I am recovering. I am post up. I am following my Dr's orders and taking it easy.
I am not myself.
I gave up. I am not up to par. My momma is taking advantage of that fact. I have stitches holding my ever so perfect tushy together.... and that woman put a onsie on me. A ONSIE! Really!
A striped one. How appropriate. I feel like a prisoner. And horizontal stripes at that?
Where is Fashion Police when you need them?
And while I am convalescing, or at least trying to... I become aware of momma and the dang flashy box.
Seriously woman? Seriously? Going to heap that abuse on top of the onsie indignity????
Stop telling me that it is better than the cone of shame.
Ever hear of autonomy? I should be able to scratch my own itches.
I cannot believe that you are taking my picture!
Listen... right now... I don't like you. You get that?
I am just going to ignore you. No kisses, no snuggles and my belly is off limit to you.