It seems I'm suffering from that age old problem of writer's block. Well, actually, it's not that old. Only three weeks but when it cries, it likes to hang out with and on me for hours on end. Which in turn, blocks me from getting to the computer. See, I still haven't mastered that one-handed typing thing so how can I drink coffee, nurse and type at the same time? Proof positive that I've never been good at multi-tasking.
Hubster was slightly offended the other day when I referred to this newest bundle of joy as "The Leech" but at this point in her life, the name fits. Granted, she's the cutest leech I've ever seen and if doctors way-back-when had wanted to put her on my wounds to suck out the bad blood, I would have let them. Who can resist a leech with beautiful eyes and a wobbly neck that causes their head to flip flop all over your collar bones, only to finally find a safe perch right up under your chin, letting you be transported by the good smells of Mustela and baby spit up. Bliss, I tell you. Sheer bliss.
Nicknames run strong in our house so I'm going to have to be careful that "The Leech" doesn't stick. (Yes, dear readers, even sleep deprived, I can still knock out the puns. My uncle Steve should be so proud.)
Regardless, The Princess has asked to be promoted from a princess to a queen now that the little sister is here. Yes, she's decided that she is now the queen, Whoops is the princess, Mini-Husband is the king, Bubba-Love is the prince, and I'm to be the Queen Mother. She hasn't decided what Hubster is to be but all my suggestions of court jester or page-boy seem to be falling on deaf ears.
I just hope Grand-dad doesn't get wind of all this monarchy stuff. I'm not sure he's a big fan of the royalty he's got in England, I can't imagine what he'd have to say about this French branch.