Wasted Day

Hello Everyone,
Today was my second-to-last expander appointment. After waiting three hours in the Breast Care Center waiting room I finally go in to get expanded and am told that the scab, the very same scab I described in detail in my last post, threatened to fall off too early if I was expanded and they had to let me go without the procedure! I was so irritated. I am now off the schedule in my mind of when this is all over by a week. I guess their logic was that if they expanded my skin, the stretching would affect the scab and if it fell off to early my nipple could get infected? Be disfigured (more disfigured)? I don't know. I am so bugged. Then I get a slap in the face about feeling sorry for myself because when I go out to make an appointment to make up for the one I missed today, there is a man at the counter next to me. And this man, whose poor wife looks like she is so lost, scared, and confused, is telling the lady at the breast care center counter that they have been waiting seven (!) hours to see a doctor, that they haven't even had lunch. And the lady at the counter keeps telling him that there is a room opening up soon and he says, in that very assertive stressed voice one has when they have had it up to their eyeballs in waiting, that they don't need a room. They just need to discuss the 'diagnosis' and then you know right then the 'diagnosis' isn't good. Then I quickly start feeling sorry for myself again because I realize I have no cash in my wallet and I left my ATM card in my diaper bag. So, no ATM, no cash and I have to trek seven blocks to the nearest BofA so I can pay to get my car out of the overpriced parking garage I stupidly parked in because it only takes cash. Every twenty minutes is $2 and I am going at snails pace up because I wore uncomfortable shoes and am afraid to turn my ankle on the sketchy steep streets of San Francisco. The bank was across the street from the salon where Hannah works, so I got to say a quick hello. Maybe because I was so bugged at not being expanded, not having any money, having to walk many blocks in uncomfortable shoes, but when I walked in to that salon with all those people getting their hair done with my super short, barely there hair, I just wanted to laugh-- hysterically laugh--like a crazy lady. I just thought it was all so preposterous. These woman paying all this money to get their hair done and I walk in, with no hair at all--not even enough to get styled and I felt just with my presence, without even saying anything, I was mocking them. And I wasn't, but I felt like I was, so I wanted to. But, I didn't. I was nice. But I left quickly. Hannah's hair looked good though. Hannah has good hair. It's always good to see Hannah.
Ok, enough of my whiny complaining.
Here's something nice to end on.

Guess who sat up by herself for the first time yesterday? Oh yes, Miss Sadie Wren Moors.



Me, Nina, Amara and Sadie went to a singalong event at a play place in Novato--Safari something or other. It was fun. Sadie was entranced.
Here she is again, doing her new little sitting up trick.



After that, Nina and I speed shopped up at the mall. Sadie did well (phew! She needs to be make friends with shopping if we are to have a good mother daughter relationship. It's not mandatory, but it will sure help). Here she is in a good mood in her stroller.



Speaking of shopping. Anyone watch the Simpsons? Well, then this one is for you courtesy of Hannah, Nina and Amara.



Love,
Rosalie

Weekend Packed

Hi Everyone,
No cancer news to report. Now that I type that, I guess I could tell you all about my new obsession which is the scab on my left nipple. Sorry, no pictures. People from work read this blog otherwise I would divulge all. I have no care what perfect (ly wonderful) strangers see, but my everyday people, that's probably not a good idea. My right nipple is doing just fine because they didn't excavate my right breast as much as my left because my left had the tumor which means the nipple came out of surgery far more worse off. There is this scab covering the entire surface and I want it off, really, really bad. I can't stop looking at it, which is pretty embarrassing when I realize I am taking a peek at fairly inopportune moments. I can tell it wants to come off really, really bad too, but it's being held on by this underlying layer of, let's see, how to explain this stuff... well, it's called fibrin (I asked the nurse), and it's gross. Besides the layer of gooey fibrin underneath, the outer perimeter is being held on by my stitches. It looks like a bad patch job on a pair of worn jeans.

On Saturday it was my dad's fifty-ninth birthday, so we headed over to his house for a day of swimming and hanging out with the babies. The pool at our house had been broken for over a week (well the pump that cleans it was broken) and my poor dad, who tends to err on the cheap side when it comes to home improvement types of things (there has been a hole in our living room ceiling for almost ten years because he tried to fix the upstairs shower plumbing himself and still hasn't finished the job and won't hire a professional to end the torture for him) had been suffering through the entire hot week without his after work dip and I was afraid the pump would be broken the entire summer. These last few days have been record breaking hot and thankfully right when I couldn't take it anymore, he called to say it was fixed. Here's little Sadie enjoying her first swimming pool dip.


