Mamarotica: He shaved and hair wasn’t everywhere!

One of my favorite subjects is sex. Soft sex, hard sex, light sex, dark sex, explicit sex, and fluffy bunnies and fairytale sex. I’ve written about it extensively for 12 years professionally…before that unprofessionally. Whatever that means.

Since I got pregnant last year there wasn’t a whole lot of sex — having it or writing it. So I am a bit rusty, or shall we say dry?

Ew no, we shouldn’t say dry.

So lately, things turn me on that are a little out of the norm.

My husband shaved and when he was done there was hardly a trace of his whiskers on this sink.

Totally hot.

In the past the only kind of hair removal that make me excited was when I would have my bikini waxed.

It wasn’t the act of waxing that was sexy, of course, it was the result.

Now I’m turned on by my husband’s cleanliness during his intimate encounter with his razor.


Things I do when pumping


Since I’ve gone back to work, I’ve been a pumping machine!

I pump at work. I pump when I get home from work if my timing is off. And I pump on weekends to keep up with my freezer stash.

OK, that’s kind of a lie. I often conveniently forget to pump on weekends.

For all the other times I pump, this is what I do to pass the time. And yes, my pump is the hands-free Medela pump — the Mercedes of nipple suckers.

-Look online for clothes I want to buy…for myself and babies.
-Catch up on my shows on dvr.
-Send photos I took with my phone to flickr.
-Wonder if the sound of the pump can be heard from the hall when I pump at work.
-Refresh my makeup.
-Think of blog posts…like this one.
-Wonder if I will show self restraint with the brownie mix waiting to be made in my cabinet.
-Have concern over my nipples being stretched.
-Feel like a cow. The machine even sounds like it’s mooing.
-Recall the days when my teets were for sexual excitement.
-Realize I’m slouching and try to work on my poor posture.
-Think wow only 5 minutes have passed since I hooked myself up to this thing!
-Wish I had those brownies.

Now that I’m a mom…



I’m softer now and not just around the middle.

I’m back to work now…transition is hard. I miss my little ones.

One of my first posts I wrote at work is called Now That I’m a Mom.

Tears welled in my eyes when I wrote it.

Check it out…

The twins’ nursery

this one













My most favorite place in the house is the nursery. The babies don’t even sleep in it yet since they are in the co-sleeper in our bedroom, but we do spend time in there for some daytime naps, reading, rocking in the glider, and of course, diaper changes.

We live in a loft-like apartment — there aren’t walls to separate rooms, so we bought wardrobe closets from IKEA to act like walls and I stapled fabric to the back of one so it looked pretty. Crafty!

We have these crazy big windows and I made curtains out of fabric, too — much more cost effective. Sadly the windows don’t look out to the prettiest of landscapes, but it’s great for people watching…or watching people walk to the subway or waiting for the bus…and the eyesore that is the elevated subway platform in Brooklyn.

When we first moved in and people needed to find my apartment, I’d just say get off the subway, look across the street for big windows with colorful curtains, and that’s my house.

The sun rises outside those windows and the light that comes in is kind of the most beautiful light shining in ever.

The set of four graphic prints were made by my friend Diane Ferrera. And the keys were made by another friend, Michelle Eddison, aka, Mommy Making Prints. The animals dressed up are by Ryan Berkley — he’s not a friend, but only because I don’t know him…I just liked his work.

My last maternity leave morning



Today is my last day of maternity leave and I’m so happy that it started out sunny.

Each morning, after my husband leaves for work, I have quiet time with the twins. My bedroom gets the morning sun and the the light that comes through when the sky is clear is really beautiful.

After I nurse the babies, we just hang out in the bed. This is the one feeding that they never seem to be fussy after.

Hunter loves looking around giving me tons of expressions with his eyes.

Penelope looks at the designs on our curtains, cooing and making these little excited pot belly pig sounds.

I get gummy smiles and hear their little voices — “ah ah ah,” they both say.

I take pictures with my phone and send them to my mom.

I tell H & P what our plans are for the day. They seem very interested.

I hold their little hands, watch their legs and feet wiggle.

I notice the changes in them that seem to happen each day.

It’s been the most amazing 12 weeks of my life.

Can I give my baby girl my porn name?


Many moons ago, I work at a skin magazine. Not Playgirl. I worked there for years and years as some of you know. But this was before Playgirl. It was a skin mag where I wrote about hot boobies and flashes of ass from the sexiest stars in Hollywood. I wrote of their dalliances with other sexy celebrities and how big and juicy their tits were and I wrote about it in a way that made it seem I lusted after them, hoping the reader would get all lusty too and get off on the film stills of the celeb in stages of undress or in the act of simulated sex on the screen. There were nipple slips, too. Readers loved the nipple slips. The magazine was called Celebrity Skin and it was most purchased by incarcerated men. And I recently learned Skin is no longer in print.

