We have the dreaded diaper rash. I know this is because of my failure to pump an adequate amount for the Junior Miss and the addition of the evil formula to her diet. It really sucks. She's only getting 2-4 ozs of formula a day, but that addition coincided with the peanut butter stools and butt rash. And yes, I just blogged about poop, wanna make something of it?

We also had our first familial mix up about picking up and dropping off. Luckily it was discovered before we got a chance to abandon our beloved at day care. I, of course, did the mature thing and yelled at Bill. And he did the mature thing and made fun of me. And then I made him find a solution, which he did, I guess, even though it means I change my schedule. (Which is not really a solution, so much as a different plan, but it works and means she won't be at A's (Day Care provider) for 12 hours on Monday while we fish and talk to Democrats respectively.

AND lest I forget, Junior Miss had her first real interaction with the Momo yesterday when she pulled his hair. He seemed not to mind, and just sat next to us, barking at Bill when he tried to get closer. Which makes me think that maybe Mo's new trick, wanting to stay outside under the porch after his nightly pee, may be, as suggested by a co-worker, a protective thing. As opposed to a dumb dog thing.

And finally, we have Bunkhouse guests, D from Italy and his girlfriend A, and they are amazed by Junior Miss. A is a former nanny who gave Bill some advice on dressing babies for cool nights while they enjoyed beers and breastmilk on the porch while I was at a board meeting last night. And D., well he just carried her around like a football all evening. She likes his accent I think, because she googles at him like crazy. (He is good looking too, so that might be it.)