS.


This is my stink eye face. Yes, he dealt with this for the better part of a year. Poor dude.

You can’t tell in this picture, but I was pregnant when it was taken. My husband put up with 8 months of whining, bawling, moaning, emotional breakdowns, french fry binges, crying, orneriness, mood swings, and raging hormones. It was a long 8 months.

This is also the guy who gets up with our baby in the middle of the night when I’ve had a long day and want to sleep. Then he gets up in the morning and goes to a thankless job, which he is very good at so that I can stay home with our boy. And sometimes he makes me dinner. Yep, I love my husband to death.

You know who I also love to death?


This guy.

He didn’t always look like this.

Once he looked like this:


He came a month early. He stayed in the hospital for two weeks. It was hard. Really hard. We were blessed, though. It could have been much worse.

We would never trade our little monkey for the whole world. Now, our boy is a perfect, healthy, happy, roly-poly baby.

And that’s me in a nutshell.

I once had an English teacher who forced us to read the biography of every author we read. He said it would help us understand why that person wrote what they wrote. And you know what? It totally did. So now I’m forcing you to hear about my life. I still don’t know if it will help anyone understand anything about my idiosyncrasies, but it’s worth a shot.

But mainly, this blog won’t be about personal stuff.

I think.

I hope.

Maybe. We’ll see. But I’m pretty much almost 99.99999% sure that I will not put up any posts about baby poop. Or regular poop. Cow poop might pop up here and there, though. You never know.

Anyway, later on I’ll try to offer an explanation for what happened here:


So don’t get scared off yet, OK? You haven’t seen the half of it!

No, literally. You haven't seen half of this whale masterpiece so you'll have to check back to see the rest of it.