Yes, I brought Frida too and she was fixated on a tennis ball floating right next to me. That's my dad in the background. He's thinking I should just hurry up already and dump the baby in the pool, but I was taking it slow and canoodling her in to it. She wasn't too excited at first, but after awhile totally enjoyed herself.

So, back to my scab. The water did not help it to slough off and instead created more goo and dried out the surface even more so it's even uglier (how many people have I turned off with this post so far I wonder). I'm dying to know what's underneath. Please please I hope my nipple returns to normal, or at least matches the right.
Okay, enough of scabs, stitches and fibrin and on to something else. Nothing better to erase that image than a bunch of babies!



On Sunday Hannah convinced me to attend Nina and Dan's birth class reunion at a couple's home in Bolinas. The class was run by Susan Bradford who was a doula partner with my mom. My mom also taught these same types of classes. She used to teach them from our living room when I was a teenager. There was nothing like coming home with my boyfriend to a room full off pregnant couples all snickering when we would mumble our hellos and sneak off upstairs. Lots of, 'be careful or you'll end up like us...Ha Ha'. Just the sound of all the couples practicing their moaning was just the kind of birth control every teenager needs.

Obviously I wanted to go to a class like my mom taught, but learning I had cancer at the beginning of my eight month sort of derailed all birth plans I had. Susan came to our house two days before I was induced for a private birth class and I am so thankful for that. Unfortunately, my birth was such a fiasco most of what she taught me was never utilized. Nina however had an awesome natural childbirth. She went to Susan's class and above are all the babies. Hannah had attended too because she is also a doula and wanted to hear what Susan had to teach. So left to right you have my baby Sadie just barely being held up by some cushions, Amara (not cousin Amara, another Amara--total coincidence), Sunya, Lorelei, Amara and Gianni (I think that's the right spelling. He was the only boy and so cute!). Lorelei is the daughter of Hannah's friend (and a friend of the family overall) Susanna who also lived with us on The Farm.
Here they are again, but Sadie has succumbed to gravity. I tell you this sitting up thing really sets the five month olds apart from the nine month olds.



It was a great day all together. The weather was perfect. After we ate food and watched the babies play...which we are doing here..



... we all packed up our gear and headed down to the beach. If anyone remembers my last post about going to the beach (which you can read here), you will recall it didn't end up so great. This time, it was a lot better. It was pretty funny because what I left out of my previous post was that we had run in to Michelle and Jonathan (the couple whose hosted the birth class reunion) on the beach that same day and Hannah told them I was freaking out about the sun and bringing Sadie on such a hot day and Michelle came over to me with great concern and offered me their umbrella. I was so embarrassed. So yesterday she also made sure that she brought her umbrella and that we had plenty of shade. I am a little bit of a freak about the sun. Sadie is just so fair. However, once again I forgot my camera at the house so I have no pictures. Oh well.

So, a great Saturday with family, a great Sunday with new friends and family and now today Hannah is coming over so I can buy some more plants and do a bit of gardening (the other obsession besides my scab is my garden) while she watches Sadie--though not sure how smart that is today when there is so much smoke in the air from all the wildfires here in northern California....that's all I need. To worry about lung cancer too.
Love,
Rosalie

Sadie and Frida Part Two

Hi All,
Just for fun, here's Sadie and her 'new sounds'.
Love,
Rosalie

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

Greg and Sadie

Me and my Dad

Greg and Sadie Sleeping

My dad, me and Hannah sleeping


My Dad and Sadie a few months ago.


My dad and my sisters.


Yes, Nina is not wearing underwear. Yes, I am only wearing underwear. Yes, that is a1940s firetruck my dad restored and added a makeshift cab to so we could travel from The Farm where we lived in Tennessee (which still exists and you can learn about here) to California for my Aunt Robin's wedding in 1979. And yes, we were total hippies.

Happy Father's day!!

"Stop Complaining, You Just Beat Cancer".

