In lieu of the Advice Smackdown, I present the Greatest Parenting Lesson Ever Learned:
Driving to Pennsylvania in the pouring rain with a husband, a seven-week-old baby, a slightly broken rat dog and a huge-ass cat may make you momentarily ponder abandoning one or more of them at the next rest stop, and this doesn't make you a bad person, it just means you're human, at least that's what I'm telling myself.
So I'm visiting family this week, because THE NON-STOP PARADE OF FAMILY THAT HAS MARCHED THROUGH MY HOUSE THE PAST TWO MONTHS OR SO HAS NOT BEEN ENOUGH TO FULLY DRIVE ME OUT OF MY MIND. OH NO, NOT AT ALL.
(The caps lock, she is stubborn on this computer, this computer with DIAL. UP. DIIIIAAALLL UPPPP. I almost wish there was a super-caps-lock button I could hit to make that point even larger and cappier.)
On the bright side, though, we're with family members determined to document Noah's every blessed breath, so I have a lot of pictures. No, A LOT.
OMIGOD, HE'S SMILING! AGAIN! WHERE'S THE CAMERA!
(Four different relatives go skittering off in four different directions to grab four different cameras.)
In which I ruin another priceless photo with my need to not have the child covered in spit-up.
In which I ruin yet another photo with my exhausted, eye-baggy presence.
If you take four hundred million family portraits, your son is bound to smack you in the face in at least a dozen of them.
In which I've learned my lesson about the face-smacking, but it is all for naught, for the baby, he has had quite enough.
Ceiba's all, "Hey, last Thanksgiving, I was the star. Am still a star! Am the biggest star of them all! Am ready for my close-up! HA HA HA!"
Max thinks y'all are stupid, and he is leaving.
Noah thinks y'all are weird, and he is pooping.
The family resemblence is shocking, no?