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It’s 5:00p.m. Saturday afternoon, and the fun and festivities have concluded.  The mess is cleaned up and now we are left with a two-year-old who has found his giant cluster of balloons and is running up and down the hallway squealing with them trailing in his wake.  Wait–now he’s angry and whining as I type.  The balloons have wrapped themselves around his ankle and he’s “duck”(stuck).  Dad rescued him and took the balloons away for fear Pierce would hurt himself.  Pierce cried harder at the loss of his lofty new friends, so dad was going to give him just a couple to play with.  Next thing I see is the whole bouquet of them flying down the hall again.  Guess is was too much work to get a scissors. Much easier to risk a broken neck!  Frankly, I’m not worried…

Mikey is in our bed once again fighting a hugely bloated stomach and constipation still in spite of a suppository, apples, milk of mag., and any other number of things that we thought would urge things along.  Truthfully, I think he could go, but he’s afraid it will hurt, so if doesn’t’ willingly fall out of him upon seating himself on the toilet, he pulls his pants up and exits the  bathroom holding his lower abdomen.  Can I tell you how freakin’ tired I am of bowel issues?  It’s like we are trying to potty train him again.  God help us all—he is so stubborn.

The party was a fun gathering of friends, family and food.  Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves which is always the hostess’ concern.  I’m tired though, and glad that it is Saturday so that we have tomorrow to decompress (and poop, hopefully.)

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