God, isn't BlogHer just the worst? First, we all bore our readers with ZOMG I'M GOING TO BLOGHER posts. Then we go to BlogHer and don't post anything because we're so busy and crazy or can't get on the hotel wifi or are basically, just drunk as shit the whole time.
Then we come home and don't post anything because we're so tired out from BlogHer. Or if we do post anything, it's all, "ZOMG I'M SO TIRED FROM BLOGHER." And then followed by some random crappy photos we took with our phone that don't make any sense because you totally had to be there and stuff.
Ugh. I hate when bloggers do that.
This is a photo I took of my roommate taking a photo of the leftover room service cart full of half-eaten breakfast items that we pushed in of Jason Mayo and TwoBusy's room across the hall from ours. Because. I don't know. WE HAD TO.
The morning after Sparklecorn. Still covered in eye makeup, glitter, unicorn tattoos and a vague sense that I embarassed myself and future generations in a wide variety of ways, the least of which was climbing on a table and taking a bite of the four-foot-tall unicorn cake's ass.
And I have absolutely no explanation for this one, except that it is one of like, 17 different blurry versions that I took. So clearly, whatever is happening here was important at the time.
So basically, nine-plus weeks of newborn-baby-related sleep deprivation (on top of however many weeks of pregnancy-related sleep deprivation), followed by two nights in a row of partying until 2:30 am local time (AKA 5:30 am your time, you stupid dumbass), all squished together with two cross-country flights in the span of 48 hours, then back home to the non-sleeping-through-the-night baby and minus any naps....carry the one....divide by the square root of the weight of all the swag you abandoned in your hotel room to make room for your electric breast pump...and...
Yeah. I'm pretty beat. I can kinda see through space and time right now.
It fell out on Friday. Jason managed to stall on the tooth fairy thing until I got home so I could do it, which, in retrospect was not all that's cracked up to be, once you c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y slide your arm under the pillow and feel around for this tiny, practically hollow tooth and c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y remove it and then c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y put a ridiculous amount of hard-earned cash in its place...only to suddenly get really, REALLY grossed out by the nub of a tooth you're now holding in your hand that your husband is all, "DON'T THROW IT OUT, WE NEED TO SAVE THAT" and you then look around you at your life and realize that holy shit, there are like, 200 of these stupid things that are going to fall out and require you to touch them and then pay money for the privilege of doing so in your future.
But still. I was awfully sorry to miss this one.
(NOTE: Usually, this is the sort of photo I would crop to make sure none of y'all saw the giant bag of trash hanging out in the recyling bin in the back corner there, but since this was taken on Jason's watch I feel okay leaving in there. Even though I have been home since Saturday night and it is, in fact, still there. LAY OFF ME I'M TIRED.)
(NOTE NOTE: Jason took them both for haircuts while I was away, thus ending our summer of ragamuffin-where-is-that-child's-MOTHER-style chic.)
(NOTE NOTE NOTE: Today is our 13th wedding anniversary. Here, sweetie, I got you some kids.)