Zach and I made the decision on Monday that it was time to let Squirt go. Everyone kept saying that I would just know, as though Squirt look at me with his big blue eyes and silently communicate his desire to leave whatever pain he was in behind.
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.
There was a cup of water in my hallway.
I stepped over it several times before I realized I should probably pick it up. Once more, before I gathered the motivation.
My SEO monitor is going to bitch at me for such a short title. But really, what more is there to say?
Rowan has hand foot and mouth disease. And being Rowan, he doesn’t have it just a little, he is absolutely covered in blisters. Face, arms, hands, butt, legs, feet. He’s been out of daycare all week, and I am so freaking over it.
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).
