I am a cliche.
There have been so many warning signs since Graham's birth - the working mom guilt, the typical middle-aged acquiescence to authority, the worrying about every little thing - but now it's official.
The proof? Last week, as a result of the aforementioned working mom guilt, I felt compelled to indulge in what is perhaps the most shopworn domestic cliche ever: the baking of the chocolate chip cookies.
Cousin Cailey came along for the ride...
And did her best to try and minimize shrinkage...
With mixed results.
If only I had known that becoming a cliche involved such delicious cuteness, I would have done it sooner.
