Other forms of proof include nipples so raw my bra feels like sand paper, being so busy with my baby's bodily functions I have seriously neglected updating friends with pictures, and waking up to Scott wrinkling his nose and saying, "you smell. did you shower yesterday?"
No. No folks, I did not shower yesterday. Although the smell was likely due to the fact that I was wearing the same socks I put on two days ago. Scott's socks actually because I had been too busy to wash my own. But I wasn't about to tell him that.
I had intended to post a couple pictures to satisfy the masses, but then Janie pooped.
[I can't believe it has come to this, I'm kind of a prude when it comes to bathroom topics, but since becoming a mother this sort of thing seems extremely important.]
And when Janie poops she gets upset. Not when her tummy hurts beforehand, but after it has left her body. She is so traumatized by the few minutes between it exiting and me scooping her up to change her that she thinks she needs to be held for at least an hour following the ordeal.
At first I thought this was strange, she is a baby— she poops. But then I thought about the fact that it takes me around an hour to frost a batch of cupcakes because I feel the need to wash my hands each time frosting gets on me. I don't do sticky and apparently neither does my Jane.
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