I woulda had a doozie of a photo for you today--a real gem of a shot that showed Finn fast asleep while on the potty, his head propped up on the toilet paper holder with Puppy Baby as a cushioning pillow--had I not killed the camera.
Well, actually, it was Shea's leaky bottle that squirted out all its milky goodness into the basin of my purse, saturating a number of important items, but none that will be missed so acutely as the digital camera.
I'm all twitchy about it, like a smoker aware with every cell and fiber that his/her cigarette supply has just run dry. John's doing his best to conduct emergency repairs but I fear the worst.
I shoulda never put the bottle in my purse, yes. I coulda saved myself a lot of hassle if I only had eight arms to carry the babies/toys/bottles/purses/backpacks/etc. that I seem to have attached to me at any given point of day or night.
Add to this latest inconvenience the fact that Shea's cutting three teeth at once and running a fever, making this week four of tending to sick children. (We went from an ear infection and conjunctivitis for Finn, to conjunctivitis for Shea, to conjunctivitis for Shea again, to fever and tonsilitis for Finn, and now this mystery ailment for Shea that I'm insisting is "just teething" because I don't know if I can stomach one more trip to the pediatrician and pharmacist.)
Sour grapes make bad whine.
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