Am over this busted tailbone crapola already; can I please have my ass back?
Girding one's loins to check out the stitches with a hand mirror took about two weeks. Even then I only managed a 5 second peeping-between-my-fingers look. What can I say, I'm squeamish like that.
Peanut's Halloween costume was Boob Tape; because she's constantly stuck to mine.
Speaking of, she categorically refuses a pacifier. If it ain't 100% authentic boob, she will have no truck with any other soothing device. Hence the new entry on my CV as Human Pacifier.
Me: "She had her third Poo Explosion which required a bath today."
Middle Sis: "And eventually you'll stop counting them."
(Already have for the record)
For the longest time Peanut refused to let rip with her epic farts in front of Mon Amour. It was like she was all "I'm a delicate princess, Daddy" The expression on his face when she finally let rip with a series of 3 was priceless.
In the car
Mom: "She likes when he goes fast or over the bumpy cobblestones."
Me: "Funny, fast and bumpy rides is how I got pregnant with her in the first place."
My boobs are bigger than my baby's head. This is a source of never ending marvel for Mon Amour.
The hormone surges are obnoxious; I can't watch anything where someone's dog/kid/parent gets ill or dies because I turn into a blubbering mess.
Hippie hubris is thinking you can use the nifty new cloth diapers now that your baby is over 8 lbs and having to run out 15 minutes before the store closes to get more infant disposables.
Did I mention I want my ass back?
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