So today I reach for a pair of shorts way in the back of a drawer and think to myself, “A perfect fit! I must be losing the baby fat!” Doug takes one look at the shorts and asks, “What do those say? ‘Baby?’” –and sure enough, there it was, in glittery cursive, etched smack across my butt.
Guess I’ll be holding onto the maternity fashions just a little bit longer…
For those of you who inquired where Eva got that curly head of hers, I present to you Exhibit A—her father, 1977.
The forecast? Those gorgeous locks will morph into a mullet sometime around 2025, and then she will shave it off completely.
Two years ago today, on my mother’s 58th birthday, she sat by my side in the delivery room while my first girl was born. Between contractions she took my hand and asked, “What are you complaining about? You’ve got this bed all to yourself with an entire medical team waiting on you hand and foot. I’m the one to feel sorry for. What a migraine!”
Happy birthday to the two ladies who drive me craziest: Eva and my mom.
