MAN, it's cold out lately. It's averaged about 35 degrees for the last few days, and while that isn't polar bear weather or anything, it's a big change from our accustomed 45-50. I've been stuffing myself into my usual winter wear because the purchase of a maternity coat just seems silly - I have at least two extra layers of walrus fat at the moment, and I really should stop whining because it's probably going to get warmer in no time... But when you can't zip and the wind's blowin', you start to think crazy.
So! Been busy this month, which was nice - here's a shot from the latest portrait session. Betcha can't guess where we were:
I'm entering a slow period, so I've been doing some nesting (c'mon, like you didn't know that was coming, in spite of the decreased need to depinkify). We dragged the first of Norah's 84 bins of clothes out of the attic to do a swap when a buddy and her baby came to see us, so I kept all the teensy ones out and stocked up the second dresser in
Norah's the girls' room. And oh my goodness, some of them are so small. A couple of the really little outfits would make excellent belly shirts for Nonos - except that they're dresses that I remember putting on her and thinking, "God, this is a tent, what am I supposed to do with this?"
Baby girl clothes are so weird. I was lucky and had a number of baby showers (the work one, the friends one, the in-laws' house one) so we ended up with enough teensy clothes to outfit the entire Cabbage Patch Kid line of 1984. I mean, holy crap, we were DROWNING in baby clothes. Some of them were soft, cozy little numbers that I wanted to cut up and stitch into my own footie outfit (like you wouldn't go around in a one-zip t-shirty thing with feet if people wouldn't look at you funny) but the others? The others had acrylic lace, four parts, halter tops, and sleeves that needed ironing. I don't iron Rob's work shirts, let alone something that is likely going to be used to blot vomit in the near future. My biggest sucker-inner was the foo-foo matching hat - but none of them fit, stayed on, or really served a purpose (other than the vomit-blotting, and on one memorable occasion, vomit-catching).
So friends, you'll be getting softy things with maybe polka dots on them when you join The Mommy Club. No lace, and no hats, unless you plan to keep them in the car for those frightening highway moments of "Mama, that chocolate milk TOO MUCH..."
Enough pointless rambling - I'm just bored and don't have a lot to contribute to society at the moment. (Quick, label me a mommyblogger! Call me a drain on the internet's resources! Then click away from the page and read something else, because frankly, it's your own fault if you're still here!)
Now let's play What Shall We Name the Baby. Rob has no ideas, except to veto everything I pick, and I turn to you, oh Wise Internet, to save us from any of these.
Posted in: on 1/25/2008 at at 1:30 PM