Recovery

The volunteer corps that has been tending to our sink of dirty dishes and tending to Baby Girl's newfound interest in reading The Berenstein Bears and Too Much TV - which she subsequently wants to watch on the telly; this toddler knows irony - has left.  They arrived when we were still a family of three and now they depart and we are a family of four. That's madness.

I've been so so grateful for the help, but I'm glad for the reprieve, as well.  My guts are all still so painfully swollen and my appetite is pretty poor and my desire to just hermit-snuggle Little Man for hour upon silent hour is so great.  I'm happy to trade an immaculately clean home for a messy one if it means I can walk around our place with my milk-stained t-shirt and not feel self-conscious.

So far, though, we're lucking out with Little Man who really is a champion sleeper/feeder and must have some copper pipes for plumbing because dang if this kid's bowels aren't a thing of beauty.

Baby Girl has decided to love on Little Man at every opportunity while punishing her parents in ways never before demonstrated.  Girlfriend grew a set of horns and has taken to violent outbursts, hitting Mama, and declared herself oppositional in every way.  Of course we were forewarned, but like every parent on earth, we said to ourselves, "Oh...but our child will be different!"

HAH.

HAHAHHH!

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.

wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.