Oh my.

I'm still here.  It's agony to post.  It's just agony.  Why?  Well, because I don't want to be honest.  Mainly because I won't do anything justice.  This makes no sense.  So, I'm going to freestyle a bit.

As always, I think MckDaddy is an unbelievable douchebag.  PC = POS.

I spent the last few weeks so anxious to the point of weeping, not eating, yelling, calling doctors, subjecting Eleanor to tests, and more, because I had created an illness for her in my mind.  I realize that's insane.  And according to everyone who knows us, the pediatrician, and bloodtests, she's completely fine.  No worries, therapy's in the works.  But, it's been a rough few weeks.  You know with the serious, legit, neurotic, PTS-related, psychotic breakdown and all.

Eleanor is in bed right now talking to her imaginary friends about her favorite things--"Grandmother."  Well, she does have two first rate real grandmothers--a GeeGee and a Mimi.  But, "Grandmother" is neither of them.  She is a mythical person who has a house far away.  Eleanor and Osho and Giglu spend a lot of time preparing to go to "Grandmother's."

Josephine is replying by incessant talk of "Maggich."  That's baby-speak for "Magic."  I love the word "Magic."  So, when I hear little Jo talking about "Maggich," it knocks my socks right off.

Umm, I know I mentioned this, but I'm a psycho.  Like, treating it.  Dealing.  Ok 70% of the time.  But having aftershocks of loss and fear of losing more at the most random times.

Oh yeah, Eleanor turned three.  I know I mentioned that weeks ago.  But, all my neuroses aside, the news is in on her and it's all good.  She's almost 28 lbs (17th percentile) and is just over 3 feet tall!  Growing, styling, sassing, ploofing.  Pixie-perfect for life.

Jo will be 18 months in two days.  Bam.  One and a half.  She whines every so often (for hours on end), and she throws things in the tub, and she flips her high chair, and she even throws the occasional tantrum.  But.  Is she not the most lovable creature in the history of creatures?