Been wanting to be here for a while now. I have. But I've been a bit busy. Just ask my boobs and the dust MOUNDS that have overtaken e v e r y t h i n g. Ask my solid food eating children who can count the number of homemade meals that I've cooked for them on one hand. The place is a wreck I tell you! And only one person is to blame: The Milkman
Having a baby around is fucking wild. It's a straight up trip and a half, I tell you. And maybe it's my age, or my planetary alignment or (and this is where I'd put my money, people) or that this particular baby is just that good, but this time, I'm cool as a goddamned cucumber about all of it.
The laundry alone could kill a man. Fugeddabout the dishes, the toilets the aforementioned dust problem... but I don't care! I have a baby! And he is as sweeeeeet as the condensed milk at the bottom of my coffee glass.
Who knew? Not me, I'll certainly cop to that. I was terrified to have this baby and now I'm electrified.
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