Baby, I'm back

OK folks, let's try this again. Life is a little crazy, but I occasionally still have some thoughts I'd like to put down in writing, if only (as usual) for my own amusement. I know I've been away for a while, but I was busy making a family, damnit! Surely that's a decent enough excuse. (Don't worry, Dad, I can hear your response already -- "No it isn't, and don't call me Shirly!")
Now, now, now. Where to start? So many things to discuss, and so little time before I get too far into the sacramental wine.
I guess at least a brief update is a good place. On October 10, I got hitched. I walked down the aisle in all my 9-months-pregnant glory and married the first boy I ever kissed. My dogger, Mollie, was our ring bearer. My husband, brother and nephew wore kilts, like real men should. We had chicken fried steak, cause hey, didn't I mention I was 9 months pregnant? My dad, looking all handsome-fied in his suit, walked me down the aisle. And then we partied it up good, all in my backyard, which my amazing friends and family scrubbed down earlier that morning after days and days of rain had left it a muddy mess. My mother, crazy woman that she is, nearly killed herself turning the yard into a Fall Wonderland. It was the best wedding I've ever had the pleasure of attending, with a very close second best being my brother's wedding in October the year before. We Denby kids sure like that month, apparently. I attribute this to years of brainwashing from mom. (I kid, I kid....except not really, she loves all things fall.)
Seventeen days after the Big Day came the Even Bigger Day. On October 27, the most beautiful baby girl ever made got served her eviction notice (aka I was induced). Abigail Ruth was born at 7:14 p.m., weighing in at 7 pounds, 11 ounces and measuring 18.5 inches long -- and sporting a full head of dark hair and the cutest damn dimples ever put on a face. I'm not biased people, I'm stating facts. Trust me, I've done the research (and by research, I mean I said to my mom, "Doesn't she have the cutest damn dimples?" To which mom replied, "Of course!").
Not to get too mushy, but she's the absolute light of my life. Our little monkey girl (her nickname, "the monkey" is derived from the fact that she has monkey toes -- they're nearly as long as her fingers, I swear), is at the moment I write this chilling with Nana and Poppa for the night, hence why I'm distracting myself with bloggifying (and wine).
So where is this all going? It's going to bed...cause I'm exhausted! Tomorrow, I'm going to attempt to put together some even more coherent ramblings. Over and out.