Why is it that things hum along quietly for years, and then suddenly a dozen of your closest friends get married at once? Does everyone go out drinking and decide it’s high time they acquired flatware with matching service pieces?

The last two months have been a blur of inflatable penises (Penni? Penne?), polite small talk with cousins from Memphis, and champagne hangovers. Between all the celebrating and our regular-old lives, we haven’t had much time for things like “preparing balanced meals” and “maintaining our household in a manner the Health Department would find acceptable.”

In June, we flew to L.A. for a wedding, traveled to Amsterdam for business, and I flew to Las Vegas for a bachelorette. We returned home to an elopement a few hours up the coast, and just helped host a wedding shower last weekend. By the end of July we’ll have attended another wedding, had four different sets of house guests, and flown to Colorado for Bryan’s twenty-year high school reunion. Bryan recently pointed out that the only thing we’ve given up since Hank was born is sleep. Sleep and basic hygiene.

This may be unsustainable. I have trouble remembering whether I’ve eaten in the last few hours, and I’ve begun to drool when there’s a lull in conversation. After July, the next time I lose sleep over love, I’d better be getting laid.