Sunny loves to watch me do my makeup and often wants to try it out for himself, by which I mean eat it. He is nine months old, after all. He also wants to eat my makeup wipes.
Sorry, darling, but that is not going to happen.

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Sunny loves to watch me do my makeup and often wants to try it out for himself, by which I mean eat it. He is nine months old, after all. He also wants to eat my makeup wipes.
Sorry, darling, but that is not going to happen.
Sunny is very nearly walking unsupported.
Sunny is making beautiful music.
And by that, of course, I mean he is banging a wooden spoon on a collection of metal pots and yell-babble-singing “Babababa”.
True artistry.
I’m going to put Sunny to bed.
I sing new songs to Sunny everyday, or at least try to think of new ones (though there have definitely been repeats).
Today’s hits are “Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree” and Beyoncé’s “Hold Up”.
Sunny, like the sun, has gone to bed.
(He paused in his performance of his magnum opus to offer me a winning smile with all two of his teeth and informed me, “Mama bab!” I think that was a dedication. This concert is done in my honor and I am truly touched.)
Q: Where have you been?
A: Postpartum depression.