I Should Have Been a Boy Scout

If you really need one, those nursing pads that go in your bra make great beer coasters.

You Can Pick Your Friends, and You Can Pick Your Nose, But...

You can't pick your baby's nose. The Princess has a huge booger stuck up her schnozz, and I can't get it out. It's a problem of the size differential between my finger and her tiny nostril. The only thing would be for her to get it out herself, but unfortunately, she's not coordinated enough to pick her own nose yet. Which means the scary, nose-sucking, medieval torture device. I hate that thing.

[tap tap tap] Erm, Is This Thing On?

So, yeah, I'm not dead. I've just been very absent for like, five months. (Five months? Can that be right?) The thing is, I had a baby.

Did you hear that? A BAY-BEE! Me! I had one!

The little princess arrived February 1 after 28 horrendous and agonizing hours of labor, and all my Bradley-Lamaze-Zen preparation be damned, after 20 of those hours, I got me the greatest epidural ever and managed to survive the big shot of Pitocin that was needed to turn my crappy contractions into decent ones. You see, after 11 hours of 5-minute-apart contractions, I graduated to 9 hours of horrific, scream-inducing contractions 2 minutes apart, which got me to a grand total of TWO CENTIMETERS DILATED. That was enough fun for me. Drugs, please.

So, that's why I've been gone. I am now the proud owner of a 3-week-and-1-day-old baby who is absolutely gorgeous despite the baby acne that makes her look like a 12-year-old boy with a penchant for McDonalds and who mercifully seems to be learning the difference between day and night, and which one of them requires you to be awake and screaming, and which requires you to lay quietly for at least three hours, I hope.