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How in God’s name did she get a Cheerio stuck THERE?
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I smell baby poop. On me. I have washed my hands. I have now changed clothes. But I still smell it.
WHERE IS IT COMING FROM? WHY DO I SMELL LIKE BABY POOP?
Update: The back of my elbow. How? Hell if I know. I know you all were on pins and needles until I found out.
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I believe:
That the dust along the window panes of the house is insulating and helps with energy efficiency.
That the clutter on the floor is a cheap burglar alarm (they’d knock stuff over as soon as they stepped in the door, thereby waking everyone up).
Am I right, or am I right?
Also, a question: If the pureed carrots look exactly the same coming out as going in, can Squirt actually be deriving anything useful from them?
I didn’t get any sleep last night! Can you tell?
I am in our bed with both girls and Big Daddy, listening to the snoring coming from each of them and faint rumblings of thunder outside, and I think how blessed and lucky I am for my home and my family. The worst part of depression, for me, is that while I know rationally that things aren’t that bad, I just can’t feel that way. I know I’m feeling better because now I can feel that contentment again, that joy.
And then I think, man, do I need some earplugs.
