Movie star.

Adventures in ice cream.

I scream, you scream, we all scream.

Dancing on the ceiling.

So.
Apparently there is caffeine in iced tea.
Who knew?

Can I come out now, please?

Standing ovation.

Bedhead.

What a crazy baby looks like first thing in the morning.

You has laundry? I helps.

Month 9

Dear Sophie,

Today, you are nine months old. Well, kind of. February was a pretty short month, so I kind of improvised. So it's March 1, and I'm counting today as your 9 month birthday.

Today, you have been out experiencing the world for as long as you were inside me. It seems so strange to me that I have only known you for nine months, not even a year. It seems much to short, and yet I can't believe that you are nine whole months old.

This month, you suddenly got a lot more coordinated. You are the master of the pincer grip! You are the crawler! The stander! Just yesterday you stood up and let go, and stayed standing for at least a minute. It was as if you woke up one morning and said to yourself, Today it the Day that I will Master Hand-Eye Coordination. And you did.

You eat more finger foods, some Lil' Crunchies and Pinwheels made by Gerber, and some pastas and organic Cheerios that aren't really Cheerios that your dad gets mad me for calling Cheerios because they're not (even though they taste the same, are made from organic whole grains and are cheaper). He's just an all-around killjoy. You also like bananas and avocados, which a couple months ago you hated. You love yogurt, and I buy you the Yo-Baby as well as a yogurt juice from Gerber. What can I say? They send me coupons.

This month, you had your first Valentine's Day. Your dad and I bought you a card, and read it to you, and stored it away in your red box, where we put all of your little memories.

Nights are still hit-or-miss. You are starting to get your 8th tooth (this one is the 4th on the bottom) and it's poking out but not all the way. Whenever you are teething you don't sleep as well. Yesterday we went to a baby shower for one of your Dad's friend's wives, and there was a boy there who was 18 months old, and he only had 2 teeth.
You went to your 9 month appointment at the doctor's, and he says that you are perfect. He looked all over your head, messing up your hair, and you got mad and started to cry. I think you cried more when he looked through your hair than you did when you got your shots.

This month your Dad got you a big girl bathtub, a duck that quacks when you squeeze its beak. You love being able to sit up and play in the tub, but your favorite thing is when I run the water to rinse you off. You reach over and try to catch the water as it comes out of the spigot, and laugh as it runs in a waterfall over your fingers. You are such a happy baby, it is so very easy to fall head over heels in love with you. You smile with your eyes, and open your mouth so very wide when you smile and laugh. And you're my little smiling baby, all happy and sweet.

Love,

Mama

21 lbs & 7 oz, 28 inches.

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.