Lots of pop-culture happiness for me and baby Lucy. Yesterday, we caught up on three taped episodes of "Sex and the City."

"See, Lucy, that's Aidan," I said, while she stared at the screen. "Ai-dan. He's a very nice guy. But not right for Carrie!"

I explained to her why Carrie and Berger were never going to work, because writers are all crazy in exactly the same way, and should never mate or date or, really, even share so much as a coffee. (Also, are we to believe that Carrie was all hepped up about her first date with this guy and hasn't read his book yet? I mean, isn't that the first thing she'd do, after she googled him?)

Just so you all know that I'm a responsible parent, I put my hands over her ears and eyes when Carrie and Big had phone sex, and when Samantha....well, basically whenever Samantha appeared on-screen.

And I cried when Harry proposed to Charlotte. Cried! It was just so sweet and touching.

Then, today, we headed over to the Loews Theater in Cherry Hill, which has Movies for Moms on Tuesdays. It was great -- there was valet parking for our stroller, the lights were on low and the sound was turned down...and Lucy actually seemed to be paying attention. We hunkered down with our baby friends, including but not limited to Baby Zach, Baby Max, and Baby James Rufus, and watched "Seabiscuit." Which meant I got to say things like, "See, Lucy, this is what we call heavy-handed editing. Hea-vy hand-ed!" And I get to feel somewhat current with the world, which is a relief. My parents-of-two friends swore that they didn't see a movie for the entire first year of their daughter's life, which was almost enough to scare me into childlessness. So hooray for Loews!

Meanwhile, the Great Nanny Search is underway. I'm taking recommendations from friends (and friends of friends) for someone who can spend four hours a day or so with La Lu starting in September.

I've got mixed feeings about it, because for a while I was holding on to this vision of being able to write while she napped peacefully in her bassinet beside me. The reality is, she doesn't nap long enough (or reliably enough) for me to be able to get anything done, writing-wise. Also, she hates her bassinet. So we're off to find Mary Poppins, or her closest Philadelphia facsimile.