Fast Food, health care and birthdays

As I'm writing this, I'm reveling in the fact that I'm horizontal and without a fourteen-pound peanut in my arms.  Don't get me wrong, I love snuggling with le bebe, but lately she's confounding and exhausting me by her insistence on eating on-the-go.  Rather than nurse while nestled comfortably on the boppy pillow, she's suddenly uncomfortable and unable to eat unless I am walking around the room with her.  Yes, that's right, I am officially a fast-food outlet.

Sorry if that's TMI, but sometimes a mom's gotta vent.

It's a good thing she's so dang cute.  Here she is sporting her first pair of jeans:

And here she is reading about the new health-care bill that, while full of holes thanks to back-room bickering, looks like it may arrive, tattered and torn, on Obama's desk for a signature sometime soon:

Ok, honestly, the camera is much more interesting than this political junk:

Also, yesterday was Armando's birthday, and while he doesn't like to make a big fuss over it, we all know the inflated importance I place on holidays, birthdays, and celebrations of any make, kind or model.  So here we are, about to dive into Armando's birthday cake (incidentally, this may be the only photo I have of the three of us):

Lovely.  Just lovely.  It looks like we're about to toss the baby on the count of three.  Ah well.  At least we're both showered and Armando is dressed in something other than pajamas.