I’ve been pretty obsessive about documenting Amelia’s first days in this crazy mixed up world, although you’d probably not know it by looking at my blog. See, I always feel badly that the pictures are going to make my page load slowly although I don’t know if this is the case.
Either way, I’m going to start a Flicker account just like you crazy kids all have. My user name is MommyWantsVodka and here is the link. Then you can see just how badly I suck at taking pictures.
But I was just looking back to see if I’d taken any pictures of her third eyeball and it looks as though, nope, I didn’t. Probably a good thing since looking at it would make me weep openly. Hormonal, yes. Scary, also yes. My father, for those of you blessed to be my Facebook friend and be subjected to my status updates there (the only thing I’ve really done there. Which is stupid because it’s just like Twitter. Which I also have. Which, yeah.) posted one of the least flattering pictures of me that, well, I think might exist. You could see Amelia’s third eyeball there, but you’d probably not notice it because you’d be transfixed by the gigantic unkempt whale in the background.
I strong-armed him into removing it, thankfully, lest The Internet not find me sexy.
I may not have a picture of her third eyeball, but I do have this:
Oh, and this:
And this, which I warn you in all seriousness is pretty disturbing (it’s taken from far away, lest you all vomit onto your keyboard and send me the bill:
Yeah. I expected something a third that size and when the Asshole Nurse Practitioner (no really, that’s her name.) thoughtfully ripped the hat-shaped bandage from my poor daughter’s head, I nearly horked all over us all. Which, after she ripped out Amelia’s hair painfully, I probably should have. Bitch.
So, I suppose it’s a good thing that I’ve always thought scars were pretty neat. Because that one? HUGEMONGEOUS. You can’t probably tell from the angle which was deliberate, but it takes up most of the back of her head. It’s so foul looking that I spent our first night home crying over it.
Why yes, I am hormonal. My zit-covered face is pulsing proof!
Let’s just hope like hell that she never goes bald. Or if she does, she’s going to have to come up with one hell of a “this one time I was in a bar fight when I was like a month old. I cut a bitch!” story to regale people with. Or, I guess she could tell the truth. It’s a little scarier.