Blueberry, you win. I thought I could beat you and your wicked hormonal weapons, but I am powerless. I thought I would eat yesterday, but you said "Uh, uh! Only 3/4 of a Pedialyte popsicle for you, Mama! Ha!" I thought I would be able to keep up with all the outside spring chores, but you said, "Sit down, or you'll be sorry!" I thought I would see Joey's birthday dinner of pizza and cake (two of my absolute faves) and revel in some food-loving bliss, but instead, at your bidding, I turned the other way and had a sip of watered down apple juice.
You win. I surrender. I love you anyway.