Evidently, when Shrike wakes up before we do, she watches us sleep. Or, she watches Peeper sleep, and I’m there, too.
The other day, I was mostly asleep, when Shrike said (to whom, I don’t know – because I was asleep), “Aw, look, she’s laughing in her sleep.”
Which made perfect sense to me, because I’d been dreaming that I was tickling her belly button.
A couple of days ago, Shrike reported that Peeper poked herself in the eye with her thumb – and then gave it a dirty look.
On Tuesday, the three of us went to vote. When we got to the check-in table, the
little blue-haired old lady election judge was, of course, goo-gooing over Peeper.
I told her our last name and as she started looking for it in the book, I said, “There are two of us, and we’re both here. Actually, there are three of us, but this one isn’t old enough to vote yet.”
When she found us in the book, she said, “I’ll hold the baby, and you sign your name right here.”
Um yeah, no.
So, I said, “Oh, I’m fine,” and reached for the pen. Believe me, I can do much more complex things with a baby in my arms than signing my name. Hell, she wasn’t even nursing at the time!
Shrike said, “I’ll hold her while you sign,” so I handed her off.
The election judge said, “Ok, Grandma can hold her.”
Whozat: 3 / Shrike: 1
Whozat: 1 / Shrike: 1
I have been told three times in the past two weeks how much Peeper looks like me.
A couple of days ago, we were asked, by someone whom I really thought would have already known the answer to this question, “So, are you doing any attachment parenting stuff? You know, like Dr. Sears?”
I’m gonna go with a “yes” on that one.
“Talk To Me” baby sign language DVD:
“This is the sign for milk. You can use it to mean real milk, breast milk, or even formula. “
What the fuck?!?
“. . . real milk, breast milk . . . .”
Oh no. She. Didn’t.
I am already on the Peeper Can’t Eat It Diet, regarding her dairy sensitivity, but I may have to also go on the Peeper Shouldn’t Eat It Diet, regarding her, um, babiness.
More than once, I’ve snagged an Oreo on my way through the kitchen, while carrying her in one arm, and she’s started gumming at my cheek while I was eating it.
As though she planned to chew through the side of my face, and into my mouth, so she could have some.
Remember a while back, when I blogged about Peeper hating the carseat?
Well, I forgot to mention that she got over it shortly after that.
When we moved the straps up to the next setting.
All together now, class: Worst. Mothers. Ever.