Fortunately, we outwitted the birthday Gods with a Saturday celebration with family. So, when Bridget started throwing up on Sunday, it was all good. You know, except for the part with all the puking.
I vacillate between loving this age (the talking, the cuddles, the baby fat rolly-polliness) and hating it (the tantrums, the tantrums, the tantrums).
I finally dusted off my camera for a few shots of this lady before she decides to go off to college or run for president. I'd apologize for the photo bomb but I don't feel like it. Bombs away!