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:
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:
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.