Maybe I should back up and start at the beginning.
I was planning on writing about the Olympics. I told you in my last post that I LOVE the Olympics. I decided to write about them after the official Closing Ceremonies, partly because I wanted to recap the full two weeks in all their glory and partly because I wouldn't have time to write about it before I danced my ass off at Caroline and Will's wedding.
![]() |
The Wedding. (Photo courtesy of Catty Amos. Photographer unknown, but definitely not whoever Catty and Sarah think the photographer may be.) |
So, I was all ready for the Olympics post. I was going to talk about how awesome Missy Franklin is, how horrible the poolside interview questions were, how I think I could've been the greatest rhythmic gymnast of all time, and, of course, the Spice Girls reunion.
That was the plan for Monday. I was going to catch up on sleep Sunday night, and write a rivoting gold-medal-worthy post after work on Monday evening.
Then, this happened:
Then, this happened:
That's right, y'all. Good thing we already had the Jell-O shot baby shower, because Charles Sawyer Sullivan Thomson decided he was ready to make his entrance into the world. Actually, it wasn't his decision, his placenta decided to fight back against my sister (or something like that. Pretty sure that's the first and hopefully only time I'll use the term placenta on my blog).