We have a termite.

Who eats cribs. And oh no, NOT the plastic mouthguard on the rail! No way! That's no fun. Our little termite has to be creative, must be different, unique. She outsmarted the whole crib industry, and chews on the crib ends instead.

It was a tie.

I didn't know whether to call this clip 'Baby Cannot hold Still for One Second' or 'Mama Cannot hold Camera Upright for One Second'. How about 'BYOMSB - Bring Your Own Motion Sickness Bag'? You see, my iPod adjusts to whichever way you hold it. If you hold it upright, the screen is upright. And if you hold it sideways, the screen is sideways.
Unfortunately, Steve Jobs didn't invent my camera.

Enjoy.

Favorite toy.

This is the stethescope that the nurses and doctors listened to you heart with when you were a teeny tiny little baby in the hospital. We were instructed that everything in the hospital room was ours to take except for the linens, so it got shoved into a bag of loot (along with some linens) and brought home. Then it found its way into a toybox, and now you carry it with you everywhere. I'm not quite sure what you think it is, but man, is it fun.

Little girl blue.

I got this sweater (it's a swing cardigan, but you can't see that) because I'm seriously sick of pink. And the first thing your dad says? 'She looks like a boy.' Sigh.

All my clothes are pink, this crayon is blue,

My name is Sophie and I love you!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Party time.

Are those Puffs? OMG she's getting the Puffs. Hey! Right here! Those Puffs, they go RIGHT HERE.

She's 13 already.

“Go away, can't you see Gossip Girl’s on? And I’m expecting a call, so stay off the phone. When can I, like, have my own phone already? Everybody else has a phone. What? OMG it’s none of your business who I talk to. Why are you bothering me? You’re so annoying. Get out of my room. I hate you.”

Sleep depravation is a form of torture utilized at Gitmo. And at my house.

John Lennonette is seriously cranky.
(She was just John Lennon until she laid eggs. Then we had to improvise, because clearly, I don't know my boy parts from my girl parts.)

Sicky-sick-sick-sick.

Over at our house, we are busy. Busy with leaky noses and red watery eyes, ugly coughs, snot-launching sneezes and lost voices. When one person with a stuffy nose makes sure nobody in a three-mile radius sleeps at night. I think even our lizards are sleep deprived.
And is there anything more sad and pathetic than an 8 month old baby trying her bestest to smile for the camera? No, I don't believe there is.

Ew. But at the same time, kinda cool. In an Ew kind of way, of course.

It has been 2 1/2 weeks since Carlos's surgery. He's off the meds, and getting around on crutches. A full cast was put on about a week after the surgery, and yesterday the doc took off the cast to make sure everything was healing all right. Which, thankfully, it is. But getting to see him requires a pass and a bribe of sweet potato flavored Puffs. Oh - and an update on the balloon - several hours after arriving back at home, it found a home in a skylight, and only reappeared yesterday bobbing in the stairwell. It has since been tied to a chair in the kitchen.

And I'm getting to the Ew part, just like I promised. If you can't stomach it, DON'T scroll down. And if you think you can, but you can't, don't say I never warned you.





















Stitches, 2 1/2 weeks post op.

Devilish.

When she's older, this is the face she will make when she does something naughty, and thinks it's funny, and that she'll get away with it. Alas, this means there is no hope for the rest of us, as we are the mere minions in the World According to Sophie.

Month 8

Dear Sophie,

Today you are eight months old. Eight months is a whole lot of months. This month you hit several milestones. First, you started crawling. You were very hesitant at first, and would screw up your face and make grunting noises because moving your arms forward was just so hard. But now, it's like you've been crawling forever and I have to run just to keep up with you.

You are still a little picky with your food, and are still eschewing the green stuff. But we started giving you the baby food 'meals', and you have developed a tolerance for sweet potato and turkey, and have found a new love in blueberries. You would still rather subsist on Puffs alone, however.

You are still not crazy about the super-nice pricey stroller that you dad and I purchased for you, but for some reason you absolutely adore riding in grocery carts. You're so high up! And there are so many things to see! And groceries are so colorful! And so many people to stare at until they get uncomfortable!

We need to have a serious conversation about the biting thing. It used to be so cute when you would gum my fingers and my chin. But now, now, you have teeth. Lots of them. And it's no longer cute, because it hurts. So if by the time you read these, I only have 9 fingers and a chunk taken out of my face, you will know who's to blame regardless of the crazy story about the rabid werewolves breaking into the house and attacking me.

Love,

Mama

She works hard for the money.

And now we know who REALLY does all the work around here.

We should probably move that mattress down.

Moving Forward.

She figured it out.

Head, shoulders, knees and toes. And ankles.

Last week, while playing basketball, your father tore his Achilles tendon. He was in an extraordinary amount of pain, and went straight to the emergency room. Yesterday, he went into the Virginia Hospital Center to have it reattached surgically. The operation was outpatient, but took about two hours. This morning, he's still in unbearable pain, despite the meds.

On the upside, you commandeered the Get Well balloon, and entertained everyone in the waiting room for hours.

Why I'm not crazy.

I just have to explain this. Because people keep asking why I do certain things the way I do. Because I've always been somewhat neurotic, just a tad OCD, maybe a touch bipolar, but everyone agrees just a bit off.
www.sids.org
www.sids-network.org
and finally, if the making-me-crazy information doesn't make you a believer:
http://badladies.blogspot.com/2009/01/little-beaner-rest-in-peace.html

I do not have a bumper in your crib. I run a humidifier next to your crib every single night. You do not have loose blankets, or stuffed animals, or any toys in your crib. Your jammies fit you exactly- actually, they may be slightly on the small side. I know that there is so much more knowledge than there was when I was a baby, and there will be so much more when you have babies, and I pray that someday somebody, somewhere, finds a cause or a reason or a prevention or something. We do what we know to do. I can't ignore any information that 'may help' because the 'may help' has this exraordinary meaning, where if I did it probably wouldn't matter but if I didn't... the chances of the 'I didn't'... even if it's 0.0001%, is just much too much too great, becuase the consequences are so very dire.
We all do the best we know how, and that's all we can do. And right now, at this moment, this is the best we know, and I'm doing it.

Pot[holder]head.

It's times like these when I wonder how on earth I got my kicks and giggles some other way.

RAAAAAAWWWRRRR!!!!!

Encore.

Back by popular demand, and the continual questions as to if all the cool kids are really doing it, and if all the cool kids were to jump off of a bridge would we allow that also, and we say SURE, as long as there's a bungee cord involved, but for right now, YES, all the cool kids ARE really doing it.

All the cool kids also got pet penguins for Christmas. Mama's still working on that one.

Also, if someone knows how to get video from a JVC Enverio onto the blog you won't have to watch videos from my phone any more. Comments are OPEN.