Yes, those words were spoken to me, by my ever supportive and usually understanding husband. I guess he was exasperated by my frequent whining and worry. He professed afterwards, he was kidding--trying to jolt me out of the doldrums with some tough love. But really, was he? And it's not that I was mad when he uttered that sentence, because honestly, I get it. Really. What right do I have to complain? I just beat cancer. I should be celebrating. I should be ecstatic. I am a cancer survivor, not victim. But, this is not the case. All I do is think about when it will come back. My latest obsession is wanting to know my cancer future the same way I go online to moviespoiler.com to read the endings of movies before I see them. I am doing this by looking at my family lineage. Here it all is and please forgive the ramble, but this is how I think and therefore how I write:

So my mom had the BRCA gene and died and her mom also died of breast cancer. So for a long time, I was thinking that the gene was transferred down from my mom through her mom. But her mom's mom, my great grandmother, my Nana, did not die of any type of cancer at all and I don't think Nana's mom who I never met, my great-great grandmother, Pauline, died of cancer either. As I recall, Nana (her name was Adele by the way) died from old age and possible Alzheimer's disease, which was no less sad because her last years were spent in a nursing home in Greenbrae which my mom often took us to visit, which was really hard for us, because as young girls it was a smelly depressing place and our little self centered brains really couldn't absorb the situation, which was our Nana, sitting all day, just sitting, alone in a room to die. Ugh. This is especially hard to think about because Greg and I just spent an hour on this hot sunny day lounging in bed with the fan on turbo blast going through old photos, I think to try and find Sadie among our relatives, and I found this old World War II pamphlet I saved when my Aunt Robin was selling her house in Larkspur and getting rid of a bunch of old photos and stuff. It was all about 'the fight on the home front' where my Nana, the same one in the nursing home, was commended for her work for the soldiers overseas and for being a wonderful mom, wife and grandmother too. And there was this photo of her, at 47, with her hair all done up and a buttoned up navy housedress, so fastidious and productive. There was no way her and my great grandfather Emil ever lounged about on a Tuesday afternoon in bed looking at old photos, I am fairly sure...



But I am seriously digressing.
The point is, I realized this gene, this BRCA1 (or is it 2? I must make an appointment with the genetic counselor) gene was NOT passed down through my mom maternal side and here's why: though my grandmother (mom's mom--her name is Patricia, by the way), died of metastasized breast cancer, it didn't affect the same organs. I think it went to her brian and her lungs, but not her pancreas or her liver like my mom. The other day, when my cousin Anne was here she recalled out loud how my grandmother's hands were always covered in shellac. She was way Martha Stewart before Martha was even alive. She was always doing projects or crafts--covering things with spray paint, shellac, varnishing old furniture and painting, glueing, glittering and embellishing with beads, doodads and rhinestones. And these were in the days when there was no such thing as Cancer Warning labels. I bet she never wore a face mask once when spraying that stuff around. I also remember her always on a diet, drinking shakes involving fake sugars and chemicals. Which isn't to say I just figured out how my grandmother got cancer--but it's food for thought. Here's me talking to my grandmother while on vacation in the Bahamas. I love the look she is giving me. It's almost like she is saying, 'Dear, you know you will be dealing with cancer too in twenty years'. Notice the wig she is wearing? It's strange looking at this photo. Her cancer was of no interest to me at this time. A disease of the aged. Ha! If I had known then I would be in the same position one day, maybe I would have been paying more attention to what she was going through. That's Hannah in the background by the way....



So, I look towards my mom's father's side. My grandpa David. He had a sister. A sister Sarah. Sarah worked for Elizabeth Arden at one of those department stores in the city--like Gumps or Saks. Anyway, she also played the piano like me and took me to the symphony a lot. I remember her well. While going through the old photos, I found ONE photo of her and this one photo I feel obligated to post even though it's not really a photo of her, but of me and my Aunt Robin after one of Nina's ballet recitals. We are giving the camera attitude. That's my Aunt Sarah scratching her nose in the yellow sweater. That's her brother, my grandpa David in the far left corner in the brown suit just barely in the photo..



