Freaking Awesome.

29 12 2011

That would be the answer to the question “How was your Christmas?”.  Good food.  Lots of family.  Cheesy music.  Grins and chuckles from my little girl (until skipping that morning nap kicked in, around mid afternoon).  And, yes, Hazel was indoctrinated into the American tradition of a consumer holiday, with presents galore (and I don’t feel a bit guilty about it – damn, it was fun!).

And so many pictures I would love to share…  Here is just one, Hazel with the entire content of her stocking in her lap (and/or mouth).  YAY, CHRISTMAS!

 

Okay, well, here’s another one.  This is Hazel with her first wrapped Christmas gift – from Aunt Phil and Uncle Chris:

And you know what?  Three pictures out of the hundred-plus that I took is total restraint.  So I am going to post just one more, because what is cuter than the baby sitting on Dad’s lap, reading his old Christmas Golden Books?

Like I said.

Freaking.  Awesome.

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A Couple of Firsts and a Last

13 03 2011

The baby, currently referred to as “Cinnamon Bear,” received his or her first piece of mail.  The lucky little stinker, it was not just a letter but a package, sent by Auntie Ceci and Uncle Hal.

Here is what was inside:

Awwww…

Baby clothes look really small until you have a baby growing inside of you.  Then, suddenly, they seem awfully big…

In addition to receiving Baby’s First Mail, I also debuted the first of my maternity clothes.

This was entirely due to gas and bloating.

I am rather long-waisted, so it’s hard to find shirts long enough for me when I am not expecting.  Now that I am some weeks pregnant, it doesn’t take much of bloat to push my stomach right out the bottom of the shirts I usually wear.  I discovered, however, that some maternity shirts are like very long, very stretchy regular shirts.  I am a fan.  I may never go back to buying tank tops and t-shirts from anywhere but the maternity section.

And the Last:  tomorrow will end my First Trimester.  By Tuesday, I will be 14 weeks pregnant and moving on to the next stage of this adventure.  I am feeling rather scared and superstitious again, since it’s been 3 weeks since my last midwife appointment, but luckily I have another appointment on Tuesday.  If all goes well, I will have some reassurance as I begin the Second Trimester.

I understand that I get to look forward to: more heartburn, more back pain, less sleep, more trips to the bathroom, and fewer of my regular clothes fitting me.

I also understand that it will all be worth it the second I feel the baby move.

It’s sounds like a crappy trade-off, really, but I can’t wait.





Where the Buffalo Roam

23 06 2010

My idea of a “present” for my dog is a shoe box with a couple of treats inside, duct-taped shut.  This can entertain us both for quite awhile.  I rarely buy dog treats or toys for Charlie, though I do feed him my leftovers (and I make sure there are leftovers every time I eat).  But while I may be cheap, I’m not above begging for my dog.

I convinced my mom that Charlie really wanted the stuffed buffalo toy at Orvis for Christmas, and being the mom that she is:

Charlie really does love the buffalo – to a degree that surprises me.  Charlie has been carrying around the same blanket for 10 years, dragging it up and down stairs, suckling and chewing on it, and generally demonstrating that he should have been named Linus.  But recently, he’s come to prefer his buffalo, which is nice.  It’s more age-appropriate.

It’s also more portable than his blanket (the remnants, now, of a twin comforter).  And since we’ve been traveling a bit, the buffalo has been in the car.  I look into my rearview mirror to see Charlie staring out the window with his mouth full of buffalo.  Cute.

Charlie loves having his buffalo everywhere he goes.  He’s also decided that he loves his buffalo so much he needs to bury it.

Seriously, Charlie?  Are you going to go back to Davis Lake next spring and unearth it after a long, lean winter?  What, exactly, is your plan here?

Now I have to spend time picking foxtails out of the damn thing because they don’t come out in the wash.  And when I try to get it away from him long enough to dust it off, this is what I get:

Maybe I’m better off with shoeboxes, a few dog treats, and duct tape.  Lots of duct tape.








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