"Mom, give me a drink."

We were eating in the hospital cafeteria. Abby was eating grilled cheese, cucumber pieces, fries and yogurt (not a shocking combo).

I also had a Styrofoam cup of water for her and was letting her sip from a straw.

I asked her if she was ready for water, but then realized she had just put a piece of grilled cheese in her mouth.

She leaned in to take a sip of water, but I said, "Nope, have to wait for you to finish chewing your food first."

So she spit the piece of food into her hand, set it back on the table and leaned in for a drink.

Well, okay then.

And, yes, she resumed eating the same piece once her sip was completed.

Abby's (defiant) language skills

Language is a way to gauge progression amongst kids, but I think it should also be noted when a child is smug in the face of language prompting.

Case in point:

• When I ask Abby to say, "Mama," she gets a wide smile on her face and pauses before she starts with, "dada ... dada ... DADADA."
   
• Abby's first word was "Bert." The child will not say "Ernie." She knows which one is Ernie. In fact, Ernie is her preference. She will say "Bert" until the cows come home. Instead of "Ernie" she laughs like Ernie. "Hee ... hee ... hee ... hee ..."
   
• I have repeated certain words for Abby over and over again hoping she'd pick them up. She hasn't. I think I've said, "uh oh" approximately 1,000,000 times since her birth. Has the child EVER said "uh oh"? Of course not. She hasn't even said anything that resembles "uh oh."
  
  But somehow, she has managed to figure out on her own how to say "cat." I say it's on her own because I have been trying to get her to say "kitty." That's all I use. But she says "cat."

Tom = unable to decipher shirts from pants

Me: "I'm going to rip you."

Tom (dryly): "You're going to rip me."

Me: "Yeah. On the blog. You told me to."

Tom: "About what."

Me: "The fact that you can't put Abby's clothes in the proper drawers."

Tom: "Whatever. The one drawer is pants, shorts and shirts ..."

Me: "No. The drawer is just pants."

Tom: "There were shirts in there!"

Me: "Because you put them in there."

Tom: "No I didn't!"

Me: "Yes ... you did."

Tom: "Whatever."

This is coming from a man who (literally) organizes the shirts in his closet by color and sleeve length. And don't even get me started on his sock drawer.

But he can't figure out that dresses go in the closet, pants in one drawer and shirts in the other.

Maybe he doesn't speak girl. I guess that's not such a bad thing.

'Would you like to write in her baby book?'

Me to Tom: "Would you like to write in her baby book?"

Tom (watching MLB playoffs): "Now?"

Me: "Not necessarily. Just in general."

Tom: "Uh, yeah."

Me: "Well, it's been a year minus three days, so I was just curious."

Tom (laughing): "Yeah, maybe 'Happy Birthday' and we can laugh about it when she's 18."

One of these things is not like the other ...

Snacks Abby had in the car today:

• Mum mum
• Puffs
• Magenta sock

You know that point when you realize you sound ridiculous?

I'm sure this happens to many people.

You're asleep, in the midst of an awful nightmare. You finally wake up and you're shaking because you're so terrified. You wake up your husband just to get a grasp on reality. Then you start to recount your nightmare.

When you start to say it out loud, it doesn't sound so bad. It really stops being scary when you mention that you were hanging out with Dora the Explorer and The Cat in the Hat.

Point being, those dreams feel so much scarier when you're actually asleep. Once you talk about it out loud, it loses its fear factor.

Well, today I got home after a relatively long day and Tom had made dinner for all of us. It was such a relief - I was very hungry and Abby was ready to eat as well.

I sit down and fill my plate. It's then that I look down and see the pasta he made sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. I'm really not a fan of Parmesan cheese. In fact, I hate Parmesan cheese unless it's blended in with a meat or something like that where you can't really taste its pungency.

I can honestly say that in the seven and a half years Tom and I have been together, I have mentioned to him that I don't like Parmesan cheese at least a dozen times. He continues to sprinkle it on pasta.

I'm miffed. I start to pout.

Me: "Is there Parmesan cheese on this?"

Tom: "Yes."

Me: ::huff::

Tom: "What?"

Me: "I hate Parmesan cheese."

It was at this point that an utterly ridiculous conversation/argument ensued. We went back and forth.

Tom: "I saw Parmesan cheese on the counter last week! You asked me to get it for you! I know you like it!"

Me: "I used it for the turkey for Abby! I don't like it!"

That was when I came up with the ultimate (and unbelievably pathetic) statement.

Me: "I just see you remembering these things as a sign of love for me."

That's when Tom got really annoyed.

After he tried to make polite conversation, he finally said, "I mean, really? You're trying to tell me I don't love you because I put Parmesan cheese on the pasta?! Would you like me to make you new pasta? I can. I can make you Parmesan-cheese-free pasta."

Game, set, match, Tom.

I can now look back on this and laugh. And I will try to properly communicate my food preferences from here on out.

And don't think I won't weave in a dish I know Tom doesn't "care for" just to see how he handles it.

Poor Daddy

An example of Abby's hair in the morning.

Well, I think we've encountered the biggest source of stress since Abby was born: Tom had to do her hair this morning.

If you've seen photos of Abby shortly after waking up in the morning, you would know that she resembles Cousin It. Her hair is all sorts of crazy and it hangs in front of her eyes and it's quite the task to tame it.

I have the responsibility of doing her hair each morning and I typically put it in a ponytail on the top of her head (aka "The Pebbles Flinstone").

This morning, while at Ford Field for today's game, I received a panicked phone call from Tom.

Tom: "How do I do this?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

Abby's hair from today ... note the
different-colored barrettes.
And Tom did not put the hair tie in.

Tom: "I have five clips in her hair right now, but she keeps pulling them out. I know this seems funny, but it's really hard! I don't know how to figure this out."

It was a 5-10 minute phone call and Tom was just as frustrated at the end of the call as he was at the beginning - if not more so.

I'm not sure what Abby looks like as she heads to the U-M Men's Basketball team photo and I don't know if I'll ever know since Tom is refusing to send me a photo.

If you cross paths with Tom and Abby today, give him a hug. And make sure you tell him Abby's hair looks nice.

Tom relaxing equates to ceiling fan cleaning

I went to the gym and told Tom I wanted him to relax while I was gone.

I came home to him standing on our bed, wiping the dust from the blades of our ceiling fan.

Me: "I thought I told you to relax."

Tom: "I am relaxing."

Somehow, I believe him 100 percent.

Be very jealous, ladies.

Perhaps I should take this as a compliment?

I was incredibly excited because I got four dresses and three pairs of shorts for Abby for next summer for $32 at Target. The fact that I actually sifted through the clearance racks to find things that were worth it pleased me very much.

I decided to show Tom what I bought.

I pulled out the first dress and held it up.

Tom: "Is that for you?"

Me: "Really?"

Tom: "What?"

