Have I mentioned that grief makes you a whack job? Here is a list, in no particular order, of some the things which have occurred to me may be the cause of Ramona’s birth defect:

1. I microwave leftovers in their tupperware, leaching toxins into my food.

2. I keep the seat in my car too far forward. Not sure what the danger would be, but being so close to the engine can’t be good, right?

3. My pants are too tight.

4. Maybe I swallow an abnormally large amount of toothpaste when I brush, giving myself chromosome-mutating flouride poisoning.

5. I take too many hot baths and have cooked my genetic material.

6. I ate beef jerky and diet soda together (road trip). I read somewhere that this combination turns into some kind of Love Canal slurry in your stomach, which I believe.

And don’t worry, I know logically I did nothing to cause Ramona’s condition. I think it’s just wild the lengths to which our minds will go so that the world make sense. And if it was any of these things, so be it. You can see from today’s picture that she’s quite pleased with herself and, although I wish she weren’t sick, I’m pleased with her too.

Jane.

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