whipped

that's us. Whoopah. We'll do anything she wants.

Charles had kind of a frustrating Father's Day. We'd been hoping Olivia would be home by Father's Day, but no such luck. She was, however, breathing on her own, and beating her own heart and pumping her own blood and even eating from a bottle. She just doesn't get very far before she poops out and falls fast asleep. And when she's out, she's out for the count. There's nothing you can do to wake her up. We've tried. Her aunt Chris tried for two and a half hours straight the other day. To no avail. She's kind of stubborn, we're finding out.

They're saying she'll probably be there two or three more weeks, just regaining her stamina so she can eat enough to thrive. I'm kind of impatient, I'm finding out.

Charles walked in to the living room tonight to find me pumping milk while drinking a glass of milk. He thought it was ironic. I assure you, I was drinking cow's milk. With a straw, of course. But I'm glad he could see the humor of the situation. I think we'll make it.