watching the pumpkin grow up

When I first announced that I was moving to manhattan, no one bothered to inform me that moving to New York is akin to winning a lottery. I don't mean this in the You've Just Won a BAJILLION Dollars sense of things, but rather in the There's Not a Snowflakes Chance in Hell that you're "moving" in the time frame you'd like to believe missy.

"Moving" has instead translated to living indefinitely with the aunt, the uncle, and their 5 off-spring. Fortunately for me, I adore them. Unfortunately for them, they've inherited child #6. Working in their favor is the fact that at least I am the child that calls when I say I'm going to call, goes to bed (ALL BY MYSELF), and pokes fun at The Uncle for the benefit of The Aunt. I've also mastered the art of baby-feeding which really, is no small feat when you consider that this baby likes to spit food back out projectile-style whenever she's decided that she's done with her supper. Because in the world of Jackie, who could possibly have time for eating when there is so much kicking and stretching to do? Mealtimes are a battle, especially when we try to feed her anything other than ice cream and liquid rainbows. All that being said, I wouldn't trade these last few months for anything. Mostly because there are days that are totally shite, and then I come home to this: