When my son gets here…
I want him to know that I tried really, really hard.
I want him to know that I tried really, really hard.
This week has been blessedly free of medical freakouts and frantic internet searches leading to endless threads of panicked women posting their diagnoses and speculating about what they mean. In other words, this week has been a breeze. Okay, sort of. My body is starting to do some crazy shit that is taking its toll on me. It feels sometimes like my organs are in danger of falling out, either through my gut or through…
Because I do. Er, did. When we were babies. Before he had a beard. Thanks, Grandmaw, for the awesome pics of Dad you sent me today!
My boss had her baby! So we sent her some flowers. The kid emerged a giant: Nine pounds, fifteen ounces. THAT’S LIKE THIS BIG. Can’t wait to meet him. In the meantime, I am tasked with keeping my department running. Until October! Last week was a clusterfuck because of scheduling mistakes (mine, naturally) and vacationing co-workers and the feeling that I had tossed myself into some kind of boiling vat of stresswater. But that was…
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