The myth of the perfect baby

Well, it's that time of year again, the holiday season.  Yay.  I love the holidays (note the massive sarcasm there).  I don't look forward to them, in fact I can't wait until they are over.  I can't stand the fact that they are all about how much money you can spend, especially considering I never have any.  As always I get to start this season off with a fucking bang.  My dog had puppies about 2 weeks ago (12 days to be exact) and as much as I KNOW I'm a terrible pet owner for not having them fixed yet, shit happens and now I have to suck it up and deal with it. Seven of them, and the best thing I can say is that at least she didn't have them in the middle of the night and all of them lived. Moving on, holidays starting with a bang, but not that it matters because no one ever comes here anyway so I could have a zillion puppies and no one would know about it.  I'm not sure why exactly, I guess I give off a "don't come to my house" kind

I'm what they call a "kitchen witch", meaning I keep most of my witchy supplies in my kitchen.  I do keep a rubbermaid type box of some supplies in my bedroom though, with a few special items that don't normally go in a kitchen, like bags of stones and crystals, my altar cloth and my tarot decks.  My dumb huge dog knocked the box over a few days ago and I had just pushed it back into it's spot and threw the lid back on loose thinking I'd put it right next time I thought about it.  That was this morning.  One thing I keep in there, and I'm not sure why, is a memory box I was given when I was discharged from the hospital in 2004.  That box contains what little I have of MacKenzie Zane, my lost angel.  He was born extremely premature, just shy of what the hospital he was delivered at considered viable. My water broke, and although it was a long and excruciating labor and it is a very long and painful story to tell, I can not tell it now.  Needless to say, I