Moment of silence.

Because we didn’t use our real names in this fine publication, the staff came up with porn names. Mine was Nova DiGregorio.

Skin’s staff had a Magic Marker, a Candy Warhol, and some other creative monikers I cannot recall. And you may recall the publication gained a lot of press when it was sued for featuring nude photos of Jennifer Aniston taken by paparazzi who trespassed to get the shots. Not the magazine’s proudest moment.

But really, were there any?

So…Nova. It was one of my favorite names for a girl. It means new star. It’s also the name of the woman played by Linda Harrison from Planet of the Apes — the TV show, not the movie. Someone once told me I looked like her and boy was I flattered.

Nova is also the name of the coolest car on four wheels. I prefer the late 60s, early 70s Chevy Novas.

And yes, Nova DiGregorio was my porn name — I combined my favorite name with a family last name. And I wanted to give that name to my girl twin.

I haven’t told this story to my husband yet. But he is against the name anyway. He was for it, then decided it was too weird. His name is Hans by the way. This revelation will just put it further into the no pile.

I’ve already come to terms with it. Nova will not be the name of my daughter. Though I am finding it very hard to say goodbye to a name I really loved, despite it being associated with my past porn life.

Dear NYC,

I am hating you right now.

Let me make it clear. I do love NYC. I was born here and so far have lived 23 of my 36 years in NYC. The rest of the time I was only about an hour and a half away. But shit is getting wack. Or maybe I just am at my end.

Being pregnant in NYC summertime is crap. If it was winter it would be crap, too, just for different reasons.

It’s super hot. Like 90 plus wicked humidity. But besides that, the subway is even hotter with even more stagnant air. It’s like a sauna and pregnant women are not allowed in a sauna.

The other day, I couldn’t wait to get home to relax. I mean, this is everyday, but it was this day in particular.

I take the subway — the 6 to the F. It involves a transfer at Bleecker. But the 6 never stopped at Bleecker. No announcement, just barreled on — passing stop after stop without even honking the horn like the train usually does when it skips stations. People were concerned. Finally came to a stop at Brooklyn Bridge, so everyone got off and backtracked without ever knowing why. Took the 6 uptown to the stop the train missed. What in the world was going on?!

When I finally got to the F train platform I was sweating. Serious sweating. Sweating like no human who only was walking should sweat. Not even a pregnant at 18 weeks with twins human. Though I do feel like I am turning into a bear with all the hair growing all over my body. But I don’t even think a bear would sweat this much.

And I was already wearing my second pair of panties for the day since I sweated through the other pair. A nerd pair I bought from from Duane Reade. Hanes. Cringe.

Then I felt it. A stream of liquid running down my leg.

What? Was it my water breaking? It’s too early. Was it blood? I was almost afraid to look. But I did.

It was sweat from my ass.

Dear NYC. I so hate you right now.

I can’t sleep

I’m awake. A good three hours before I usually get up.

It was still dark before I made my flax waffles.

I had a bad day yesterday. It didn’t help that the humidity in NYC was unbearable or that my ankles looked more like softballs or that it rained buckets.

I felt really ugly.

If I just looked at my baby belly, I was beautiful. But if I focused on myself, I was repulsed.

Ankles…told you about them. My legs are pale, translucent and in desperate need of some self tanner. I sweat…a lot…and it’s getting more difficult to even shave my legs, and forget about my bikini area — it’s hard to see beyond my belly.

My skin is a disaster. And it’s not just pimples on my face; it’s my arms, my chest, my neck.

And when I looked in the mirror at myself, unshaven stark white legs that looked like sausages stuffed into nerd shoes, I had a moment of depression.

Am I thinking too much about vanity? Maybe.

But it is what it is. It is how I am feeling.

Some say you give up everything for your kids. But I don’t believe you should. I want to still be me, a better me, a mom me, but a mom that is still me.

I went to bed around 9:45pm last night. Woke up twice to pee and that final time I got up, around 4:30am, I don’t think I ever went back to sleep.

I decided to stop tossing and turning and get up. Feed the cats, feed myself those flax omega-3 waffles I eat just for my twins, get to work early so I can leave early.

I will shave today. Apply a little self tanner on those legs. Wear my heels. And hope for a better day.

How do you spell parents?

I don’t want to sound like the grammar police or come off as a total bitch, but I have to admit I find humor in some misspellings.

Sometimes I just get annoyed.

But hey, I’m not perfect. I’ve misspelled before.

And feel like an ass when I do.

But here is my favorite misspelling of parents so far. Spelled this way by a parent.