A Surprisingly Sane Blog

For sticking your birthday presents in a girly gift bag. It was either that bag or one of the multitudes of “It’s a girl!” baby shower bags.

I thought magenta was a more suitable color for your 28th birthday than baby pink.

Oh, and my apologizes for the misleading box under the gaudy polka-dot wrapping paper. Um, I have no idea what came from “Frederick’s of Hollywood” or why we even had that box in our house.

Although, now I’m thinking that you most definitely would have been more excited to open a present that would make me look like a Playboy Bunny than the ones I got you.

Oh well, my heart was in the right place.

Happy Birthday, James. I love you.

…why I think it’s CUTE when April farts?  Like, how disgusting must I be to think it’s actually CUTE?

This morning’s scenario:  Sitting on the couch, baby on boob.  She pops off for a second to cough after gulping like a little piggy, and lets a HUGE one rip at the same time.

Then she sighs, does a happy little snort, and attacks the boob again to finish her breakfast.  Her beautiful greenish-colored eyes looking up at me angelically.  Who, me?

And I find this cute.

Shall we blame the Prozac?