There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable...

So I'm just sat there, staring at her. She looks nothing like me, but I know for a fact that she's mine, because I spent a seething 30 hours in excruciating pain giving birth to her. My eyes turn to her little legs, then her feet. Such adorable little feet! Wait.... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.... Oh my goodness my baby only has 5 toes! I'm in hysterics, I panic, beads of sweat begin to weep its way to the surface of my nose. My heart is racing, thoughts of the soul destroying bullying that she could be subjected to one day raced through my mind. What sort of vegan man shoes would she have no choice but to wear? How is she going to squeeze all those toes into any beautiful, hand-crafted, Italian leather heels?! Then all of a sudden, it came to me. Having 5 toes is normal. Anything more or less than the amount she has, isn't. God, I must be the most brainless fool to be put on this earth. I blame the baby. I firmly stand by the common belief that giving birth makes you slightly hare-brained. 


What if she doesn't look like me? Big deal. She has my fiery temperament, my determination to get what I want, my demanding ways, my audaciousness, my charming personality (Ha. Ha). I love her all the same, she's mine after all, despite looking as if my husband could've asexually produced her himself. 


I actually have the most offensive looking patch of eczema behind my ear. It's sort of angry looking, flaky, and weepy at times. I'm not quite sure what to do with it, it's just sort of there, and it makes damn well sure that I'm aware of its existence. You know when you have this itch that you're dying to scratch, but you know that you shouldn't, but when you do, you feel so bad about it, but it feels so euphorically pleasing? That, but applied in another predicament, is how I'm feeling about desserts right now. The husband and I have this thing where we simply have to  have a dessert to end the night after the baby has gone to sleep. By contrast, it's like our peace (or piece, excuse the pun) of heaven after the hectic day of hell. I simply have to refrain from doing so now, as I'm trying to shed some weight, but when I do give in to guilty pleasures, I'm wracked with guilt, and it undoubtedly ruins the rest of the evening for me. Defeats the object of our "peace of heaven". Shame really, as my Matcha powder arrived today - whoopeee! Later on, I'm going to make green tea cupcakes and perhaps just, "not eat them" *sniggers*