She's getting too big for the front-facing kangaroo hold in the sling. Her bottom and thighs are so meaty that I practically have to break some bones and dislocate my own ribs to get her in. But she hates the tummy-to-tummy hold (I think it's that she can see BOOBS RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, MOM, WHY ARE YOU TAUNTING ME?), and her back's not strong enough yet to do the hip carry. Anyway, when I finally get her in the forward-facing way, I think she thinks she's levitating by the power of her fingers. When we're sitting or standing, she'll play with a toy or chew on her toes or gabble like a drunken fishwife, but when I start walking around, she splays her fingers out and does little circle motions with her arms. Like panicky jazz hands.
Yesterday I put a pair of her tights over her head and took video. I must upload that because it's probably the funniest thing I've ever seen.
Don't worry; it wasn't torture, as she didn't seem to mind it one bit.
We went shopping yesterday. She has grown out of her 6-9 month onesies. I don't know when it happened, really; five minutes ago she was swimming in them. So we went to the outlet mall, and I got her 15 slightly large onesies. They may fit for 32 seconds. I swear that child eats the equivalent of a whole cat every six hours. I suspect she has a stash of something hidden under her mattress. Hopefully it's not pieces of the neighbor's cat.
I also went to the Dress Barn outlet. For years I've shunned the place. I refuse to buy clothing from a place called "The Dress Barn". But Grace was getting antsy, I needed shirts, and it was the closest women's store. Most of the clothes in there were made for sixty-year-old women. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but I'm twenty-six. However, SCORE on the clearance rack. I found two very flattering shirts--one a long-sleeved black shirt that makes me look thin and beautiful (it even plucks my eyebrows for me) and the other a long-torsoed, short-sleeved grey sweater. Combine this with my new haircut, and I feel like Giselle Freaking Bundchen. I'm still tempted to black out "The Dress Barn" on the tags with permanent marker. The Dress Barn. Makes me feel like a cow.
Speaking of Cat, The Child realized today that Cat was a touchable object. Before, if she even noticed Cat, she'd just stare at it like, "You're not a baby. You're not a Big Person. What are you?" But today, Cat registered on her radar while we were sitting on the couch. She reached out and touched Cat. To my complete surprise, Cat did not remove The Child's fingers from her body; instead, she just looked at me resignedly, like, "That thing is pretty much here to stay, isn't it?" We were all having a great time enjoy the softness of Cat's fur, and then The Child decided she couldn't be sure of what Cat was until she had a good taste. She reached out, clenched her little fist, and pulled. Instead of Cat coming to her mouth, as she'd intended, she just yanked out a whole bunch of fur. More resigned looks from Cat, and The Child stared and the hank of fur in her hand like, "What just happened?"
It hurts me to admit this, but I've moved past the point of grudging warmth and into full-on affection for Cat. Three cheers for Zyrtec, I say! Either that, or I'm getting used to her particular allergens.
Enough about the kid. Remember how we had Lawn Care Ed and his wife Marge over for dinner a couple months ago? I thought we had a good time. They left, all smiles.
We haven't seen them since. I know they're still alive because their eight thousand cars are in different positions around their yard and driveway every time I walk by, but not so much as a "howdy neighbor" from them since. I'm no gourmet chef, but I'm pretty sure the soup I made was all kinds of fantastic, so I don't know what the deal is. Maybe they're intimidated by our class and elegance.
Tomorrow I have friends coming over. Friends. Coming over. This is normal when it's old friends that I've known for years. But these people are Church People, whom I've only known for a few years. They're very nice Church People, and I'm sure one day I'll feel comfortable with them. But that won't be until I'm 30. Right now all I can think about is the disaster state my house is in.
And what am I doing? Sitting in the rocking chair in my bathrobe. I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.
I don't really know how it gets so messy around here. I put things back when I'm done with them, dishes get to the sink, and I do 47 loads of laundry a day. And yet it still looks like Babies R' Us and the Gap had a kegger in here last night.
These are best viewed in high quality.
I am the most evil mother that ever mothered.