Yes, Tom, I'm going to squeeze into a 2T just for S&G.

Either he thinks I'm incredibly thin or incredibly ... a word I'm not going to say on a blog about my child.

Missing the point

So, we've reached that time where we're trying to teach Abby to talk.

We will do what undoubtedly irritates any non-parents in the vicinity and will say, "Abby! Say, 'kitty'" Her response is, "Kuh". Well, that's close enough.

My mission is to get Abby to say "Dada" when pointing at Tom. Tom is not compliant.

Every time I point to her and say, "Who's this?" She pauses for two seconds and then Tom screams, "Daddy!"

NO. We are teaching HER that you are Daddy. Therefore, she has to figure it out and she needs more than .2 seconds.

Me: "Abby ... say, 'Dada'."

Tom: "Daddy!"

Me: (pointing at Tom) "Who's this?"

Tom: "Say, 'Mama'!"

So, we are working in tandem on Abby learning to talk and Tom learning how to teach Abby to talk.

For the time being, we can rest assured that Tom, in fact, knows how to say "Daddy."

Abby's first word

Is Bert.

As in, Bert and Ernie. From Sesame Street.

Not "hi"; not "Dada" ... Bert.

I love my child.

Milestones and what I actually want to talk about

Okay, so my daughter took steps today. I'm so excited about it. But, really, what else is there to say? She took steps. Yay! Let's move on.

So, I became "that mother" yesterday when I went grocery shopping with Abby. I forgot to pack mum mums and puffs and, by the time we hit the check-out line, she was fussing up a storm due to hunger.

Well, I had bought her Gerber biscuits ... they were sitting right there in my cart ... yeah, I opened them. And gave her one. The shame I felt.

I have always thought of people who open food items in the check-out line to be insanely tacky. I suppose I still think that way. But I became one of them. I just figured it'd be better off letting her chomp on something I was about to purchase (and not disturb people in the meantime) than scream. Oh well.

Let's just check it off the list of things I thought I would never do.

Where's Waldo a la Abby

I've heard many a parent say, "We don't need any toys - we have TOO MANY toys!"

I am nowhere close to that point.

I don't know if it's because I am enjoying the reliving of my youth or if it's because watching her play with and discover new toys is so awesome, but I love it.

Granted, we could probably get better use out of our toys if someone ::ahemTom:: didn't put every. single. toy. we own into Abby's pen at the same time.

I swear, this morning it would have been a Where's Waldo situation trying to find Abby amidst all the toys.

Me (frantically putting toys in the toy box): "You should probably stagger the use of these toys and not put all of them in the pen at once."

Tom: "Why?"

Me: "Because."

Tom: "You're in a bad mood this morning."

He may have had a point.

Well ... ABBY slept through the night ...

Our daughter slept all night. Amazing. I can honestly say I don't think I've gotten six consecutive hours of sleep in a year.

Though, in the midst of that awesomeness, Tom had to wake me up to ask me if Abby was, in fact, sleeping through the night.

"Psst."

"What?"

"Have you gotten up?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

"She's been sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Do you think she's okay?"

"Yes."

So, our daughter slept through the night.

My husband did not.

Thunderstorms, oh my!

It's fitting that my daughter sleeps through storms (I once slept through an entire ambulance crew trekking through the bungalow I grew up in).

We have had some major ones this past week and Abby has slept through them with flying colors. Luke, on the other hand (or the other paw?), has not.

In fact, it got so bad one night, that Tom came downstairs to lay with Luke on the couch. I love the fact that this happened because Tom likes to pretend he doesn't like the kitties. Well, you don't leave your bed to comfort a cat if you don't like said cat.

The best part about this is that Leia is a total bad-ass. I walked out of our bedroom one night and Leia was just lounging on the cat tree as the thunder boomed. Then I made it downstairs and Luke was approximately 1 cm off the ground, clinging to my leg as if his life depended on it.

Hoping the weather is calmer this week. Our sleep depends on it.

My kid pooped in the bathtub

Yep. I was hoping we'd avoid it. But it happened.

I could tell she was going for it, but hoped she would ultimately recognize the bath tub was NOT a place for pooping. I figure most kids her age have that kind of reason. Right?

Well, she didn't.

She acted like she was going, but all we got were bubbles. Okay. I figure that was it. Just a scare.

After she did it again, I decided I needed to finish the bath and get this kid in a diaper. I lifted her to wash her hair when I saw it.

Unfortunately for Daddy, he cleaned the tub. Such a wonderful guy to take the sh!tty job. Get it?

This will make the baby book.

My cat has separation anxiety

Really, Leia?

In the midst of sleep training Abby, our cat seems to have separation anxiety.

Abby fell asleep around 8:30 (it took us an hour and a half to get her down), and didn't wake up to eat until 5:00!

Only problem?

Leia woke us up knocking on our door at 4:00 a.m.

::bang, bang, bang::

"Meeew?"

No idea what to do at this point. She's been super clingy lately. I felt like an idiot laying some of my t-shirts outside our door thinking she would feel "closer to me." I don't think it worked.

Are there sleep training books for cats?

The Closer

Apparently, Tom is the Todd Jones to my Jeff Weaver. The Mariano Rivera to my Andy Petite. The Dennis Eckersley to my Bob Welch.

Yes ... he's 'The Closer.'

Tonight was the second in our quest to sleep train Miss Abigail. Tom was out to dinner with friends, so I had the dinner/bedtime routine duty.

After dinner, Abby and I played on the floor for about 15 minutes. Well ... she tried to touch everything in the room, and I perfected my phrase, "Uh uh, no touch."

We then had bath time (she pulled an entire bucket of foam letters into the tub ... it was awesome) and story time. I read her "That's Not My Kitten" (I truly don't understand that book. What is the concept in stating that every trait that every cat has makes it "not my kitten"? What exactly does your kitten look and feel like then? I throw it on the pile with "Goodnight Moon". Sorry.), "Little Hands Love" and "Things That Go" (a book about all things vehicular from her cousin Leo ... she LOVES the book).

Then it was time for Abby to eat and go to bed. With eating finished, we read one more story and then I put her in her crib with her puppy (a stuffed puppy) and her Violet. I turned on the nighttime music and left the room.

Let the screaming begin.

I cleaned up after her bath and then returned to her room only to find her straddling the side with her legs through the bars looking as though she were in prison. I laid her back down, said goodnight and left the room.

More screaming.

I began loading the dishwasher and then returned to her room to find her in a similar position. Laid her back down, goodnight, left room.

Screaming.

Cleaned the kitchen some more and went back up. This time she was standing on the edge of the crib looking at me with these huge weepy eyes that made me want to take a long walk off a short pier. I laid her back down, said goodnight and left the room.

The child was thisclose from falling asleep. Her eyes would droop and she would get ready to roll over into her regular sleeping position, but then grew none too pleased when I left the room.