The point is, she got breast cancer, young. And she beat it. Even then, she beat it. And then, in her seventies (which seems really old to me by the way), she got pancreatic cancer and that's what killed her. So then my mom, her niece, also gets breast cancer, young--say 38--and she beats it. And then later, when my mom is 53, cancer comes back. But it's not breast cancer, it's pancreatic cancer (my oncologist is pretty sure) and this is what killed her. So then there is me. I get breast cancer, young. I am 34. And I beat it. I am cured. And then? And then WHAT?! I just got my breast removed probably for no reason because it isn't breast cancer that gets us. It's pancreatic cancer and I don't think there is any way they can remove my pancreas in avoidance of this fact. So, do I have 30 or so more years like my Aunt Sarah, which would be GREAT! Or is this like some sort of cruel time sucker and as the gene gets inherited down the family line, it kills earlier and earlier. My mom had twelve years after she beat breast cancer, do I have 8? So I die like when I am 44? And Sadie is 8 years old?! This is why I cannot celebrate. I am stuck in this vicious cycle of when and why. So I am complaining. A lot. My biggest complaint is Greg and how he takes care of himself. I mean, he's got 19 years on me. If he dies like at the regular old age of say 74 that means Sadie is only twenty years old and she just lost her dad. That sucks. I know. When you lose a parent young like that, your whole life changes. But if she not only loses her dad, but her mom is gone too? Well then, you have a recipe for crying, which is what I do. A lot. And even though I know my sisters would be here for her, and her brother Jeff and her uncle Dan and cousin Amara, and all my girlfriends, NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING can replace a parent. I know this. I lost my mom at 26 and I know this. To lose one any earlier is horrifying to think about. To lose both is incomprehensible. I feel irresponsible for having her. Like I have set her up for a world of sadness and she is only five months old. This is a waste of my time. I know this, but still, I cannot stop.
So yesterday, on the advice of Hope, my oncologist, I go to see the psychiatrist on staff at the Breast Care Center in the city to talk about these issues... and it's a total waste of my time. First of all, and I am not tooting my own horn here, I was more eloquent with my words than this woman (who was perfectly nice by the way). To get an opinion or thought out was painful for her and I often completed her own sentences. Secondly, she is really there to help the people clinically depressed from dealing with their diagnosis and treatment. She asked me if I was thinking of hurting myself and/or had ever been committed to the hospital for psychological issues. If she wasn't prescribing Prozac, then there really was no reason for me to be there, which is fine because I am not confused by why I am sad or worried or complaining. As you can tell, I am really in touch with my fears and concerns. And I don't lie around being depressed all day either. In fact, all I want to be is productive and do things like gardening and the dishes and replacing our dishes that have chips in them (which I did, online this morning on Crate and Barrel--they will be here Monday), and finding new pillows for our new sofa, and a new dining table with leaves and that extends because our house is so small we need all the room we can get (which I did, through Craigs List and Greg picked it up the other day, and it's really ugly...sigh), and organizing Sadie's dresser drawers by size and taking Frida on walks and paying the bills and doing the laundry and picking roses and putting them in vases and on and on. This is not the actions of a depressed woman, right?!
The only thing she did say was maybe I had 'survivor's guilt'. I guess this could be the case too. Every time I am at the breast cancer center, I am aware that there are people sitting right next to me whose tumors are not shrinking. Chemotherapy is not working on them and the doctors have no other tricks up their sleeves. After my first round of chemo, my tumor shrunk 2 cm and it kept on going until it was completely gone. The doctors were so impressed with me and themselves. So, really, I should stop complaining, I just beat breast cancer and there are others who are not. So maybe this new fear, this unknown, this pancreatic cancer fear, is just my way of not allowing myself to celebrate because I feel guilty about surviving. I don't know. I don't know anything. That's the problem.
Love,
Rosalie

Petunia Face--UPDATE!

Hi All,
Petunia face has a new address
http://www.petuniafacedgirl.blogspot.com/
Thanks,
Rosalie


Hi All,
For those who found my blog through Petunia Face, or who now read Petunia Face because of my blog, please know that my poor friend Susannah accidently deleted her blog and is trying desperately to get it back up.
Oy!
Stay tuned, I will post any new news.
Love,
Rosalie
ps: Can you spot Frida in this photo? Nope, she's not keeping a watchful eye on Sadie, she's keeping a watchful eye on that Zoey toddler who is holding a cookie! I can't wait until Sadie is wobbling around dropping morsels of food and/or Frida is snatching snacks from Sadie's hands. Well, actually, I can wait...

Two down, Three to Go

Hi All,
Had my second expander appointment. Was basically the same as last time, except my plastic surgeon showed more of a personality (he's sort of shy). Greg got him going by asking lots of questions about liposuction and facelifts. Not quite sure my husband was actually asking because he is genuinely interested for himself...I didn't think our age difference has affected him that much. Either way, it was nice to see the doctor smile for once. Here's Greg goofing off with the silicone implants.



