Pass the Chicken Soup I guess

Yesterday evening we went to pick up a fancy Pali crib we found on craigslist. The woman selling the crib was a local East-Sac mom with a hip husband in a Volvo. They seemed like nice people who decorate their modest home in French bistro decor and stunning black-and-white wedding photos. We agreed to take their crib, and kindly accepted the accoutrements: mattress, crib bumper, sheets. And then the mom let me know that she has published a book and said I should take one home with me. She even signed it. The Light at the End of the Diaper Pail (and I see she has a blog too).
In another life, I think I might have scoffed at a publication of this nature. In fact, because I'm a cynical snob (and probably also jealous of all "regular" people who also have a published book), I did scoff a bit as I flipped through pages that reminded me to "Breathe. Repeat." or to "Love your partner." Little chicken-soup tidbits geared to a specific demographic who just so happens to spend a lot of money on feel-good baby-shower gifts. But it actually did make me feel good. While I may ignore the advice to "Beam. Cry. Laugh. Be real." I do kind of appreciate the reassurance that my hours of sitting on the big bed watching bad cable is acceptable behavior.