I Lied. It's Not the Birth Story. But Good Pictures Instead.

So, I didn't finish the Birth STOR-EE, but I can explain. I deleted the whole. dang. thang.

WHA???

I know, I know. PHILISTINE! It just wasn't working for me. I contribute it to the fact that I'm having to write it on the stupid desktop computer. I can't think at this thing. Location, location, location! It's in a converted garage room. It's Monk's makeshift office. It's cold, messy and at any given moment one of the cats can decide to use the uh...ahem....facilities. If you get my drift.

Cat stink is not conducive to exhilarating story telling. I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, one day last week I took pictures while lounging about my bed just to show y'all what a fine specimen of a family I have. And to appease any angst y'all might have against me for not posting the birth story yet.

For your viewing pleasure AND as a temporary peace offering.

Fat Otis who regularly takes up residence at the foot of my bed. Or anywhere else he can fit his fat behind. And that can hold 25 pounds of cat lard.















My sweet Charlie (aka Charlie Anne, Charlotte or Chuck - which STILL makes me giggle!)



















Only the prettiest, sweetest strawberry blond south of the Mason-Dixon. Oh, and Giselle. We mustn't forget Giselle.














Me in all of my makeup-less, bad hair glory. Ain't I a peach now. Also proof to the powers that be (aka- the midwife) that yes, I stayed in bed (but I thought about Target a WHOLE lot).














Can't get much cuter than these two now can ya? We are gonna be BEATING the boys off of these girls. And Monk WILL do that! Or kill them with bad jokes. Not sure which is worse. Personally, I'd take the beating.














Hope just lovin' on her "Ba-ba". She is a very protective big sister. Until she decides she's had enough and then she ditches the baby with reckless abandon.














And my personal favorite. Daddy gettin' a little drunk on baby. If you gotta have an addiction - baby lovin' is the way to go. I am, however, fighting the urge to draw on his head.















I would say I promise that I'll crank that birth story out tomorrow, but I would be lying. When I get the itch to write I may have a baby attached to me. Or Monk may be attached to his laptop. Or the cat may have just fouled the garage room. Or Monk may have just fouled the garage room.

There are just too many variables to make those kinds of promises, y'all. That and I'm gettin' my tail kicked by an almost two week old. Whoever said the older you get the less sleep you need, lied. Big time. That or they never had a baby at 39.

I will begin again afresh tomorrow and keep you all updated. I've probably hyped it all WAY too much and when I finally get the STOR-EE on here there will be a major coup because you all feel gypped and then you will boycott my blog and shun me forever.

Not that I've thought about it or anything. I'm just sayin'.