As I was finishing the cleaning preparing for my next visit to her room, the garage door opened to signal Tom's arrival.

He walked into the kitchen and asked for the bedtime routine protocol ("I can't rub her belly? Not even for 30 seconds?") and ventured up.

I heard the door open, heard him tell her goodnight and heard the screaming get worse.

A minute later he reappeared in the kitchen and we began making small talk. All of a sudden ... it was quiet.

It only took 30 minutes for Abby to fall asleep on "her own" but it took Daddy's magic touch to close it out.

I'm not jealous.

I'm not.

Seriously.

Apparently I can suck it

In response to yesterday's post, my husband says he is "pulling a Degeneration X" and telling me to (good-naturedly) suck it for doubting his stamina during last night's sleep training session.

He was, in fact, present at nearly every crying episode and stood strong despite Abby's best efforts at waking up the entire city of Ann Arbor.

We shall see how we fare tonight, though. Apparently Night 2 is when babies reach deep into their pockets to pull out all their tricks.

What WWE wrestler will Tom be quoting tomorrow?

Oh, so this is a problem?

Abby went to her nine-month well-baby appointment today. Turns out, we have been unknowingly harboring bad sleep patterns. Granted, I could have told you that, but I have been in denial (it's not just a river in Egypt).

The end-result of the appointment is that we have to sleep train. That includes putting Abby to bed awake, regulating naps, not nursing her to sleep and limiting her eating at night.

Helping that along will be me not going in to soothe her at night considering I'm the primary food source.

Who does that leave to get up at night, you ask?

Well, I suggested it to Luke and Leia, but they weren't up for it. They figured there could be a logistical problem since Abby outweighs them. (Abby actually doesn't outweigh Leia, but I didn't want to tell her that and make her feel bad).

That only leaves ... Tom.

The look of pure terror on his face when I mentioned it would be best for him to attend to Abby tonight was amusing. I could just see the sentence forming in his head.

"What do you mean ... I have to go to work tomorrow!"

I should mention that Tom has always been 100-percent willing to get up when needed. I just haven't minded getting up. For that, he has been 100-percent thankful.

Now that we have to make this change, I think the fact that Tom doesn't have a love affair with coffee as I do (the man has never tasted coffee ... WTF?) will come back to bite him in the arse.

I'm thinking Tom is going to be cheering harder than me for this sleep training thing to work ASAP. I have faith in our girl -- she fell asleep by herself tonight!

But the wee morning hours loom. Will Tom need to get up with her? Will he be sleep deprived tomorrow?

To be continued ...

I've Been Mommy-fied

Before having a child, I never in a million years thought I would be a nursing mother. The thought of it always made me uncomfortable.

Whenever anyone would talk about nursing, I would automatically default to, "I'm just going to bottle-feed. I just don't think nursing is for me."

Then a few friends talked about the benefits with me while I was pregnant and I decided to give it a shot "for the first six weeks." Even when talking about it, I would turn up my nose and say, "I'm going to give it a try."

Fast forward nine months and I am still a nursing mother. My child has not had formula since day two of her life. And I am in no hurry to wean.

Perhaps it is my insensitive personality that shocks people when they realize I am still nursing.

"Wow, really?"

Yes, really. I am still nursing. And my brain has shifted so much that I now judge the person I used to be.

I twitch when people make offhanded remarks about nursing "older" children (older as in a year) before they realize I am still nursing my kid. People who make statements like, "When they're old enough to ask for it, they're too old."

Not really. My child is approaching the age when she can ask for things and I don't think she is too old.

I am currently struggling with the fact that I am in no hurry to wean my child ... because, pre-baby, I would have judged myself. I would have turned my nose up at the thought of nursing a toddler. With Abby showing signs of toddling, I am approaching that status.

What is a (nursing) mother to do?

I suppose I should wait until I feel good and ready, but right now the thought of nursing her for the last time is enough to get me misty-eyed.

For now, I suppose I'll just continue to enjoy the bonding with my child, the caloric benefits (I can pretty much eat like a person from those hot dog competitions) and the ... ahem ... figure.

Abby's First Monsoon ... er ... Baseball Game

Tonight marked the annual Tiger game in honor of Uncle Jack and it was to be Abby's first (unless you count her being in my belly last year).

There were so many things working in our favor when it came to bringing an infant to the ballpark (please detect my sarcasm), most notably being the 97-degree game-time temperature.

Abby was not a happy camper. She hadn't napped much during the day, but managed to fall into a deep sleep approximately 5-7 minutes before we arrived at the park. We managed to move her from the car seat to the stroller without waking her, but she got up when Grandpa and Grandma took her into the Guest Services office (to visit some friends) ... at that point, dazed-and-confused mode began.

This was Abby's expression for the next two hours:

Abby = Peppy

While this is a great photo (and Abby's pigtails are to die for), she pretty much had this blank, WTF stare on her face for the duration of the ballpark experience.

She did not enjoy our seats in the 200 level, but Grandpa was able to use his awesome connections (they were much appreciated) to move us to the lower level where there was a nice breeze.

Our new seats! (Abby = Peppy on the Inside)

Though she pepped up, you can see she continued to refuse smiling for the camera.

We were just settling in to the awesome 6-0 game (Tigers not winning) when the sky began to turn gray and claps of thunder could be heard. We were preparing to make a run for it when a huge gust of wind blew a plastic hot dog cover (I was in front of a vendor) onto my head.

Don't worry, my mama bear instincts came out and I protected the baby.

It was then that the monsoon began. We rushed into the Guest Services office, but there didn't seem to be an end in sight. After waiting for about 30 minutes, we saw a semi-break in the rain and made a run for it.

Let me inform everyone that it was still raining steadily ... we ended up drenched. I had strapped Abby in the Ergo and covered her head with the cover and Tom's hat, but she insisted on pushing herself away from me to stick her tongue out into the rain.

Abby = happy to be in the car with her puppy and Violet

We got back to the car (soaking wet) and made our way back home. Tom bravely drove us through massive amounts of rain and wind and Abby was smiley and peppy the entire time.

I thought she would be awake when we pulled in, but she seemed to detect we got off the highway and abruptly fell asleep just to make things interesting. We got home and I laid her on the floor to change her and she immediately rolled onto her side to fall asleep (I did manage to change her and put her in PJs).

While our family braved it out and is still at the ballpark, they are unfortunately witnessing an awesome (more sarcasm) 10-0 Tiger deficit.

This story is definitely making the baby book ... Abby's three-inning, 6-0 deficit, monsoon, 97-degree baseball game. At least she got a certificate!

Parenting is like Family Feud

It's amazing how you have all the answers pre-parenting. I can sit on the sidelines and watch what everyone else "should be doing." It's obvious, right?

It's like watching Family Feud. It's so easy to come up with the No. 1 answer from your couch, but the people who are actually on the show end up with off-the-wall answers.

