Apples (but no oranges)

Sometimes, when things look like they just sneaked into the toilet, hopped into the actual toilet bowl, reached out, and tried to flush themselves into the deepest and darkest of the sewers of Mexico City (and any sewer of Mexico City must be a frightening thing indeed), it's probably best not to dwell, lest one be completely covered in excrement, and turn around and find some prettier, sunshiny crap to stare at.

So we decided not to dwell on Babe's continuing saturation issues, the incredible severity of her central apnea, the staggering number of times we could have gotten up in the morning to find her dead in her crib, and the fact that we might be headed for an MRI to find out what's going on, and then still not be able to do anything about the state of things but hope she grows out of at least some of it. Because dwelling on all of that would mean that I'd might want to follow the aforementioned things and join them in the shitter, and, well, that would just be sad.

Little fairies weeping. Choking on fairy-dust snot.

So we did solids. For the first time ever.

Instead of finding kittens hanging on stuff on the internet, we went for apples.

Apple puree, in fact.

Mind you, not the easiest feat to produce from raw apples since Mexico City had earlier this morning decided to cut off the water supply, because, you know, no one of any importance (hrrmph, screw them, I too am special) would be in the city (granted, a city desperately running out of water and having serious issues replenishing the reservoirs) over Easter.

But thanks to the wonders that are our rented microwave, our shiny new blender, and some sparkling water, we managed.

Drumroll, please.

The end result to make you stop dwelling on shit too:

Apples! And a spoon! Frikken awesome!

Ugh. The paparazzi. And while I'm stuffing my face too...