Henry likes to take baths. He doesn't like to get out of the bath or have lotion slathered all over or have his diaper changed or sleep through the night or sleep for more than 3 consecutive hours. But he likes to take a bath.
I will not be answering questions about the pink towel. Pink is the new black, isn't it? So it's as if I'm drying him off with a gender-appropriate totally masculine black towel, that doesn't have anything sissy like a purple butterfly hood, right?
This picture may not fill your heart with joy, but it does mine. My ankles are no longer swollen. Hooray! This is a small victory, which I am choosing to focus on rather than on the fact that I weigh only slightly less than I weighed immediately before delivering Grace. (Please have the courtesy to ignore the quiet sobbing in the background.)
I made the picture black and white because I wanted it to be difficult to discern how dreadfully pasty I am and how sad the state of my current toenail polish is. (The polish has been on my outsides longer than Henry. Time for a pedicure? I think so.)