"One hundred people were surveyed ... Name a household pet in America!"

"... Um ... um ... monkey!"

Cue laughter and the giant red 'X' and the couch-shouting. "WOW are you SERIOUS!? What an idiot!"

I am starting to feel that way right now. I was a parenting expert on the sidelines. Now I'm in the moment and feeling flustered with all the decisions I am going to have to make. What if I yell 'monkey'?

In case anyone needed proof that my cat is attached to me like white on rice

This after at least an hour of following me around the house, laying on my keyboard, ripping up my leather messenger bag and laying next to me trying to get me to pet him every single second of every single minute.

What's a cat mommy to do?

To zoo or not to zoo

Since being a mom, I have heard countless stories about going to the zoo. I truly do not have any desire to go to the zoo. None.

Why, do you ask?

1. Animals smell. I don't like to be around things that smell. Exception: my husband.
2. I have a fear that I will see monkeys (or any other animal) doing it. 
3. I don't want to see animal feces. This also applies to No. 1.
4. Seeing animals caged up makes me sad. Many people see a video of a lion reuniting with its human "parents" as a moving experience. It depresses me. Not sure why. I also refuse to watch movies with animals in them. I have no idea how I'm going to handle Disney movies.

To digress about Disney movies, why are they always so depressing? Why does a character always die? I've heard it explained that it is the typical story timeline, but I'm just not a fan. If I'm going to watch a children's movie, I'd prefer I not be blubbering like one within the first hour.

To loop back around, I don't see myself going to the zoo anytime soon.

The Paradox

I have such mixed emotions when it comes to Luke.

This cat is the Tails to my Sonic. He follows me EVERYWHERE.

If I'm sitting on the couch, he's scratching at the Pack N Play to get attention. If I'm sitting on the floor (to placate him), he's laying on my computer. Sometimes when I'm laying on the couch, he sits on my lap. Or my head.

He meows when I'm not paying attention to him. He scratches at my leg. When I go to get ice from the freezer, he runs over hoping that I'll put some ice cubes in his water dish.

These are all endearing things. They also drive me crazy.

I doubt this paradox will end anytime soon.

I am, however, hoping to utilize Abby once she is old enough to throw a cat toy for him to fetch ...

Crossing the line toward discipline

It is so easy to judge other parents ... particularly before you become one.

I am just now realizing how different it is crossing that line between simply caring for an infant -- offering basic, physical and emotional needs -- and parenting. We have crossed that line.

To make a long story short, I'm realizing that I have enabled insane behavior (e.g. Abby screaming bloody murder because I was cutting carrots in the kitchen and not paying attention to her) and that I needed to make a change.

Today I decided to ignore her when she acted like that and give her positive, fun attention when she was calm. The repercussions were amazing.

After her finger foods.

She behaved the entire dinner, she ate FINGER FOODS (sweet potato and turkey burger!) and she seemed to have a ball.

I am just now beginning to feel intimidated at the magnitude of parenting. Realizing that me simply trying to get things done around the house and not paying attention to her was creating a little monster. That little monster will grow to a big, big monster (think Supernanny) without intervention.

Thank God I was enlightened.

State of the Union: Abby and her Furry Friends

What's new in the world of Abby, Luke and Leia?

Abby:

•  She would like to crawl. But she cannot. She transitions from sitting to a three-point stance of sorts, belly flops, flails and fusses. It's like clockwork. Mama is ready for her to crawl. And, yes, I know "my life is over" when said crawling occurs.
• She is reluctant to eat finger foods. You'd think we were attempting to feed her raw fish the way she reacts.
• She apparently has an intense fear of helium balloons.

Luke:

•  His current method of attention-getting is scratching at the Pack N Play. In moments of desperation, he jumps in.
• He gets semi-close to Abby before cowering away. Sometimes he accidentally lays within grabbing range. Abby got his tail the other day.
• If Abby was able to toss his catnip fish into the kitchen for him, they'd be BFFs.

Leia:

• She clearly is developing a love for Abby. She volunteers for abuse (envision Abby's eyes getting wide with excitement as she lunges for Leia's face/ear) and then goes back for more. It's endearing.
• She is still my snuggle-kitty. She is back to her old self ... the way she was before the pregnancy.
• She still loves food.

I love big, sloppy kisses

Big, sloppy baby kisses are the best.

There is nothing quite like seeing a slobbery, open mouth headed right for your nose. The spontaneous love and affection that spark those moments are enough to make anyone melt.

Is it inevitable that I will be hated?

Right now, I am the favorite. I am No. 1. It doesn't suck.

She lunges for me when she is being held by someone else. At times, she squeals with delight because I walk in the room. It's enough to make me feel like a rock star. This adorable little girl is in love with me and the feeling is mutual.

That being said, is it inevitable that she will ultimately hate me?

Adolescence threatens to rear its ugly head. It may be approximately 10 years or so away, but that's still right around the corner!

I know that I can't take it personal. I just have to buck up and deal with the hormones and life changes that will ultimately happen. I get that.

The question I have is whether it is a CERTAINTY that my daughter will hate to be in the same room with me. Is it possible she won't?

My Infant Travel Tips

We made it! To Las Vegas and back with Miss Abigail and she did so, so good. She is a great traveler!

Our flight out to Vegas took off at 9:20 p.m. (it was delayed), so that was an easy one. Abby ate right before we took off and then slept the entire way. Our flight home was at 2:15 or so. She slept for about an hour and then woke up and stayed awake for the remainder of the flight.

The entire trip was a success. Here are my travel tips:

1. If you are staying in a hotel, check to see that they have a crib you can use that is up to safety code and a bathtub. We had to purchase a pack n play and a blow-up bathtub while we were there.
   
2. Have plenty of toys because baby will get restless fast. I do, however, use the term "toys" loosely. Abby's favorite "toy" of the trip was probably the Gate Claim Tag we had to put on her car seat.
   
3. If you are traveling with single friends, allow them to take baby out for a walk. I made more "friends" due to Abby's cuteness. Best quote of the trip? From a topless, drunk guy walking the Strip: "That baby has some nice-ass eyes!" Why, thank you.
   
4. If you are traveling alone, be prepared to kindly ask the people seated to either side of you if they wouldn't mind a baby foot or head in his or her lap. Unfortunately for them, though, whether they mind or not will ultimately be irrelevant.
   
5. Enjoy your airport privileges. Traveling with baby means you get to cut ahead in the security line and board the plane first. You feel like royalty.

 We had a great time with Miss Thang ... and I think she had a great time, too.

My Child's Nap-Avoidance Strategy

I've been home all week. My child has napped maybe two hours total over that span. She is wily.

She has quite the strategy.

• To avert me putting her in the crib to fall asleep, she will flip over onto her belly. When she is on her stomach, she then flails around "helplessly" until I come in to rescue her.
  
