When Farts Became Cute

As a testimony to his healthy bodily functions, my infant son packs one hell of a fart. His tiny buns amplify the flatulent exit and I am in constant shock and awe at the punches packed down there. Today, in the quiet solitude of our bonding, he ripped one so powerful we both jumped. After checking to make sure there wasn't a fire or smoke down there, I burst out laughing while he stared at me poker-faced like nothing happened. When in the arms of strangers, a toot evokes a look of concern and a sudden passing of child back to parent. Having recently been schooled in the art of distinguishing between harmless and dangerous farts, I am amused by this exchange. Eyes immediately scan ones garment for evidence of pooting debris. Thankfully, as of this date, no one has been stained and I have yet to receive a dry cleaning bill.

The freakin' temperatures have finally dropped in our fair city and it looks like the 90+ days of heat are a thing of the past for now. Willem and I went for a walk this afternoon. I was so in to the weather that I walked 30 minutes in one direction and had to walk it back. An hour walk is no big deal to most and there was a time when it wasn't a big deal to me either but I had worn the wrong shoes, still have C-section suture issues, and had forgotten to bring water. Upon collapsing inside my front door, I realized I have a long way to go to get back to my normal, energetic self. Onward through the fog.

I got an email from a girlfriend the other day asking who my pedi was. I emailed her back with comments, info and a link to the spa where I get my pedicures done. She emailed in return saying that I needed to get with the "mommie program" and give her Willem's pediatrician contact info, not pedicure info. She basically stated that my monthly pedicure days are over except for VERY special occasions. I choked back tears as I painted my toes myself.

This is a hotel pool in Corpus Christi sans water in natural light.