Checking for monsters

At seven and a half months old, Abby is beginning to bid farewell to many of her close friends in the infant nursery and is now forced to hang out with kids that are half her age. Micah, only 11 days older than her, moved one door down in the children's wing of the church a couple weeks ago, having proved himself capable of propelling his body toward people and things through the advanced baby skill of crawling. Abby has yet to offer us hope of impending forward motion, and prefers to attain her goals by rolling--quite artfully--back and forth until she reaches her destination. She can cover a lot of ground this way, which is how she wound up under the bed yesterday morning while I was getting ready. Thankfully, all she found under there was a big warm purple blanket--the one we lovingly refer to as "Big P."

Decisions, decisions

I spent the morning at our new house meeting some flooring guys, scrubbing some bathrooms and wandering around our really cool backyard trying to identify flowers that have yet to bloom. (This is when having my yard-savvy friend Sarah around would have come in handy. I have no idea what's going on in this backyard, but I have a hunch that she could glance at a leaf and know instinctively what plant she's dealing with. Guess I'll have to wait until they bloom to hone my landscaping skills.)

Abby came with me and napped in her pack-n-play in her new room, and I had a flashback. It was almost 13 months ago that I stood in an unused room in our old house with visions of pink and green walls and colorful curtains and cheery baby furniture dancing in my head. The minute we found out we were having a girl, that pesky pregnancy nesting instinct kicked into full gear, and I fought hard to stifle it since I knew we'd be moving. Somehow I convinced my very rational husband to do the most irrational thing he could think of, and with our house about to go on the market, he painted a room that would serve as Abby's nursery for less than three weeks Fairy Dust Pink and Apple Slice Green. Not exactly what our realtor meant when he told us to neutralize all our paint colors to get ready to sell, but it did wonders in satisfying my nesting instinct, at least for a little while.

Now I get to start over. I finally get to create the nursery I've been dreaming of for over a year. This opens up whole new possibilities. Maybe I'll go with Pink Odyssey or Magic Wand Pink this time. Perhaps Grassy Field Green is a better choice than Apple Slice. Lowe's wall of paint chips, here I come!

Up to our ears

Family of Fish is moving. We took the plunge and bought a house. It has a nice yard, a great office, some nice bedrooms, and a big kitchen. We're looking forward to hosting our friends, family and foreign dignitaries.

Things I love about being a mom

The daily duties of parenthood don't typically result in badges of honor, but today I'm wearing pears with pride, evidence to the fact that I outlasted my distracted daughter and succeeded in coaxing her into eating all of her breakfast. There's never a dull moment at this job, and I love small victories!

Eyes in the back of my head? Check.

Ability to complete normal household tasks one-handed while balancing a baby on my hip? Check.

Diaper changes in under 20 seconds? Check.

Preventing catastrophic collisions with painful furniture? Check.

With all the books out there on parenting, you'd think someone would have tackled this problem already. I discovered this morning another skill I'll need to hone in order to successfully parent this child: sneeze prediction. I'm going to need to find some way to look into the future and intuitively know when Abby is about to sneeze. Armed with that knowledge, I'll be able to prevent incidents like this morning's pear shower. Since you weren't there, I'll fill you in.

Having just swallowed a bite of delicious pear (freshly mashed through a mesh strainer for maximum messiness) Abby lunged forward in her high chair and opened her mouth for another bite like a baby bird anticipating a delicious red wriggler. I scooped the perfect amount of pear mush onto the pink spoon, wiped the bottom along the rim of the bowl to prevent unnecessary dripping, and had the spoon poised at her lips, when suddenly:

aaaaaaacccchoooooo!

Knowing Abby's sneezes always come in pairs, I quickly removed the spoon, and the little remaining pear, from the line of fire just in time for another...

aaaaaaacccchooooooo!

(Here I have to pause to fill you in on a little background. Abby never got to meet my grandpa, but I believe his sneezes have been reincarnated in our little one. These are show-stopping sneezes that start in her toes and rattle her entire body. It's powerful stuff, these little nose episodes of hers, and they take me back to dinners with my grandparents that were often interrupted by grandpa's equally mighty sneezes. Adding ammo to these sneezes is not a good thing.)

So there I was, waiting for the dust...er, pear...to settle so that I could survey the damage. Freshly mashed pear apparently travels well. My shirt, the wall behind me, the table, the floor, the tray on her high chair and the front of Abby's pajamas were covered in pear. It seemed nothing in the vicinity was spared from the force of the sneeze. I knew it would be fruitless to attempt a clean up this early in the game. There was, after all, still more than half a bowl of pear left to eat. So I dove back in, prepared another spoonful of pear, and offered it to my daughter.