• When I sit in the glider in the hopes that she will fall asleep if I'm in the same room, she executes the flip-over strategy and then peers through the bars of the crib to grin at me. This results in me pretending to sleep (though I haven't been far from not pretending).
  
• When I attempt to feed her to put her to sleep, she "messes" her diaper, resulting in a need for a diaper change. In the midst of the change, she executes the grin strategy.

Abby seems to be managing sans naps ... I am struggling.

There has been a BABY SIGHTING

You'd think none of us had ever seen a baby before.

No sooner had we arrived at the party than people started gathering around.

Then there were TWO of them.

What is it about babies that brings people to utter ridiculousness?

Think about it. We coo ... we squeal ... we make ridiculous faces ... we sing and dance.

If only we could be so carefree in all facets of life.

Superhero Leia?

Apparently I am incapable of operating the volume control on the baby monitor because, despite checking that it was turned up enough to hear Abby, it wasn't. In my stubbornness, though, I actually checked the volume in the midst of seeing the lights go off for sound as no sound was coming out.

The reason I woke up to Abby wanting a 3:45 a.m. snack was Leia's prompting. I was proud of her for getting me up, though her train of thought for actually doing so has endless possibilities.

Scenario 1 (the superhero scenario): "Hmm. I hear the child crying, but there is no movement from Mom's bedroom. I'll alert her." ::begin mewing::

Scenario 2 (the random thought scenario): "Hmm. I hear the child crying. You know ... I'm hungry." ::begin mewing::

Scenario 3 (the sinister plot scenario): "Hmm. I hear the child crying. I don't understand why she's the only one who is fed at her beck and call. I'm going to cry, too." ::begin mewing::

However the process worked in Leia's kitty brain, all worked out in the end. My inability to use a baby monitor was overcome by one swell kitty.

Who taught her this?

We were cracking up.

What is going on in Abby Land

Trying to come up with current musings as far as Abby is concerned. Not sure I have any, so I figure I'll just write a general update.

Abby
She has currently learned to stick out her tongue after much prompting from Mommy (and now Daddy). She initially wowed us with her ability to mimick our obnoxious tongue movements and now can be seen sticking her tongue out nearly all of the time. Is there a "discovered tongue" field in the baby book?

Luke
His annoying factor has reached an all-time high since Tom has returned home from the Masters. It's amazing how jealous a cat can get. It's clear he now feels he is competing for my attention with Tom and follows me around the house meowing. When I sit down, he sticks his butt in my face. It's pleasant. He's still adorable, though. All he needs is love. He also needs to chill.

Leia
Going with the flow as usual. We had run out of wet cat food and had to order more. Once the food arrived, you'd think we just served her Kobe beef. She went nuts before, during and after eating. A reminder that this cat would eat 24 hours a day if we allowed her to.

As far as interaction between the three:

Abby --> Luke and Leia: She is entertained. She sees them and smiles.

Luke --> Abby: He is apprehensive. Gets somewhat close and sniffs. Then backtracks and runs away. Considering he has a fear of tissue paper and shopping bags, this is not surprising.

Leia --> Abby: She is neither intrigued nor afraid. Sometimes she will observe, but doesn't get too close. I'm interested to see how this relationship unfolds.

Luke --> Leia: Will randomly attack, but is currently preoccupied with gaining my attention.

Leia --> Luke: Not really paying much attention. Instead can be found "lamp bathing" or on my lap.

My Kid Ate DIrt

Seriously, Abby, you can't even crawl yet and you managed to get into dirt.

We were at my parents' house and I was getting ready to feed her solid food. I was getting them ready and she was in her Bumbo on the kitchen table.

I went to get the food and turned back around and she had lunged over the side of the chair and managed to grab a stem from a potted four-leaf clover. By the time I got to her, she had already put it in her mouth and had dirt in her mouth and on her face.

A small insight into what we have to look forward to once she is mobile! Baby-proofing, here we come. Well, here Tom comes.

Peek-a-boo

I have the maturity of a 13-year-old.

Intrigue ...

We bought Abby a bunch of Berenstain Bears books awhile back and I'm having so much fun reading them to her.

At some point between my childhood and Abby's, though, Mr. and Mrs. Berenstain decided to become activists and have quoted the Bible and fought against racism (apparently Pandas moved next door? I missed this.).

Anyway, I am totally intrigued with "The Birds, The Bees and the Berenstain Bears."

I went as far as to look up the book on Barnes and Noble's website to see if they would give me a preview. They did ... until the good parts.

I will be 29 in two months, yet I'm still giggling like a school girl when I hear the word ::whispers:: sex.

We made it this far ... but our streak has ended.

Abby is sick.

She has a throat ulcer. I feel awful for her. She obviously is having pain when swallowing, so nursing, laying on her back, using a pacifier are all painful for her. We'll see how tonight goes.

I did learn one very important thing, though. Trust my "Mommy instincts."

They actually talk about that in all the classes you take before giving birth. If you feel something tugging at that instinct, act on it.

Well, I initially thought she was teething. She was drooling like crazy, tugging at her ear, struggling to nurse, and refusing the pacifier. But when there were no teeth four to five days later, we thought it might be an ear infection.

She hasn't had a fever, though, so there was no tangible proof that something was wrong. I just felt something was wrong.

As terrified as I was of getting to the after-hours care office and be wrong ("She's in perfect health ... you're just an idiot!"), we went ... Tom gave me a pep talk and told me I was an awesome mom and needed to go with it. He was awesome.

The doctor checked both her ears. "That one looks good! So does that one!"

I wasn't sure if I wanted something to be wrong. If there wasn't anything wrong, our child was simply unruly. I think I'd rather nothing be wrong.

She has a throat ulcer, which means she is struggling to swallow (hence her struggles nursing, using a pacifier and sleeping). The worst part is that it is a virus ... the only thing we can do is treat the pain.

Tom and I are hunkering down for what could be a tough night. We've already put her to bed four times and she didn't have an afternoon nap.

Happy Parenting to us!

Late-Night Eating

I didn't even do this while I was pregnant.

The dreaded growth spurt has me ravenous.

I was in bed, ready to fall asleep when my stomach growled.

Me to Tom: "What can I eat?"

Tom: "A cliff bar."

Me: "I already had one."

Tom: "Go eat a meatball."

A meatball.

Got to the fridge.

Deli meat? Nah. Yogurt? Not enough. Leftover pizza. Nice.

Cliches that turn out to be true

Darn it.

There are so many phrases/cliches/sayings uttered pre- and post-baby. It's so difficult to stomach them and -- I will admit -- it's difficult not to say them sometimes, too. There is something about certain phrases and questions -- they just roll off the tongue. I can't count the number of times I had to stop myself from asking a brand-new mom how her baby was sleeping because I remember how much that question drove me nuts.

