Switched at Birth

I'm not sure I brought home the right baby. Here's my reasoning:

1. Eleanor is really beautiful. We have strangers stop us to say, "Wow. You're daughter's really beautiful. I say that all the time, but this time I really mean it." That kind of beauty certainly wasn't inherited. On a good day I look like Stephanie Weir and the Husband, although handsome, has been likened to Napoleon Dynamite.

2. She was born normal size. The Hubs and I were both born GIGANTIC weighing almost 9 pounds. I was 23" long!! That's pretty much 2 feet! Eleanor is petite in comparison.

3. This one will really drive it home. Eleanor doesn't find farting in the least bit funny. And I'm not just saying she doesn't bust out laughing when the Hubs rips one. No, she vehemently hates breaking the wind. It's toot toot WAIL around here. Every single blip outta that girl's backside triggers waterworks. And it doesn't end there; she hates farting so much she uses it to punctuate her frustration at other things. For example, if she has a hard time latching while nursing she'll cry and fart simultaneously. Tummy time? Not a favorite... we roll her over and she instantly loses it -- tears and toots.

I'm telling ya... a pretty petite princess couldn't have come from this shallow gene pool. It's just not possible. I'm betting there's a family of tofu and rice cake eating, non-gas passing super models out there wondering where their baby went. I got her, folks and I'm not trading back!!