The nurse brought it in to show me the difference between the expander contraption I currently have under my skin and the actual implant. Because I have been so uncomfortable with the expander, it made me wonder how the implant was going to be any better. I mean a foreign non-human object under my skin, no matter what it's made of can't feel that great, right? But as you can see, in shape and material, they are quite different so it's understandable that the silicone bag might just be a bit softer.



You can't tell from that photo, but the expander is made of really tough and slightly rough plastic material whereas the silicone implant is very malleable and if you close your eyes and feel it, you get how under skin, they feel like breasts. You can also see the port on the expander where they insert the needle to fill it up with saline. The nurse (Janet is her name by the way) also reminded me that I am just a month out of surgery and nothing placed under my skin would be that comfortable no matter how soft, pliable and squishy it was.
After they blew up my boobs (really, how else can I explain the procedure?), I got a visit from Laura, my breast surgeon, and learned, unfortunately, that I will not be able to truly play God with my body as previously thought. My plan was to go a bit smaller with the breasts. Give my shoulders a break, maybe start jogging without strapping them down with a thick layer of super spandex (just kidding, I will not be jogging), but because my breasts were so big to begin with, I have a 'large skin envelope'. This is their terminology. I would much rather they call my deflated breasts something else. And unless I want to have the Sharpei puppy look on my breasts, I sort of have to replace what was taken. In fact, my breasts were so big, I almost wasn't a candidate for the skin sparing surgery. This is because post-mastectomy, if my skin envelope (ugh) had been any bigger, the leftover blood supply wouldn't have been enough to nourish my skin and there was risk it would die. So gross. Really. My body is a science experiment.
After my appointments, and what seemed like hours, we finally left and I ran in to Pauline, my chemo nurse, in the hallway. I originally wrote about her here. She missed my very last chemo because she was in Europe visiting family and I was so upset. As you can imagine, you sort of bond with these people instantly. Life and death stuff really pulls people together. I feel like she is family.



Speaking of family, I had another awesome visit from cousin Judy today, and this time she brought her niece Anne, which means Anne is also a cousin, but please don't ask me to figure out exactly what kind. Actually while they were here today, I tried to get some clarity on how we are all related and sketched out a rudimentary family tree to try and keep track. For some reason, it's been a bit of an obsession of mine. Family. Maybe it's because I had a baby and I want her to know where she came from, who her people are, or maybe it's because I have been asked to look at my own mortality and all of a sudden family just seems really, really important. Anne lives in Greece and married a man older than her too, so we had lots to talk about (and Greg, when you read this, don't ask me what we talked about....because I'll just answer 'you, know, stuff').
Here's Judy and Anne with the baby, who by the way, was so perfect today. Not one little fussy moment at all.



Except, the girl will not pose for the camera. We really tried to get her smile captured, because it's so beautiful, but all we got was this.



and this..



..and she was smiling, she loves Judy, but for some reason, every time that camera flashed, it disappeared.
Oh well. In lieu of an all out smiling photo, here's one I took of her yesterday sitting in Greg's lap with a rose from our garden as big as her head and the exact same color as her shirt. She's got sort of a Mona Lisa smile going.



Love,
Rosalie

Update

Hi Everyone,
Even though I have nothing new to report, I have some family members who are loyal readers and that gives me the warm fuzzies, so here's an update on what I have been doing (for some reason I feel like I should only blog when I have something to report??).
First of all, Sadie has come in to her own. She is making all kinds of great cooing and gurgling noises and she started to laugh out loud. It has to be the best sound in the world. I want to bottle the sound and put it up to my ear all the time. All my problems melt away when I hear her laugh. Which means Sadie laughing is great timing because I still am getting the weepies, which usually hits me right around when I am trying to fall asleep, so Greg has to tell me everything is going to be all right over and over even though I have this weird pit in my stomach and my mind is racing with cancer woes and what ifs. My oncologist said maybe postpartum depression is just hitting me now--that chemo could have stopped some production of hormones I normally would have produced directly after giving birth, so in a way, the emotions are 'normal'. This knowledge doesn't make it any better.
In terms of my mastectomy, all is well. Sometimes I do feel like I am wearing a bra made of barb wire, but again, that wonderful Sadie distraction keeps me from dwelling on it. I don't need 24 hour help with her anymore and I can lift and hold her. Holding still hurts a bit, but again, it's not pain, it's a weird dull ache when anything touches my breasts--or what's left of them. Tomorrow I get 150 cc of saline injected into the expanders again. My neighbor Linda is watching the baby and told me and Greg to go see the new Indiana Jones movie after my appointment because she is just great like that. Before we had the baby, actually before we got Frida (first baby), I was a notorious opening night movie goer. Now, we are just movie renters so this is a big deal. Speaking of movie renters, someone at the local video store recommended that show Dexter to Greg when he was there and so we got all hooked and watched the first season in three back to back nights. For those who watch the show, you may agree with me that it just may be the reason I can't sleep at night. That show is creepy.
My hair is continuing its return. And here's the thing. I wasn't going to bring it up, but I might as well. I have never gotten so many compliments on how I look in my life. Seriously. My entire life. I am a post chemo, cancer fighting woman who just had a baby and everyone is telling me I look beautiful. I'm not bragging. I am stating a fact. So this is my theory. It's the hair. Before I had this big Chewbacca mane ...