Unfortunately, one of these is proving to be true right now. It actually isn't a phrase that bothered me, but it is one that I hoped wouldn't be true of my baby.

The phrase of: "As soon as you get into a routine, it changes."

Well, phooey on that.

Yes, my sleeping-through-the-night baby has slowly regressed to the point of getting up 2-3 times a night. She was sleeping up to 11 hours! Not anymore!

I do think that her current behavior is coupled with a growth spurt, but my zombie state doesn't really care the reasoning behind it. I just want some sleep. These nights were one thing when I was on maternity leave and didn't have to function (or drive) throughout the day. Housework suffered, but I have the greatest husband in the world, so it was okay.

Now I have to drive to work (and actually work). I was so close to slapping myself across the face this morning after what seemed like my hundredth painful yawn while driving down I-94.

At least Abby looked perky (and well-fed) in the back seat.

We All Survived

Yes, we all made it through unscathed.

I managed to get through Pumpfest 2011 (thank you to the Westin Indianapolis for my mini-fridge), Abby managed amidst four shift-changes (Daddy to Aunt and Uncle to Grandma and Grandpa back to Daddy) and Daddy managed to get through two nights on baby duty.

All in all, it was a good time had by all and a lesson to all you moms out there (including myself) that taking a moment to chill out is good for everyone.

That being said, all seems to be back to normal in our household. I have had two photo shoots over the last two days. This morning's included the inauguration of a new outfit (six months, Carters).

Not only did Abby ham it up, she managed to Hail the Victors.

Then, fitting for this blog, Luke struck a pose because he did not want to be left out.

The Trip is Looming

I don't know what it is about "Mommy brain" that takes reason completely out of the equation.

I am leaving tomorrow morning for a three-night, four-day work trip and I am anxious about it ... even though I know everything will be more than okay.

I don't even know for sure what I'm so concerned about. Abby will have quality time with her Daddy, her aunt, uncle and cousins and her grandparents. Before she knows it (she likely won't know it), Mommy will be back. What am I so concerned about?

Let's see ...

1. She will think Mommy has abandoned her. This is particularly ridiculous because I don't even think she has the physiological capacity to believe that. It should also be noted that I am not the only person biologically related to Abby (yes, this is true. I did not have the first immaculate conception since the birth of Christ). She has other family members who deserve to spend one-on-one time with her.
   
2. She will be completely unsettled because no one takes care of her like I do. This will also be true of Daddy and Grandma and Uncle and Auntie. Everyone will take care of her in a unique way and she deserves different types of relationships! I will make sure to tell her to keep the fact that I am her favorite on the DL, though. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings (I kid, I kid).
   
3. My milk will dry up. I highly doubt this will happen.
   
4. I will miss her. Okay, this might be the only valid point in the whole list. I don't want to leave her! I will miss her! Sigh.

Therapeutic BLOG posts from Indianapolis to follow ...

Children's Literature

Okay, I've been telling everyone I know about this and it seems I am the only one who finds it very, very funny.

I bought a bunch of Berenstain Bears books for Abby and read her my favorite: "The New Baby."

The premise of the book is:

Small Bear wakes up one morning and realizes his knees and ankles hurt because (alas) his feet are hanging over the edge of the bed.

Papa Bear says, "By golly, we'll take you out to build a new, bigger bed for you!"

As they walk out the door, Mama Bear smugly rubs her obviously-pregnant belly and says to herself, "This is just in the nick of time."

Apparently, she has been growing a watermelon in her belly, unbeknown to Small Bear.

Papa Bear and Small Bear have a phenomenal day together, building a bigger bed. They return and Small Bear realizes his old bed is missing! Papa and Mama then point out that there is a new baby -- Sister Bear -- in his old bed.

Mama Bear went about giving birth while Papa and Small Bear were out on their father-son day trip.

How did I not question this as a child?

I will say, though, that I am eager to read more books of Abby's to find humor in them.

I was reading her Tom's favorite Curious George book in which George swallows a puzzle piece and has to go to the hospital to have it extracted. At the end, he takes the surgically-removed puzzle piece and completes the puzzle.

Of course, I am sitting there thinking about stomach acid and the damage done to the piece itself. Couldn't they have ordered a new one?

"Let's put this regurgitated puzzle piece back in the puzzle."

Sanitary? I think not.

This is every morning with the kitties.

I don't really need to say anything.

The Strike

Abby is on a nursing strike.

She is fine during the night (essentially when she wakes up in a comatose state), but is refusing to nurse during the day.

It's quite the rejection, let me tell you. And completely unexpected.

Before having Abby, I turned up my nose at breastfeeding. I claimed it "wasn't for me" because I worked and because it just seemed strange.

Some mothers convinced me to at least try it because the benefits are so high during the first six weeks. I committed for at least six weeks. We are now going on four and a half months.

I really love it and this strike is killing me! I have faith it will get better (I got some great advice from a friend and bought some new bottles), but it is really tough in the meantime!

It occurred to me yesterday that this is just one of many situations where this little person will succeed in helping me to feel completely inadequate. She doesn't know any different, but -- as far as I'm concerned -- she has a picket sign with "Say NO to nursing" on it.

We'll see how the situation plays out.

What happens to your spine when you become a parent?

Okay, seriously, I am completely lame.

Before becoming a parent, I would have confidently told anyone who listened that I would be that parent who struggled to leave her child. I would profess my ability to simply leave her at a relative's house and go out on the town or on an overnight rendezvous.

Now ... my "strength" has completely turned to mush.

I have the opportunity to go out with Tom Friday night and it very well could be our first full night without Abby. I am terrified.

For real?

I mean ... for real?

I definitely consider myself a parent with a drive to have "my own time," but even I am struggling to have a full night without my little peanut. What will I do when I wake up in the morning and she's not at home with us?

The answer is (wait for it): go pick her up.

This would be a good trial run for the three-night work trip I have in a few weeks (we won't even touch on that overwhelming sense of anxiety right now), but I'm still scared!

I feel so unbelievably pathetic.

Ah, motherhood.

You know you're a parent ...

When you've already had one cup of coffee at home, a grande Starbucks and are depressed that you shouldn't have any more because you would turn into a walking jitter.

I have issues.

Strange Baby

So, Abby is now giggling, which is the greatest thing EVER. It is interesting, though, to see what exactly she finds funny.

For example, she things that taking her shirts off over her head is the FUNNIEST thing in the world. It has gotten to the point where I haven't even pulled them over her face yet and she's laughing.

On the other hand, she things putting the clothes ON is the WORST thing in the world. As soon as I pull them over her head, she starts screaming ... particularly when I have to maneuver her arms through the sleeves.

Now, if this child continues to think taking off her clothes is hilarious and putting them on is awful, we're going to be in for a problem.

"Ow, that hurt!"

Abby is starting to be more and more aware of her surroundings, including the fact that things are uncomfortable.

