September 23-28

So, my big blogging comeback was short-lived, as you can see. Luckily, I very wisely didn’t call this blog 3 Photos A Day, so I can maintain the delusional-but-effective view that this was all totally envisioned and accounted for from the beginning. Why not 3 photos a week? 3 photos every-seven-to-ten-days-or-so? Such versatility. Bravo, self. Bravo.

With that, join me in a TIME-TRAVELING ADVENTURE  to the last week of that fair month, September:

My entourage.

Back in Ye Oldene Days of September, it wasn’t 45 degrees like it is now, but we were evidently preparing Conor well for the impending cold by brushing up on our jacket-wearing skills.  Since Chris needed the car to drive my mom back to the airport later that morning, I was kindly chauffeured to work by my entourage above, after which time Mom took Conor to the Happiest Place on Earth, aka Target. Evidently Conor sat peacefully in the cart the entire time. I am simultaneously awestruck and envious of her ninjalike baby-whispering skills.

Following my mom’s departure, it was time for Chris and I to take our budding genius to the doctor for his 12-month checkup:

Baby Einstein.

After showing off his ability to fling nearly every piece of medical equipment from the exam room tables, karate chop the nurse’s foot, and munch on the bulb to a blood pressure cuff, Conor was pronounced healthy and developmentally on track, despite the above photographic evidence that would suggest otherwise.

I guess we know where he gets it:


Yep, that would be my shirt, inside out, the following morning. Fortunately I discovered this BEFORE actually getting out of my car and entering the building.  I’m a smart cookie.


September 22nd

I don’t know how it all came together, but it did.

3 hours of sleep + early morning trip to airport to pick up Mom + multiple failed attempts to paint dinosaurs on treat bags + last-minute photo selection and printing care of Target’s 1-hour photo + dinosaur cake decorating =….success?

The birthday boy wants none of that camera nonsense.

Sooo….my dino cake looked maybe 15% like a dinosaur, and the rest maybe 5% squirrel, 5% armadillo and 75% amorphous blob with sprinkles added for good measure. Presentation of baked goods has never been my strong suit. Deliciousness, yes. Prettiness, no.

I should also add that this feat would never have been possible without (a) my mom, frosting chef and decor expert extraordinaire, and (b) Chris, who became the treat bag/photo collage/run-to-the-store-multiple-times-in-a-panic guru without even complaining. To my delight, Mom also was an expert Conor-wrangler:

Grandma-baby bonding.

Thank goodness.

Also, let me just say that my midnight-to-3a.m. posterboard-cutting skills are truly unrivaled:


Looking at all those baby photos made me uncharacteristically weepy. Good thing there was way too much sugar on hand to power me through.

September 21st

I admit it seems a little ridiculous to be posting about September 21st on October 2nd. In my defense, Conor’s teething has turned him into a Barnacle Extroadinaire, meaning that when I attempt to get up early to post he uncannily wakes up about 5 minutes later, ready to snuggle. Cute, but unproductive.

I’ve considered just pretending September 21st through October 1st never happened, but that would be a waste of Instagram. So here you are:

‘Bou hoo.

I promise I have more interesting photos in store than the above of my Friday breakfast, so-captioned because at that time I had done exactly zero work on Conor’s party (the next day) due to  my vertiginousness (probably not a word) of the week. Friday morning was the first one where I could actually walk in a straight line without feeling like I was going to vomit, hence my Caribou Victory Breakfast.

After work we headed out to a yummy dinner at Benihana to celebrate my friend Laura’s birthday. Note the lack of photos. This was because in between bites of food, the entire dinner was spent:

  • Preventing Conor from crawling atop the searing hot cook surface in the center of our table.
  • Preventing Conor from grabbing the chef’s knives.
  • Preventing Conor from crawling into the restaurant kitchen.
  • Preventing Conor from running wild all over the restaurant.

Conclusion: Conor and restaurants should not get together again for a while.

Post-dinner, I finally got my party prep act together at…….you guessed it…….Party City, which I should just rename the Overpriced Balloon Store:

Where’s Waldo?

I think Party City was invented for people like me who wait until the 11th hour to do any semblance of party planning, and then charges you your soul to pay for it all. In my head and on Pinterest I had carefully planned an adorable dinosaur party, complete with handmade hats, cake, and a personalized outfit for the birthday boy himself. The reality? Party City Dino section. Oh wells.

In between debating the merits of metallic versus matte dinosaur paper plates, I attempted to wrangle a Not Sleepy Conor:

Up to no good.

I think he tried to eat one of the flags, as well as several balloons. Baby + party store is almost as bad as baby + restaurant.

After crying ALL THE WAY HOME, he finally fell asleep. And I finally headed out to do more party shopping. I managed to do the following between midnight and 2:30 a.m.:  finish shopping (thank you, 24-hour stores), bake a cake, make giant letters spelling “CONOR” out of posterboard, do some more laundry, and drink my weight in Diet Coke. The end!