Dooce writes her monthly letters to Leta —she’s somewhere close to month sixty by this point—and they always make me think, how much is there to say ? I mean, really. Month after month. Sure there are the important milestones—they start walking, they learn to speak, they come home wasted for the first time—but between these big moments I figure there’s just a lot of the same thing over and over and over again. Well, we’ve had Teddy for a week today, and I realize that the real question is, what do I have to leave out? How much can I tell before I lose everyone’s interest except my own? All complicated further by the fact that my time comes in drips and drabs. Two minutes at a time, maybe five if I'm lucky, before I'm off to deal with another blown out diaper, or off to give a bit of love to the cats (who feel so neglected they've learned to ride bicycles and speak French just to catch our attention). And damn. I've been sitting here staring at the screen, burning dayli...