Tom was playing with her yesterday and she hit herself in the head with a rattle, only to start crying hysterically. Then today I sneezed while she was in her play yard and it startled her ... more crying ensued.

I find it interesting that there is some part of the brain that must switch on to allow Abby to realize things aren't fun. I mean ... she has hit herself in the head with plenty of rattles and she has been startled numerous times ... why has it just now become upsetting?

Husband Hostility

We finished eating dinner and I ran upstairs to get the bathroom ready for Abby's bath.

When I came downstairs, Leia was licking my mostly-clean plate (we had linguine for dinner).

Me: "Leia!" And I threw her on the ground.

Tom to Abby: "I can't wait until you can pull her tail."

Sad.

I'm Insane

Seriously.

This is one of those moments I thought about as a pre-parent, but couldn't conceptualize actually happening.

I am going on a four-night trip for work at the end of February and I'm already terrified that I have to leave Abby.

Will she think I've abandoned her? Will I scar her for life? How will I leave her? How long will I cry in the car? I'm about to cry right now.

It is absolutely ridiculous. My "rational" self knows that everything will be fine. She probably won't even realize I'm gone until I've returned.

But I am so scared! It's pathetic.

More than likely, Tom is secretly hoping I don't bring this up every single day until the last week of February. We'll see. It could get ugly.

Abby's Life with the Kitties

A little insight into the "interaction" between Abby and Luke and Leia.

Thank goodness for more surface area

So, after what I will call "The Big Poop 2011" (I will spare details), we have officially moved on to Size 2 diapers.

Yes, in our little world of baby, this is a significant milestone. But more important than the growth milestone is the fact that we may be able to avoid the endless scoops of Oxi-Clean we have had to put into pre-treatment and the washing machine.

My stubborn self avoided trying on the Size 2s because I knew as soon as I did, I would want to change out all of the Size 1s. I went as long as I could stretching those Size 1 diapers until last night's explosion when enough was enough.

The really sad thing is that I carried her up to her bath (face-out and as far away from me as possible so to avoid the *ahem* dirtiness) giddy to put the new diapers on her. Giddy.

I gave her a bath, dried her off and ...

*Drumroll*

... oh, how exciting it was when I put the diaper around her waist and there was so much coverage!

Do Nursery Rhymes Do Damage?

Seriously, nursery rhymes are insane. I know that they have origins, but still.

Rock a bye baby, on the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all!

Why the violence? Does the baby die? Awful!

Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown,
Tapping at the window and crying through the lock,
Are all the children in their beds, it's past eight o'clock?

First off, this is creepy. Secondly ... Wee Willie Winkie? Really? Yes, my mind is in the gutter.

Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?

Okay, now we're cutting off the tails of mice? I don't know if I can live with myself if that's what I preach to Abby.

Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To get her poor doggie a bone,
When she got there
The cupboard was bare
So the poor little doggie had none

This is just depressing.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn't know what to do!
So she gave them some broth without any bread,
And she whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed!

Well, isn't this just a stand-up woman?

I'm not sure I'm going to be able to share these with Abby ... may have to stick with Sesame Street ...

The Frazzled World of Motherhood

I seriously feel like I'm losing my mind sometimes and I don't even have a "difficult" baby.

I think the sole responsibility of accounting for another person is enough to drive one relatively insane, as evidenced by the fact that I managed to pack all of Abby's milk for the day while forgetting to include nipples for the bottles.

My dad called in a panic ("I don't have any nipples!") and I had to make an emergency run to Target.

(On a random note, it is really irritating that Medela doesn't sell nipples and the part that screws the nipple on top of the bottles. They just sell the rubber nipple itself. So I had to buy three bottles. Awesome. Now we have a million and three bottles.)

I really don't understand how I managed to get this frazzled. As I said, Abby is an angel-baby. She sleeps through the night (10-11 hours straight) and it content the majority of the time. So why am I so exhausted?

I guess the mere fact that I have to cart her around with me wherever I go (this weekend it was a basketball game and a baby shower) and then care for her for the majority of the day is enough. I suppose it results in mental exhaustion and the desire to have some "me" time at the end of the day. That "me" time translates into staying up too late, which then results in sleep deprivation.

Throw in Abby getting up at 3:45 last night and eating for an hour and I was definitely behind on my coherency.

You'd think that I'd be able to manage, though, with some shred of alertness. Apparently not.

It has me more than impressed with the endless number of mothers who manage to stay awake despite their child waking up at all hours of the night and struggling through colic, acid reflux and the like.

So this post this morning goes out to those mothers. I bow down with respect.

To ask or not to ask?

I am fascinated with human nature.

I am not someone who need to put Abby in pink to make sure everyone knows she is a girl, but it shocks me just how often people assume she is a boy.

I will put her in Michigan or Lions' gear. For Halloween, she was wearing black and orange. What shocked me was that I didn't get asked if she was a boy or a girl, they just referred to her as "he."

Do strangers just assume I would only take a boy to a sporting event? Does she not have enough frill?

When I don't know the sex of a baby, I'll often ask, "What's the name?"

This keeps me from having to truly reveal I am clueless as to the sex, while still getting my answer.

When you really get thrown through a loop is when the name is androgynous like Taylor or Alex. Then you're back at square one trying to figure out what sex the baby actually is.

Gets me thinking about those headbands again ...

What it's like living with Luke (no joke)

Fear of Becoming Uninteresting

I like to fancy myself relatively entertaining. I mean, I'm no Ellen Degeneres (yes, that is the comedian that popped into my mind) or anything, but I think I have a certain charm (::wink, wink::).

Post-baby, I have a fear of becoming incredibly dull. What if I get to a point where the only things I want to talk about include baby excretions or babbling?

My biggest fear is conducting a State of the Union on potty training.

(Can you envision one side of the room vigorously applauding and giving a standing O for No. 1 and the other side for No. 2? "And we are looking to pee in the potty!" ::applause and cheering commence:: Okay, I'm done.)

Not that I'm actually a stranger to this type of behavior. I have enlightened many a folk with some thrilling cat stories in my day.

But who doesn't want to hear about Leia knocking on our door at 4:30 a.m. because she's hungry? Or the fact that Luke fetches? Or our new cat tree? Nobody? Anybody?

I do find this post ironic considering the entire purpose of this blog is to talk about my child and my cats, but maybe that is the point: we do better in packs.

Got a good cat story? Hit me with it. Did your child throw up all over your work outfit this morning, leaving you 15 minutes late for work? Tell me about it. Do you feel like swooning over that milk smile your little one just shot at you for no apparent reason? Love it.

The ultimate fear is becoming "that parent" to the "outsiders."

As a non-parent I hated hearing phrases like, "You'll understand when you're a parent." I felt talked down to. Now I get it.

It's not that you become a better person as a parent. It's not that you become smarter. Instead, your brain shifts and you find yourself entertained sharing stories about naps, spit up and diapers.

