This peppy post is brought to you by the number 2 and the letter “T”…for Terrible.
Max is now a two-year-old, which means he spends 50% of the day disguised as an angry, bipolar, drunk man. Between that and the fact that Lucas is basically me in a tiny baby’s body (loud, moody, anxious), Kevin and I are running merely on coffee, wine, Titos and resentment.
Hudson – our chubby little cherub – just smiles through all the madness, God love him. He’s probably like “Sweet mother of Mary, how the hell did I end up with this bunch?”
I totally get why presidents age so fast while they’re in office. Running a nation’s military and running an army of baby boys is pretty much the same thing. Once we slowly begin to climb out of this sloppy mud pit I’m going to look like an old, toothless, meth addict.
Hopefully the Botox slows that process a bit. Thank you injectables – for making me appear rested and human.
My brain and my heart feel two completely different ways right now. My heart is so happy and full and content and my brain…well – if you cut open my skull and opened my head you would find a space containing no brain. You’ll just see this: