That Which Doesn't Kill You Only Makes You Stronger

This vomitous mess, a week ago:






My happy, flitting little wild birds were all WTF. These pleasant, docile little creatures became screeching, aggressive beasts at the sight of seed.

Things only got better. I'm worried about Seth. Angry with Joe. I think Jackson is teething, ohhelpmeGOD. And these photos? It's gonna happen again this weekend. My patience is threadbare.

That retching sound you hear, far, far away? That's me.

BUT. BUT! Bad things always happen in nasty little clumps. Like hair in the bathtub drain. So next week will be better, dammit.

Jenny? Thinking of you, mama. And you asked how I got so skinny? Jackson is sucking the life outta me. And you have yet to see my accordion belly. Definiton, per Vicki Iovine:

"...the skin on your belly will fold down like a little accordion when you bend over at the waist. I suppose, on a dare, I could get away with wearing a two-piece bathing suit, but I would have to stay standing at attention to pull it off. I swear, you could throw a ten-carat diamond at my feet and I would not bend over to pick it up, because it would show the world my 'pleats.'"

Amen, Vicki.