Yesterday was my 28th birthday. Over the last few weeks friends and family have asked how we planned to celebrate. I responded with one long blank stare.....
Nurse my baby every two hours? Try to combat her stubborn diaper rash? Comfort her while she's dealing with her first tummy bug? Do any of those things count? No? Oh, well then I've got nothing. It was made brutally clear to me yesterday just how selfless we become as parents. I would have loved to get my nails done, eat lunch with friends, work out, and end the night with a moscow mule in hand. Instead, I painted my own toes on the back porch during nap time, pushed the stroller to the park and sipped hot tea like a grannie before going to bed at 9:30.
But don't cry for me, Argentina. We did manage to go out for sushi as a family which was delightful, and after putting Liv down, caught up on a few Breaking Bad episodes. I am obsessed with that show and will be so sad when it's over in a few weeks.
In other news: my guy's handlebar stache. I'll give you a minute to let the awesomeness soak in.
He's in a mustache growing competition at work and the winner is announced today. If he doesn't come out on top, the system is badly flawed.
And what post would be complete without a naked baby?
Would you look at that belly? I know. My ovaries are twitching too.
I can almost smell the weekend from here. It's a sweet aroma, consisting of an extra set of hands and ample amounts of wine for this mama.