Henry wants you all to know...

My head is made of poop. I smell worse than garbage. Although my head is made of poop, my son wishes to poop on my head, which is poopy. Or else he will poop on my butt. Which, incidentally, is smelly. I should also mention that my son hates me. It's perfectly reasonable that he hates me, as in only the past few days I have reminded him to wash his hands, told him I had no money for an ice cream sandwich, and asked him which movie we should watch. All of these actions are unforgiveable. I know that now. And thanks to his lengthy, and at times deafening, explanation, I see that the reason is my giant feces-head, which is awkwardly propped up here on my neck. It's amazing that I can even type or think or have any opinions about ice cream sandwiches, but nevertheless I do, and this renders me loathsome. I am a bad mommy, and he doesn't like me anymore, well, he does, but more importantly he hates me. Let's just say that his feelings for me grow increasingly more complex. But he consistently feels that my head is, as I have mentioned, poopy.

Let's all hope that my behavior improves in the near future.