+There are more baby pictures up on Facebook, if anyone is interested.
Separation anxiety, I shake my fist at you. YARRRR!
The Child needs to be carried at all times these days. Well, let me modify that. I need to be available to carry her at all times these days. She's content sitting on the floor and playing for a while, provided that I am nearby and not standing up (BY GOLLY, WOMAN, YOU BETTER NOT STAND UP), and if she crawls over to me, I better pick her up RIGHT THIS MINUTE, WOMAN, I'M ONLY GONNA TELL YOU ONCE, and then when I pick her up, she will want that toy, YES THAT TOY, NO NOT THAT ONE, THAT ONE, OVER THERE, ACROSS THE ROOM, BUT BY GOLLY, WOMAN, YOU BETTER NOT PUT ME DOWN TO GO PICK IT UP, I INSIST YOU SCHLEP ME OVER THERE, and then if I go get it, she is immediately happy launching herself off my lap onto the floor to frolick about with that toy, and after .32 seconds of playing with the toy she MUST HAVE, she lurches madly toward another one, or probably a power cord or something else that could potentially kill her, and this is how I have spent 50% of every one of her waking moments for the last two days.
The other 50% is either spent with Daddy doing the same thing (with me out of the room, of course, or there will be more lurching and pathetic wailing) or with me doing what I have to do and trying my best to ignore her as she trails after me, lurching and wailing pathetically. She still sucks at crawling, so my very sadistic side gets some amusement out of watching her spasm toward me, and then when she finally gets to my shoe, OOPS, I have to go to the other side of the kitchen. No, I don't really do that on purpose to be cruel; she just has very good timing.
You know what doesn't help? Neverending teething and recurring horrible diaper rash. Her top left incisor has been coming in for centuries now, and I am on the verge of digging it out myself. Her bottom left incisor took forever, too.
(OR, WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO SEND ME HOME WITH THIS A BABY, ANYWAY?)
In happier news, she is back to sleeping through the night, and OH MY GOSH I am such an idiot.
I talked to my sister about it because I was completely baffled by Grace's behavior. And my sister asked me if I was feeding her any solid foods before bed. And then I smacked my forehead so hard that I have permanent brain damage, not that it makes a difference because I'm already such a moron. So I started loading Grace up with some oatmeal and avocado (which she luuurves, and which I keep snitching while I'm feeding her because they are so good) before her last feeding of the night, and like magic, she started sleeping again.
I gotta say, though, these midnight feedings for the last week sent my supply through the roof. I am happy about that, as I was starting to worry a little. I do not want to have to buy formula, not when we are this close to the magical one-year mark.
I am thinking of sewing some full-body bibs for Grace. I have twelve thousand really cute receiving blankets just lying around, not getting used, and they would be perfect to turn into bibs. I just don't know how. It pains me to see them lying around, taking up space and not earning their keep. And I'm a cheapskate who doesn't want to spend money on huge bibs when I have all the materials right here. Aren't some of you good sewers? (hahahah! sewers!) Would you want to help a sister out?
There is a farmer's market here across the river every Wednesday, starting tomorrow. I would like to go, but I honestly don't know what they are, exactly. Is the idea just that they're locally grown goods? Are they cheaper? Are they organic or somehow better in any way? I'm planning on going anyway, since we usually walk through that park on our daily outing, but I just want to know if getting some cash from the ATM will be worth my time.
My sister also mocked me for getting bottled water for Grace. Hi, sister! So that now has me thinking, am I being silly? I'm pretty sure our water is safe (I think, by law, city water has to be safe), but our house is approximately three trillion years old, and I do not even want to know what kinds of things are seeping in through our pipes. And how does one go about getting one's water tested? Can I buy a kit? Do I have to call someone? Oh please tell me I do not have to call someone.
The other night we went out to eat at the local Mexican restaurant. We went there once when I was pregnant and LOVED it. The food was delicious, and the service was friendly; everything was great.
The other night? Not so much. We walked in, and a very sloppy-looking girl asked, "Are you eating?" James and I were both a little taken aback by that. No, we came here to perform the Splagantabas Ritual upon our infant daughter, and your dance floor happens to be on a center of power. But whatever. We said, "Yes." She waved a hand behind her and said, "You can sit wherever." So we found a table, and she followed us with menus, and then I asked if they had any high chairs. "I dunno. I'll go check." How do you not know if you have high chairs? I suppose she could have started the job five minutes ago and not been trained at all, but that's unlikely. (it turns out they don't have high chairs)
Our waitress was much better. Her English was a little shaky, but she was friendly and helpful and did a good job. The food, though. That was a different story. Oh my gosh. I ordered chicken flautas, which were supposed to come with refried beans, rice, lettuce, tomato, avocado and sour cream. I don't know what James got. But our food was cold. There are few things less appetizing than cold refried beans with melted and then hardened cheese on top. It looked like Jabba the Hut with a horrible toupee.
And my flautas has been fried into desiccated tubes of oil and starch. I almost broke a tooth trying to get through the chicken. In fact, it looked like they'd been made hours ago and then reheated in a lukewarm oven. The more I think about it, the more likely that seems.
There were no avocados, which has been my main reason for ordering the dish in the first place. I asked about those, and they did bring some right out. Normally that one thing wouldn't have bothered me; it's easy to forget one little thing. But together with everything else, it was just one more disappointment.
You people know how I feel about good food. I was very excited to be going out to eat, something we almost never do. I was almost displeased enough to ask for my money back. But that sort of confrontation makes me all shaky and scared. It was hard enough asking about the avocados. I may still call and try to speak to the owner or something; maybe they don't know that things are so horrible there.
And now I'm hungry.