Tonight we’ve laughed at form-fitting baby pants (red and white stripes from the girl’s section, but aren’t all babies built the same?) and a gate jumping cat. We’ve made jokes about the NoseFrida and post-pregnancy bodily shenanigans. We’ve laughed at ourselves, and we’ve laughed despite ourselves. I’m thankful for laughter. We need it. And it seems to find us.
For the record, H loves Jack. And “Pop Goes the Weasel” is now a favorite tune.