Photo by my friend Dennis, the night before my first chemo when I was pregnant (duh). Poor Frida, she had no idea that big bump on my belly was going to take away the bulk of her walks and belly rubs. Poor Pup.

Anyway, maybe this wasn't the best look for me which is kind of a hard lump to swallow because it took me a long time to grow it that long and I guess I thought it looked good and I was always telling the lady who cuts my hair (Sloan at Cooper Alley) to just take the least amount off (and this is when I saw her, which was probably like two years ago--I rarely got my hair cut). This doesn't mean I am going to adopt the buzz cut look permanently. I mean, if my cancer had been diagnosed in my early twenties when I was obsessed with Ani Difranco, then maybe I would have been tempted, but I need me some locks to twirl or I'll go crazy with nothing to do with my hands during long meetings at work and watching TV! Here's Ani in the days I was obsessed with her (it was all I listened too).



Even she has grown out her hair...and had a baby girl too...and it looks like she lives in the woods with a gardening problem too.... and owns a blue boppy just like me....hmmm...



In other news I had some family visits recently which I really love.
My cousin Judy brought out lunch and hung out with me and Greg all afternoon. Here she is with little Sadie.



I also got a visit with my Aunt Robin (mom's younger sister), who may or may not be moving back up from LA (crossing fingers she does--and it would be nice if mom's older sister Karen would move from NY, but no pressure). Robin is great because she holds Sadie all day long and drops lots of baby sleeping advice on me. Here's Robin holding a sleeping Sadie (yes, that's Frida's butt in the upper left corner. Frida has not boundaries).



I also got a visit from my Aunt Sara, who also brought lunch to me and Nina and Hannah who were also visiting. We snapped some good photos of the babies. This one is my favorite because Amara looks like she is saying, 'Hey, what's up?', and Sadie looks like she saying, 'Hey, get that camera out of my face already'.



Then my friend Susannah came out and brought me lunch too (noticing a pattern here? Oh yes, being a recovering cancer patient has its small benefits) and didn't gross out too much when I started to peels scabs off my nipples right in front of her, though she did insist I stop. Remember, they cored out my entire breast so blood supply to my outer skin was seriously affected and the tissue on my nipples is dead and regenerating. My God it's taking a long time.

Today I actually ventured out and did some visiting myself, to my little sister Nina's school where she teaches fourth and fifth grade. She's such a teacher. Look at the whistle around her neck!



Hannah was there dropping Amara off after taking care of her all day so we had a little Watson sister reunion at Manor school.
Then Hannah and I were super bad and got burgers and onion rings and fries in Fairfax at M&G Burgers. And right in the middle of enjoying this delicious naughty meal, I check my blackberry and my friend Amber has sent me an email about my diet and how I should try a shake in the morning with bee pollen. Ah the irony. Oh well.
Here's Hannah and Sadie at M&G. So cute.



So then I came home and went on a walk with my neighbor Stacee and her family and our dogs (she has a baby daughter just five days younger than Sadie, little Parker Presley, and I also met another neighbor yesterday, Caroline, who has a baby, Chirese, who is six days older than Sadie--so little Sadie already has a little posse to play with and she doesn't even know it!).
And to finish this total ramble of all rambles, I ended the evening (so far) by watching the whole Obama triumph (which felt very historical) on TV with my politically addicted husband and neighbor Andy and his son Nadove who announced the state percentages over and over whenever they popped up on CNN while Frida and their dog Emma wrestled on the rug and Sadie cooed and drooled on my lap.
And that's a rap.
Love,
Rosalie