Dress Up Day: Desperation

Because both of our moms live over three hours north, I took pictures of the Wren Bird Bump during the last two weeks.  

Most people would take a picture a week and show a lovely progress of growth as the wee one develops.  

Not me!  

No way!  

I make certain that I'm so silent and out of touch during the first 38 weeks, by the time one actually receives the pictures, she is absolutely shocked and celebrates even though she just received fourteen photos where I look. exactly. the. same.  

I'm not certain if the famine makes one appreciate the feast or if gluttony makes one appreciate asceticism, but I'm pretty confident in the process.

These last few weeks were probably some of most difficult of my life to get dressed.
I felt like I finally understood the allure of the saggy bottom sweatpants, stained wifebeater and exposed midriff rolls so popular at so many southern Indiana gas stations. 

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Something was wrong with my iPhoto editor here - somehow no matter how much I "enhanced" the flyaways remained, no mascara appeared, and I was still wearing the ten year old sweatshirt.  But I'm still learning how to use the program.

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Somehow the costume jewelry remnants of my church attire merged into the best the Colts have looked all season.

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