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Home - Bottom Row

Let's Panic: The Book!

Order your copy today!

How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

Some Books
I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

Home - Middle Row

Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it. → 



After the publication of Let's Panic About Babies! in 2011, both our editor and agent left the publishing industry. "What's the point of continuing?" we assume they thought. "We have published the perfect book. Our work here is done."  And while worthy replacements stepped in right away, some details got lost in the transition. Like the fact that our book was being published in Germany.


Actually our editor had mentioned it as a possibility, shortly before she sailed off into the Great Unknown. Failing to hear any sort of follow-up, Eden and I naturally assumed the Germans were disgusted by our attempts to make light of the baby-making process (insert lengthy German word for "baby-making process."). But apparently it was a go, after all. Which we discovered when these books arrived at our respective doorsteps. Sent by the stork! Der Klapperstorch!


I'm glad to see that HUMOR at the end, there. I mean, what if the Germans took us seriously? And an entire nation believed that someone could mistake a horseshoe crab for their own child?


Here's the best part: according to Google Translate, the German title for our book is THEY ALWAYS COME OUT. I've been reminding Henry of this fact as we go about our day. "They always come out, Henry." "Yes, mom. I know." "Always."



THEY ALWAYS COME OUT is my favorite title ever. Is it too late to change the name of our book? Second edition, maybe?



(p.s.: there's no German equivalent for "Huggs," I guess. Also, that first bullet point is supposed to be "gently bearded," not "friendly beard." Who has a friendly beard? Ridiculous!)



(p.p.s.: "Funkle, funkle?" Really, German?)



(p.p.s: TAFT! WAR! FETT!)


Lo, there came upon the family two new members, and they were good 





No, she's not mine. I WISH. This here is Madeleine, my niece!




My brother James is marrying the sweet, lovely, incredibly brave (sorry, James) Gillian, who comes complete with BABY. That's what we call "value added."

I have no pictures of Gillian because when I met the baby I was too busy 1) adoring her and 2) trying not to eat her whole. You'll have to take my word for it when I tell you they are an attractive couple.

And oh my word. THIS BABY GIRL. Babies are even better when they're not yours. 




I say unto thee: I bring you tidings of great joy, and also hook a baby up with some victuals, wilt thou?

Oh, Maddy. I wilt. I WILT.


Get some inspiration, win some art, give back--how can you lose? 

1. A Month of Writing Prompts registration ends November 26. That's in six days! Hurry! Here are the details.

The fee is 30%, with 30% of net proceeds going to Masbia, a nonprofit soup kitchen network and food pantry in New York.

EDITED TO ADD: I will send out a confirmation email to the entire group on the 26th. I've never had a Paypal payment go missing, so rest assured that if you've paid, I have your information and you're on the list!

2. Even though Camp Mighty has ended, the campaign to raise money for charity:water is still going strong. Please donate, and if you want to win a 7" by 10" custom-painted watercolor, donate at least $20 and include the comment, "Paint it up, Alice Bradley!" Here are some samples of my work. The watercolors will go to the top five highest bidders, so bid it up, world!


I look like Robert De Niro. I drive a Mitsubishi Zero.

I went to Camp Mighty, which was tremendous but I was pretty strung out from teaching my amazing class and working 90 hours a day, and as a result I didn't want to talk to people all that much and I felt like kind of a jerk. On Friday I was sitting by the pool with Eden and Jenny when part of the lounge chair fell on my head. It hurt like hell, and at first I teared up from the pain and THEN I couldn't stop crying, like the lounge chair also told me my dad would have loved me if only I were prettier. I kept trying to explain that I was tired, and Eden was like, "You know, you did just get slammed on the head with a metal rod," and Jenny just smiled beatifically because she knows a breakdown when she sees one.

Camp Mighty is all about life lists. I didn't do any of my items from last year but then amazing things happened that hadn't even occurred to me to put in there, so maybe the act of making one sets great things in motion? I'm coming around to that way of thinking. But still I suspect my next life list would just say, "Be surprised," because that's what I like the best. I didn't feel too serious about needing to re-determine what my items would be, so I cut and pasted from last year and wrote in items like "fight to the death," "become a fire starter," and "grow butterfly wings." (True story: on the plane ride home I took Klonopin and before I nodded into unconsciousness I congratulated myself for leaving my wings at home--as handy as they are, they're super cumbersome when you're crammed in economy.)

The last night of Camp Mighty I was almost too wiped out to go to the dinner event, and I sat in my hotel room berating myself. What are you so tired about, Alice? Is it all the people being lovely to you? The workshops where nothing was required of you beyond listening? The margaritas? The temperate weather? The free head shots Go Mighty GAVE you, taken by the amazing Kate Skogen? OH WAS THAT SO EXHAUSTING FOR YOU, LITTLE WUBBINS?

Humbled, I shuffled off to dinner, where I searched in vain for Eden, whom I referred to as my life partner, not really in jest. I found Maggie, and we talked about how tired we both were (maybe she had more reason to be than I did?) and I said "It's only in the past few years I've realized I'm an introvert," and she hmmed at me in her way that usually makes me realize I'm wearing Mom Jeans or something equally unfortunate, and she said, "You're not an introvert, you're a sexual."

"I beg your pardon," I said, "I am not asexual. My husband, every male collegiate a cappella group member from 1987-1991, most of my single coworkers from that first office job, and an oversized Hello Kitty pillow I wore out in 1980 can confirm that."

She explained to me that "sexual" is an enneagram subtype and it means I relate best to people one-on-one and also something about intensity and eye contact. I was too busy gazing deeply into her eyes to gather the details.

There is very little I would not do for Maggie or because Maggie said so. She is charisma itself. I am always fascinated by her, especially when she comes up with terms I've never heard of--me, who knows all. But at this juncture, I assumed I hadn't heard her correctly or that one of us was on hallucinogens.

I promptly found Eden and Heather Spohr and shared the news that I was exhausted from eye fucking everyone. Heather backed away because she's already pregnant and doesn't need to be eye pregnant as well.

Then I went back to my room and looked up sexual enneagram subtypes and here you go. Serves me right for doubting Maggie. I apologize, Maggie--and world, for getting freaky with you. Even if I never touched you, you felt it. It's…I can't help it.

When I called Scott and confessed that I had made love to everyone's souls, he said, "I don't see you as that type, but Maggie definitely is. Or maybe it's me? Maybe she's flirting with me? She's flirting with me, isn't she," and I had to settle him down while he tried to sext her.  That part might not be true, Or maybe it is! We've been married forever, we need to spice things up. This post is now ensuring that Maggie will never come visit us again. I'm kidding, Maggie! I'm kidding IF YOU THINK I AM. I am still very tired. I'm trying to cuddle with my dog but he heard I'm a Sexual and now he's like WOOF MEANS NO.

EDITED TO ADD: This is off-topic except for the fact of the post title, but now it's in my head and look how cute Billy Bragg is. 

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