This post brought to you by: Booze in my breakfast cereal.

Well. It's 8:06 am and I have had a most wonderful start to my day/continued day from yesterday- seeing as nobody got to sleep- thank you Eleanore's new tooth. We awoke to a chattering baby girl in her crib and an aroma resonating in through our nostrils and out through our ears. At first I thought it might have been my breath. Then I glared at Neil because surely it was HIS. Nope. It all registered in my brain too quickly.

Eleanore pooped the crib, then did some artwork. The little blessing from Heavenly Heaven who I love and adore and forgive and cherish from her piggy tails to her poop caked feet. If you could see the grin plastered across my face, you'd know how much I mean it.

The angel of reek.

Now I'm not going to be one of those parents who claims that the Virgin Mary appeared in the baby's poop-art but I'm telling you- it might have been the last supper (Get it? OH so FUNNY. No it wasn't. Sorry). No it was just the regular poop smears. Don't tell Neil, but so far she's no Picasso. Bev Doolittle maybe.... but not Picasso.

I'm delirious. I didn't sleep. It's not my fault that I am making vague-puns. I have acid reflux, too. I'm all out of rolaids. I woke up to a poopchild. I'm falling apart! Don't leave me.