When Zane was born the refrain sounded, "he looks Just. Like. His father." He still does look a lot like PG, and that is a good thing; PG is smokin' hot. As he gets older, though, he is starting to look like me, too (finally...)
I'm now a morning person. It happened when Zane was born, and my attention to my new son was required at every hour - not just after 10:00am. Even so, I still cannot make an 8:00am meeting. It's not for lack of trying, because I have tried everything. As I drove to the Capitol this morning, I figured out why. Stress. Every day I use a breast pump to express mother's milk so that Zane will be properly nourished while in daycare. This is not an easy task: Challenge #1 : find 20-30 uninterrupted minutes - twice - during a Session day. Challenge #2 : find an empty room in the Capitol with both an electrical outlet and a door that closes and locks Challenge #3 : hope that the availability of the empty room coincides with the 20-30 uninterrupted minutes - twice Challenge #4 : try to relax as the breast pump screams " WHACK-o ," and lobbyists are knocking on said locked door, so that the milk will "let down" and the pumping session will yield at LEAST 3 ounces....
It's time to lighten the mood in this joint. It is Friday, after all, and who wants to ride ickiness into the weekend? Not me. So, here are two brand-spankin'-new photos of my boys. It's too bad they really don't like each other very much. PG - 43 years, Zane - 17 months Nice try, but no. We are not cutting Zane's hair. EVER.
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