eaten alive.

For the first time in years, I'm being attacked, gleefully, by mosquitoes and other blood-sucking critters. It may have something to do with the torrential rainfall we've experienced here in Chicago lately; them skeeters like humidity and pools of standing water. I've slaughtered three that I found in the house today. Hell, it's not enough that I'm feeding the little bastards - they want to hang out here rent-free? Forget it.

the eating habits of the very young homo sapiens

O has the palate of a burgeoning gourmand. He has sampled lobster and requested more after the first taste. He has been witnessed running around with a chicken and apple sausage clutched in a pudgy hand. He likes a bit of avocado with his soft tacos. He is not a fan of fast food, though like Jeffrey Steingarten and the late, great Julia Child, he loves McDonald's fries to the exclusion of any other offering from the golden arches. In fact, he prefers Boca burgers. There's nothing in the world that smells like a toddler who's had a load of garlic-infused soy.

Z, on the other hand, is a fan of processed foods. The faker, the better. She does love any sort of fruit - fresh, dried or hanging out in liquid, which offsets her love of the dinosaur-shaped mystery chicken nuggets. I considered it a major coup that she'll eat the chicken from the chicken chow fun we order from the local Chinese takeaway. It's difficult for me - someone who loves everything from four-star restaurant fare to $1.50 greasy cheese pizza slices - to accept this resistance to the myriad possibilities of food. As long as you need to eat, you may as well have some fun keeping yourself alive, right?

All this talk about food is making me hungry. Where are the wasabi peas?

if I were a Simpsons character, I'd look like this.

when the f*** did I get so old?

I dropped off a package at a client's office a few days ago and decided to walk most of the way there and back. This was probably about three miles in all. A leisurely stroll down Michigan Avenue and Upper Wacker Drive in high humidity. I wore some Diesel kicks. Not a strenuous walk, right?

Right, except that by the time I got to Washington and Wacker from Erie and Michigan, my left knee was feeling a little sketchy. Not that it was making noises but it felt sore. Tired. Unhappy with my walking. It was none too pleased that I was trying to live a sustainable lifestyle by not taking any form of transportation requiring fossil fuels.

The following day, I crashed into a doorframe while chasing the kids around. Now the right knee has a bruise.

I've also been extraordinarily tired for someone who doesn't do damn much during the day in terms of physical labor. I've taken to passing out on Z's floor when I'm putting her to bed; she likes me to stay for a while after kissing her goodnight. So I lay on her rug with a giant floor pillow under my head and one of her tiny blankets covering me, and I fall asleep before she does.

I'm used to being Indestructible, Resilient Amy. This slow falling apart is not cool. I was the one who could drink copiously without fear of hangovers. I could out-eat most men. I went to the gym regularly. Now red wine gives me a major headache, I get heartburn, and my body after two kids has gone to mush. Even thinking about joining a gym exhausts me.

And the checkout girl at Whole Foods didn't even card me when I bought the giant bottle of Belgian Trappist Monk ale yesterday.

Getting old sucks.