There's got to be hope for me. I can be entertained by all those things, but still be interesting to the rest of the world. Right?

My name is Chrissie ... and I'm a caffeine addict

More specifically, a coffee addict.

Before I became a mother, I fancied myself a coffee addict. But I also considered a coffee addict someone who had to have coffee every morning.

Now?

I have to have coffee every morning ... and afternoon ... and sometimes evening.

I used to think someone who drank as much coffee as I currently do (sometimes three cups in the morning and then another in the afternoon if I feel so inclined) was on a sure-fire path toward an ulcer.

Now I see my habits as a method of survival.

Sometimes, in my fast-paced world of routine, my love of coffee is what keeps me moving toward the next day. I don't know if I should consider it sad that I sometimes fall asleep with my mouth watering as I think about the next morning's cup.

You think I'm exaggerating.

It was the moment that happened for the first time that I realized I might have a problem.

But I embrace it. I look at it as the silver lining of sleep deprivation.

It's the little things in life that keep us moving day-to-day (both figuratively and literally ... but I digress) and this is one of my little things: my morning cup(s) of coffee.

It could be worse. I could ingest my caffeine in (::gasp::) pill form as I did in my college days.

Okay, how many flashed back to Saved By the Bell?

"I'm so excited! I'm so excited!"

Perhaps I've already overdone it this morning ...

A Parenting First: I Got "The Look"

Yep. It happened.

I was at church with Abs on Saturday evening. Tom was out of town, so it was just she and I. Considering the time of year (and all of the lovely illnesses I've heard are going around), I didn't want to take Abby to the nursery, not that I need to justify myself.

I was in the very back row of the auditorium; literally the seat against the wall and directly next to the door to escape if needed.

Before service started, I was standing up with her and was about to give her a bottle. She fussed for just a minute before I started feeding her.

That's when it happened.

An older woman (I'm awful with ages ... maybe early 60s?) did the slow-turn-and-glare. Her presentation read, "Why do you have your baby here with all the adults?"

I probably deserved it, considering I have been guilty of those thoughts in my day. Yes, I admit it.

Ultimately, the service went fine, but there were a few times I had to leave to go to the crying room to calm her down (which I did at the slightest hint of fussing by her).

This got me thinking, though.

What kind of "responding parent" am I going to be when it comes to "the look"?

I figure I have a few options.

1. The snapper. I can be "that mother" who responds quickly with, "Is there a problem?" I'm not sure if I have the ability to be a snapper, though, because being one also requires the ability to come up with snappy comebacks in the event someone offers up an unwarranted remark. I also wonder if being a snapper is a good model for Abby.
   
2. The glarer. This is currently the front runner, because I have an uncanny ability to get my point across without using words. I also see the benefit of this in that the execution of a well-timed glare could get my point across sufficiently while going unnoticed by Abby (and any future children).
   
3. The ignorer. Do I pretend a look or a comment simply didn't happen? I'm wondering if there is a benefit to this. Does it truly give a proverbial "F you" if I don't acknowledge the attack? Not sure.

As of right now, these are the options I have come up with. Perhaps when I'm "in the field" I will come up with some others, spur-of-the-moment.

I'll keep you updated.

Accessories? Or not.

One thing I have been adamant about for a long time is my distaste for baby headbands.

I don't fault people who use them, but they are just not for me. I decided that I didn't need to crush my child's skull so people would know she is a girl.

Well, I am now in a moral dilemma. Abby has an abundance of hair and I began toying with the idea of using a headband (or other hair accessory).

I grabbed the headbands I have out of Abby's room today, but never got around to trying them out.

Well, Tom saw them on the table and called me out.

"Going to crack!"

I haven't jumped off the cliff yet ... but another "I'll never" may be checked off the list in the near future ...

Is this normal?

I'm going to go with no.

Hide and Seek

One of the best parts of having cats is where you will find them.

I ran upstairs to grab something and found Luke. (Please ignore the drying laundry)

GUILT

So ... I was just about to call it a night after the Packers went up by 34 (I think it's safe to say it's over), when Leia walked over to the couch with conviction as though she just noticed I was sitting there.

Now ... this.

I just can't bring myself to go to bed. Sigh. So tired.

Shameless Comedy

Getting Abby to laugh is the end-all, be-all.

I am willing to dance like an idiot to the random tune of a little red umbrella, constantly make faces that would be relevant at my own surprise birthday party and make up catchy tunes to everything from diaper changing to bathing.

The soundtrack of my parenting would currently include:

• "My Sockie Came Off" (An instant classic)
• "Somebody's Stinky (I think it's Abby!)"
• "I Pooped"
• "Abby's Great (She's Sweet Like Chocolate Cake)" (Rendition of the tune made famous by Bill Cosby in his 80s stand-up special)

The Desperate Kitty

Poor Leia.

She could be found on my lap every single night pre-Abby. Now she waits her turn. Patiently.

But when it's time for her to get Mommy Time, she goes for it.

Leia tonight:

I mean, how do you disturb this?

The Switch

I think there's a switch that goes off the second you become a mom. All of a sudden, things you never, ever, EVER thought you'd be excited about get you irrationally excited.

My excitement items so far:

• Poop. I used to be completely unable to even utter the word -- it disgusted me. Now it gets me excited because I know everything's operating properly. Definitely wouldn't have believed this about myself pre-Abby.
  
• Screw-on caps for breast milk bottles that you can set to the date you pumped. I nearly threw a party for the discovery of this product. Pre-Abby, I didn't even think "breast" and "milk" would be uttered (no pun intended, but HA!) in the same phrase regarding myself.
  
• Pink clothing.  I proudly told people that my daughter wouldn't be wearing pink every day. Right. Then Tom dressed up Abby in a blue sleeper and she looked like a boy. I couldn't have my pretty little girl looking like a boy, now, could I?
  
• Abby reaching for a ladybug toy in her play yard. It's at moments like these you realize your life has completely changed. No more all-night partying and dancing for you. It's your child's ability to locate an object and recognize she has the ability to touch it that gets your mojo going.

Luke's Ice Obsession

Luke has developed an obsession with ice cubes.

Because I dropped many of them on the kitchen floor and Luke saw that they slide around quite easily, he started to get really excited whenever I would go to the refrigerator to fill up my water glass.

Of course I can't resist giving him ice cubes. So I go to the freezer and pull out ice cubes and take them to his water dish. He gets SO EXCITED. As soon as I get them out of the freezer and start walking toward the water dish, he starts making noise, "Mooow! Mooow!" and running toward it.

Then ... it begins.

Luke's (and sometimes Leia's) 10-15 minute stare down with the ice cubes.

Yep. They sit there. And sit there. And sit there.

I think it's funny.

To non-pet parents, this story often evokes this look:

I think it's funny, anyway.