I am having a serious bout of writer’s block y’all.  It’s not that I don’t have things to write about.  I suppose I could discuss my daily tweets to Obama, or the Selena party I attended, or even the never ending battle with Truman’s snot.  I just don’t FEEEEEEEEEL like writing.  ::pouts::

You know what else is bothering me? I can’t find a dadgum pair of jeans in this whole entire godforsaken city that will fit my rotund ass!  I have tried several stores, and I thought I had finally scored at American Eagle of all places (where I, in an ever continuing effort to be  as awkward as possible, called the 18-year-old salesgirl ma’am). But alas, they turned out to be too big. SHOCKED FACE.   I will still wear them because the world is already well acquainted with my butt crack and I don’t mind looking like a just took a huge dump in my pants.  I just can’t wear maternity jeans for the rest of my life y’all, even if they are super nice skinny ones from the Gap.  Maybe if I start calling them jeggings, I will be okay with it.  WHO I AM I KIDDING?  I HATE THE WORD JEGGINGS.

Crazy first world problems.  I am done with this post.  I am all riled up now.  Here are some pictures of my son looking adorbs.  BTW, it is totally his fault that I need new jeans in the first place.  He is worth it, I GUESS.

nom nom cat tail.

nom nom rattle

I have been soothed now.  This kid’s picture is like a balm for my grouchy soul.

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