Holy crap! It's been well over a week since I've blogged. And might I mention that it's been exactly a week since our new addition made its appearance –thoughtfully allowing his family (yes, it's a he) to watch Thursday night shows before turning our little world upside-down.

You can dread and you can cower, but you cannot hide: this is both the beauty and the horror of the living.

We now have a Herr Meow and a Don Meow. Much agonizing has gone into the second child's nickname (okay, not that much but a little), but in the same way that German conveys a measure of cool efficiency, driving performance, and minor puckishness, so the Spanish Don reflects a certain amount of flair and Zorroesque bravado.

Also, it's monosyllabic and foreign and it's better than referring to them as, say, Little Meows one and two, which would be a deeply unoriginal cop-out, non?
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I need to tell you about my labor. Let's rephrase that: I have the deep urge to write about my labor, and your eyeballs may or may not want to read about it. Let's just say for now that our Don Meow came into the world faster than I thought, and that it's been a hormonal, weepy, happy, delighted whirlwind of a week that I cannot believe has only been a singular one week.

It feels like ages, and yet life hasn't changed much. But it has changed everything.