So much to do...

I have so much I could be writing about. Like how Becca now leans out of other people's grasp and stretches her arms out to me, as if to say, "No, thank you kindly, but it's this lady I want," and how incredibly awesome that feels.

Or how I'm having a hard time coming to terms with my "new" after-baby body, and regardless of the miles jogged and salads consumed, my body is now different. As in rounder and less firm, (or in the case of my chest, shrinking and languishing), with an extra 10 pounds my frame refuses to give up, all of which makes me feel really crappy about myself.

Or how we're down to the wire on this Peru trip and there's so much to be done--lists made, shopping accomplished, bags packed, people prepped, guilt checked, body made fit.

But there's really no time to write about any of this, so I'll just update with some pictures of the Little Miss. Because all things aside, this ride is happening so dang fast. She's grown so much and is clearly her own little person now, full of likes, dislikes, and a stubborn streak the size of Texas. Love you, baby girl!

Don't "f" with the schedule

The Banker learned a hard lesson last night. The only problem is that I also had to suffer through the tutorial.

See, yesterday evening I was in the garage working on a painting project with a friend. The Banker was assigned care of Becca for the hour, hour and a half. Nothing extraordinary was demanded: Simply finish feeding her, amuse her, change her.

We'd barely cracked open the paint can when The Banker popped his head into the garage and announced that Becca was asleep. "But it's only 6:30 or 7," I said. "If she falls asleep now, she'll never sleep through the night."

"No," he responded in his ultimate wisdom. "She had a busy day visiting my mom, and she's just tired. It'll be fine."

Despite my repeated concerns, The Banker said that Becca was really quite alright. And she was. Until 10:30 rolled around and she was suddenly and irrevocably awake. And thus she remained until well past midnight. Any time she was put in her crib she'd scream with such fervor that she'd start gagging and coughing. (We have a stubborn child, I'm told. Gee, ya think so?!)

At one point in this exhausting trial, I whipped around and growled at The Banker, "I'm the Mom. I know her schedule. I know what she needs. When I tell you something, LISTEN, and don't "F" with the schedule!"

Becca finally exhausted herself in the wee hours of the night...and awoke in the wee hours of the morning. And now? Now she's sleeping through her feeding. Because someone "f"ed with her schedule.

Yup, she's alllll mine

Yesterday I had to lug Little Bits to a doctor's appointment. We had to wait some 40 minutes, and Becca did what Becca does when she gets bored--she blows raspberries. Which is really just a nice way of saying that she makes farting noises with her lips and spits. A LOT. I mean, she was soaking herself, and I could feel the spray from two feet away.

Of course, the waiting room was full and the ridiculous noise kept people laughing. I couldn't get her to stop--the sippy cup, binky, and teethers held no appeal. Finally when my name was called, I hauled her into the back and said, "Everyone in the waiting room will be a lot drier once we get back here."

The entire room erupted in laughter. What can I say? My kid's got talent.

Sometimes this seems maddeningly true...

"A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments, soccer games, romances, best friends, location of friend's houses, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams. A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house." --Unknown

Simply Wow

Becca turned six months over the weekend, and I'm left wondering where the time has gone. You know the saying that time flies? Well, that goes double--no triple time--when kids are involved. Everyone says it, but wow, are they right.

She sitting up by herself. She has four teeth coming in simultaneously all in a row. She grabs everything and anything, and it all goes straight into the mouth. She yabbers constantly. The Banker and I swear we've heard "Mom" and "Hi."

I'm working on a short list of some of my favorite characteristics Becca has shown these past few months, just so I don't forget. Like the way she feels the breeze and throws her arms out, opens her hands, and sighs so contently into the wind. Or the way she takes everything in, stretching her neck, jutting out her chin and arching her eyebrows as she tracks something across the room. Or how she kisses--or at least I think it's kissing--open mouthed, with lots of slobber. Then again, maybe she's practicing to be a vampire for Halloween.

Tomorrow's her six-month check-up, so we'll get her latest stats. Little Bits, I'm just so constantly in awe of you!

An Aside

Last night I ran into a beautiful person
in an unexpected place,
and she gave me an explanation
I was not owed.

She shared with me a trouble—
But perhaps that’s not accurate...
A trial? A challenge?
I don’t know the details,
(and they’re none of my business)
so my response last night
might have been all wrong.

So if “I’m sorry” didn’t fit,
then I want to say:
“Things will be okay.
There’s so much strength
in your delicate stature.
People are pulling for you.
You’re a beautiful person,
and I want to wish you the best.”

Entirely Too Much Information

Well, it's official. Becca has completely transitioned to the bottle (along with cereal, fruit, and veggies)...and now I'm completely and totally uncomfortable. I guess I didn't understand how dang uncomfortable weaning would be. I mean, it's a don't-breathe-on-me-Oh-my-gosh-I-think-I'm-going-to-keel-over kind of hurt. I told The Banker this is what elephantitis looks like it feels like.

As an avid reader of dooce.com, I remember Heather B. Armstrong extolling the virtues of cabbage leaves in just this situation. And since exercise bras and rum weren't cutting it, I had The Banker stop by the store and pick up a head of cabbage on his way home.

And I can't believe I'm admitting this, but as I sit and type, IT'S WORKING. I have cabbage leaves in my bra and it's actually helping. I don't have the guts to take them to work with me tomorrow, but let me tell you, I'm putting those suckers on as soon as I get home. And if I'm really insane, I'll wear them to a party we're supposed to attend tomorrow night. I would smell like cole slaw, but I'd be comfortable.

And for those of you wishing you could bleach your brain after reading this post--I did warn you. The title of the post said Entirely Too Much Information.

First Trip to the Zoo...