My body has never been particularly good with piercings. Every time I've pierced my upper ears - and I've done this three separate times now - my body has basically rejected the metal, creating infection or just flat-out refusing to heal. But upper-ear piercings are notoriously tricky, and I was hoping my nose would be different.

Ehhhh, sort of. That thing took a long time to heal. I think it was largely a result of this little incident (and oh my god do not click on that link if you're squeamish), but either way: I tried everything to get it to heal completely. Salt-water soaks, cleansing with Dr. Bronner's, all of it. And when I was in Canada I mentioned this to my cousin, and she said, "Oh, I know what you need," and took me to the drugstore, where I spent something like five bucks on a very unexciting-looking little squeezy bottle. I did not have especially high hopes.

 When my friend (and glam | camp partner) Erin and I first met in person, I knew she had read my site before. But I didn't know the whole story until some time later. I'm fully aware of the presence of communities on the internet that exist to slam bloggers (and me, specifically); that's just par for the course, and while it's no fun, it's also something I understand. Getting to know someone who used to dislike me and mock my work - and then who, over time, became one of my closest friends - has been a pretty amazing experience. (How I Went From Internet Troll To BFF (And Business Partner), via Bustle.)

 Really cute crossbody for a GREAT price.

 Tear. (Farewell, America's Next Top Model, One Of The Greatest Reality TV Shows Ever, via The Cut.)

Stretching in the sunrise before entering the madness.

I have never in my life been to a rave.

I think there was a period of time around age 25 when I really wanted to go to one, but for whatever reason (probably that I panic when it gets too late and my bed is still far away from me) it never happened.

What can I say? She's committed to her craft.

I mean, you kind of have to respect the sheer volume of effort my daughter put into this. She didn't just slap that diaper cream on; she applied it. Thoroughly.

So after I laughed at the sight of my marshmallow-child - because really, when things like this happen there is nothing else you can do (besides, of course, take a photograph to show your husband so that he believes you when you tell him exactly how bad your day was) - I started the extremely long process of figuring out what the hell to do when your one-year-old paints herself from head to toe with a product that is specifically formulated to repel moisture.