Squirt is still with us. He’s consistently below five pounds now and his legs collapse every couple of steps. But he’s still eating and getting where he needs to go with no signs of pain. He can’t get in and out of the litter box very well, but puppy piddle pads (brand is called lil squirts!!) are working just fine.
Last night I was lying in bed scrolling through my phone when I came across this.
Unfortunate timing, since I had approximately 2.5 hours left of being 34. I figured I should take stock of my current sexiness, seeing as how it was soon going to vanish like Cinderella’s flaky Godmother (why only give her until midnight? If you’ve got the power to make her life better just do it forever. Geez).
Dear Yai Yai,
I didn’t get a chance to write this on your actual birthday because I was sick. Doesn’t that just bookend nicely with your birthday last year? No? Too soon? Yeah, I thought so too.
I had planned a lovely birthday post for/about Lorelei today, but instead I got Mastitis.
Have you ever had Mastitis? If so,
My relationship status with nostalgia apps like Timehop and Facebook’s On This Day is, “it’s complicated.”
I’ve spent a considerable amount of time thinking about all the ways I was disappointed in both of my experiences giving birth. I had been forming a post about it, yet again. Then I woke up and realized today is my best friend’s daughter’s fourth birthday, and reflected on that instead.