But now, new obstacles presented themselves. The shower of food that settled on Abby's tray and pajamas had created fascinating patterns of pear that were just within her reach. And the excitement at finding she could not only touch these exciting new particles in front of her, but could spread them to her hands, her hair, her face, and all sides of the high chair, proved to be too much. It seemed my window of opportunity was gone. Hunger was no longer the prevailing need. I could see in her eyes that Abby was determined to discover just how far she could spread this gooey mess.

But I forged ahead. With a spoon in one hand and a damp paper towel in the other, I alternately scooped, fed, and wiped until I had declared myself the victor on both fronts: the breakfast was eaten, and the baby was clean again.

Having overcome my daughter's breakfast attention deficit disorder, I celebrated by wearing my pear-covered shirt with pride as I proceeded to clean the rest of the war zone.

Lessons learned:

1. Pear is very aerodynamic.
2. Wearing pajamas at breakfast is a good idea--for mom and baby.
3. Bibs only catch messes that adhere to the laws of gravity.

Spring has (finally) sprung

While flip-flop season is well underway down south, we're finally getting our first hints of warm weather up here. (Although our neighbor joked that we could still get some snow...I was not amused.)

I've been staring longingly at Abby's spring wardrobe since early March, and today's high of 74 was all the motivation I needed to take one of her cute little outfits off the hanger. Abby and I have had the chance to hit the swings and enjoy a stroll around Goose Poop Pond two days in a row now. And we've got the runny noses to prove it.

In the wee small hours of the morning

It went against my better judgment to wake Abby up from her morning nap, especially when she was looking so cute.

I realize now that my seven month old has the daily schedule that adults (and college students in particular) can only dream of: wake up...eat breakfast...get dressed...take a nap...wake up...eat lunch...play...take a nap...wake up...play...eat dinner...play...go to bed. More specifically, that amounts to almost three hours spent eating (dining with a spoon that small is not quick business), 15 hours sleeping, and the rest of the day playing and having someone else at your beck and call.

Not a bad life, really. Now if only she got to pick out her own clothes...

You probably think this song is about you

I intended to take a picture of Abby's friend Annabelle while she rocked out to the tunes of the talented Mr. Knick Knack at Jammin' Java, but Abby had other plans. As she lunged for the camera, she managed to grab it and press the little button on top, resulting in Abby's first self-portrait.

Suppertime hues

Clockwise, from top left: Yellow squash, sweet potatoes, green beans, and bananas

Abby has quite a colorful palate now! So far she hasn't rejected any of the foods we've offered her, although green beans do seem to go down a lot easier with a little sweet potato on the tip of the spoon. She also manages to stay fairly clean (as far as babies go) when she eats, so I think I'll tempt fate next week and offer her some beets.

The Wrong Stuff

I was seven years old when the boys in New Kids On the Block were hangin' tough as the new teen heartthrobs. I have a few not-so-fond memories of trying to skate backwards to the tune of "The Right Stuff" at Skate Country. By the time I hit middle school, the New Kids had faded into welcome and predictable boy-band obscurity.

I remember how sad my friends and I thought it was to watch our parents' generation gyrating to the tunes of the reunited Rolling Stones. I think we can all agree that there isn't anything nearly so depressing as a sixty-year-old man in shiny stretch pants with a mic. (Except maybe the sixty-year-old women singing along in the front row.) So it is with great dismay that I report some disturbing news. Click here at your own risk: http://www.nkotb.com/

That's right, folks: a countdown to the reunion concert for the now almost 40-year-old members of New Kids on the Block. The Stones at least had an excuse. To their credit, they had produced some pretty good music. But a New Kids On the Block reunion? As if kids today didn't have enough fodder for making fun of children of the eighties, with our hammer pants and side ponytails, now we give them this.

It's a sad day for my generation.

Good intentions

Some kind friends passed a toy down to Abby, and Justin and I fell in love with it instantly. This little plastic ball, filled with colorful beads, would be perfect for when Abby starts to crawl, we thought. It's brightly colored, makes lots of noise when it rolls, and might be just the motivation she needs to get moving as it rolls away from her with each little swat of her hand.

Noah, the previous owner of the ball, loved it, and by all accounts, never had any sort of negative confrontation with this simple toy.

So you can imagine our surprise, when, upon introducing Abby to her new plaything, she immediately broke out in tears. We've tried on and off for a few days to get her to play with it, but, much to our chagrin, she seems to be terrified of it.



So for now, I guess we'll put the ball away and let her play with less frightful objects like stuffed animals and rattles. We'll try again in a few days and see if she's toughened up any.