Oh excuse me, that’s my amniotic fluid

In the grand scheme of that whole giving-birth-to-a-child business, I have to say that I ruled that process with as much obsessive controlling behavior as I do most other things in my life. Did I wait around wondering at what moment Gavin would decide to make his entrance into the world? No. Did I want to get stuck in traffic on I-40 during the rush hour commute while pretending to know how to do Lamaze? No. Did my doctor let me schedule induced labor 2 weeks before the actual due date? Hell yes. When it comes to obgyn-ing, he rules.

An extensive study of my hair being a bitch

Let me start out by saying what a nasty case of the sads I have about this subject. Normally, my hair brings me nothing but bland feelings of indifference. Some days my feelings are certainly shaded with frustration and longing for more volume as my hair sits limply on my head, just being limp…limply being stupid and lackluster and stupid and dull and slightly frazzled on the ends and maybe completely neglected by me other than by my neurotic thoughts and my vicious purchase/return cycle of hair products at Sephora. But mostly my feelings about it are bland.

At least they were.