Shh, shh. Let's not talk about any further unpleasantness. Let's all just cross our fingers and hope that things continue in their current state, which is fine. And dead. As in, the scalp in question is fine, and all the unpleasantness that we are NOT TALKING ABOUT are dead. I think, should this blogging thing not work out, that I may have found my calling as an Obsessive Scalp Comber. I am ruthless and thorough. I am the Nit Whisperer. I am...talking about the thing I JUST SAID I didn't want to talk about anymore.
Let's change the subject.
I was pregnant, AS YOU MAY RECALL AS I THINK I MENTIONED IT ONCE OR TWICE OR A BAJILLION TIMES, and I went ahead and signed up for a shoot in October, knowing in my head that there would be five of us. That there would be a baby there. And that baby would be four months old.
Basically, an eternity and a half away.
And then suddenly. BOOM. October.
BOOM. Five of us.
Five means there's always going to be someone acting like a goofball...
Someone who's found something to be unsure about...
Or be completely unimpressed with the entire proceedings.
And there's definitely going to be someone who's infinitely more photogenic than you could ever hope to be.
More than one someones, probably.
But sometimes the cats are successfully herded...
...or close enough, anyway.
What matters is: FIVE. There are five. And it's picture perfect.
(Thank you, Wendy, for photographing us.)