Just as soon as I hit “publish” on the last post I wrote, it all went to pot. I read that post now and snortle—it’s a half chuckle, half snort—because isn’t life just funny and bitchy like that?

Scout started teething, at least that’s what I labeled it. To this day, no teeth have arrived, but I needed something to blame so badly, I decided it was that. She woke up one morning wildly clingy then never slept again. At least that’s what it felt like. I would have connected the dots and realized that I was experiencing the desperation new parents always talk about, the desperation I had miraculously evaded for almost eight months, but I was too busy eating my hair.

And then Trent won his third case competition in a row and things got really dicey. And by dicey, I mean I was over the moon with both pride and jealousy simultaneously. I was so happy for him I could spit … in his shoes or hair or on his pillow, because screw him for getting to talk to adults and use his brain and feel good about his accomplishments, ya know?

Paging Monica, my best good friend— she took off work and flew herself in for a whole week’s worth of rescue. We got pedicures and went to movies and saw a few sites in DC. We ate out too much and snuggled on an air mattress and planned out the books we’re going to read together next year. We went to church and listened to a talk on gratitude and how you have to experience the bad in order to be thankful for the good. And we both said “screw that” and went on venting, because that’s what friends are for—that and holding your hair while you eat it. Is that a thing? It should be.


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