Torture

With a doctor's appointment looming, I have no idea why I keep staring at this photo. I'm starving for a bowl. Maybe I'm just studying for the test that will be sure to follow. Maybe it's that tiny piece of fiber in the upper left corner which I most likely ate. It was good.

And, on a completely unrelated note, check out this kid.

My Baby Juggernaut, recently devoid of original sin and a devil tail, wearing his momma's heels. I love this kid. I adore his momma. I adore the fact that she doesn't make a big deal that he loves to wear her heels and his sister's tutu cause, for realsies, it's not a big deal. If Shiloh can do it, then The Boy can do it too. He wears heels better than me. He's so awesome and has the sweetest nature. After getting a talking to, he usually asks me, "Are you mad at me, Margie." Heart.Breaking. "Of course not, kid. Just please, please stop annoying those poor kittens.


I never saw such annoyed kittens. I'm totally picking this kid to take care of me when I'm older over his sister. I changed his diapers and he should change mine. Word.