Lately I've been drowning under a swamp of 3 million-something photographs, gasping for air.  If I don't resurface for another two or three days, please keep watch for my SOS signal.  I'm dealing with two years worth of photos documented under obscure file names like "TheOneWithTheTree.Doc," all of them just waiting to be duly processed, organized, edited, uploaded, printed, and then arranged in a semi-cohesive manner which will hopefully involve a photo album so Isaac can pretend he has memories of being one and two, respectively.  Although I'm beginning to think dumping them into a shoebox is a superb option at this point.  

. . . It was then, sadly, that she realized she would never find her way back to Kansas.  Motherhood had taken her down a one-way street to The Land of The Deranged, where she was doomed to sit in her pajamas all day and debate how to narrow down 3 million photographs of her only child based on some kind of slip-shod criteria: 1) In which photo is he cutest?  (How does one decide this?)  2) If both, in which photo is he smiling best?  3) If neither, in which photo is he cleanest?  4) If neither, which photo will bring back his happiest childhood memories?  5) If neither (he's two, he won't remember any of this), take out a second mortgage and print both.  And by "both" I really mean fifty photographs of a slow-motion play-by-play of Isaac slowly walking over to the sofa, climbing onto the sofa, sitting on the sofa, sitting on the sofa, sitting on the sofa, falling asleep on the sofa - you get the picture. 

Help!  My mommy's losing it!

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