The myth of the perfect baby

Yeah, the title is a little misleading I guess for the post. Especially to those waiting around for an honorable mention here.  Is that cryptic?  Maybe.  But it is what it is. I'm selling my house.  A house I never thought I'd have to sell, the place that was my constant growing up, the place that contains most of my happy childhood memories, the place I could always call home when my parents couldn't keep the rent paid and we had to move houses....again.  This place that has turned into a poisonous vat of unhappiness that is my life now.  This place that would have ripped a family any less in love with each other than my own apart.  This place that now also harbors so much resentment for what should have been that I've begun to hate the very existense of its cloying stench.  Is this dramatic?  Sure, but what am I if not a dramatic attention seeking person that requires people to feel sorry for what I don't have?  Oh.....wait, that's ano...

I don't really. You can ask my husband and various and other assorted men throughout my life, but I don't suck them. I've been known to lick balls but yeah.  Anyway.  I have a lot of catching up to do. I know I do.  I don't know why exactly I didn't write in before now except that so much went on in the last year that I just didn't think most of it seemed plausible.  I know it seems like most of my blogs are fiction.  I wish they were, I really do.  But they're not. In February everyone in my house got the flu.  We all had fevers of over 100, Memphis got so sick he didn't eat for 6 days.  We still didn't have a car and I couldn't find any way to the doctor until he had been that sick for more than a week.  By then, the doctor didn't even want to see him and basically said if he hadn't died and hadn't had a seizure he was probably going to pull through.  So we kept him hydrated and that was that.  While that was going on, my mom ...