Baby Legs: A Photo Essay

There are many things I won’t miss about this first year of parenthood. Obviously, the lack of sleep. Acid reflux. RSV. Trimming 30 microscopic fingernails each week. The time Bran somehow pooped on his own shoulders.

But there is far more that I will miss dearly. Finn’s never-ending giggle. The euphoric shriek Jem unleashes when he gets really excited about life. Bran’s beautiful curls and simian grunts. And the baby legs. Sometimes I think that if I had just given birth to six baby legs I would be equally proud. I love the Flintstone feet, the curdled thighs and the toes that are always pointed, like an elephant ballerina.

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The Way We Were, and Are, and Will Always Be

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Me and Matt celebrating our anniversary like the wild and swinging free birds we aren’t

What did we do this weekend?

Oh, you know. On Friday after work we met friends for a couple pints of mixology and a basket of amuse bouches, then we all went out for dinner and dancing at the city’s hottest new gastroclub, where we laughed and pointed finger guns at each other until the sun came up. And then a magical limousine drove us across the clouds to our homes, where we fell asleep on beds made from the plumage of glorious birds.

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