Someday, when Marlo is all Goth, I will have only myself to blame.
She is currently being soothed to sleep by the sweet sweet sounds of "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush" as rendered by the dying batteries of her swing. It sounds like a horror movie in here.
Adding to the terror ambiance is the half head of hair strewn festively about my pillow this morning. I can just hear the rumblings amongst the guests of the wedding I'm in next month, as they try to figure out who the chesty bald bridesmaid is - a long lost cousin, perhaps? Fun, I'll be an enigma! Not that I would ever be so self absorbed as to distract from the bride. Remind me.
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