I'm just going to bullet point some interesting facts about life as of late. Because I'm still apparently trying to shake my life up and down to see if therein lies some sort of purpose, direction or answers. Confidence? Knowledge? Organic, Non-Toxic, Hippie Mom Power?
(Please, my kid wears disposables and my recycling habits... are less frequent than my blogging habits. Do the math.)
She's two months old today. My girl with the eyes like her dad, nose like her mom, and hair like a tiger. The super platinum blonde bits are coming in but the lightening ginger chunks remain for the time being... creating this wonderfully adorable stripe effect... a la tiger. Or calico kitten. Something. Anyway.
Piper knows about fists. She can make them AND she can salivate all over them with pure satisfaction and delight illuminating her.
Part two on Piper's fists: she, just today, learned to punch things. Particularly a green frog named Freddy by Auntie Bestie Cait.
Piper has been smiling pretty much since she entered this world... but it always felt a little robotic. Like she was mastering the art before understanding the sentiment. For the last two or three weeks her eyes light up in the morning when we release her from her swaddle (during which time we are appropriately singing "Release Me") and she gives a few joyful gum displays... But just in the last few days she has decided that the world deserves to see her smile all day long. So when she is awake, oh my. Prepare to scoop up your heart with a ladle. Because it will melt like a popsicle in Dubai. Make that ANYTHING in Dubai.
These pictures, again, by the great and talented Katrina Massey were taken around a week ago. She has already changed so much! I really need to get the hang of blogging in a more timely fashion; I honestly tried to keep the number down... but there are many more that I didn't include just in the interest of not being obnoxious posting over 50 images. Leave em wanting more and all that...
More later on strollers and random people at Wal Mart judging me. The strollers weren't judging. Just the randoms.
Back when we were but 12 days old, mama felt suddenly ill and had to go to a walk in clinic. This moment is a sad face moment because bringing a brand spanking new baby into the public is moderately terrifying, I think, for all mothers. I took my Pipes with me into a room full of people with suspicious coughs and fevers and itches. It was awful, gut-wrenching and I most definitely did cry. In the end (after like 3 hours of waiting) I was fine. Turns out you're not supposed to haul your baby on foot more than 1km less than two weeks after they vacate your body. Its not like they just GIVE you that vital info right after you push the little sucker out. Hmph. Something about common sense. Whatever. So the previous residence of my adorable little tenant was complaining about excess abuse. Oops. Mama was getting stir crazy. Sorry.
After wiping up my snot, finishing my Starbucks and checking for the 25 000th time that my precious babe was breathing, Katrina and I went back to my house and took pictures. Because I was going to be fine and Piper was back in our own family germs instead of ugly, public, west-nile-virus-ey germs.
Finally, a whole month later, my dear people who read this small corner of world wide web, this is us. Piper and I. We spend the day at home with mostly greasy hair, wearing clothes that are a lot more comfortable than they are attractive. No makeup, because we ran out months ago and baby things are more important than face gunk. This is what moms look like. Sometimes we dress up and go out and pretend that we totally wear real clothes all day long and actually do our hair. When really its a top knot to avoid hair pulling and some coconut oil to soothe the mysterious face rash. I know. So not glamorous. But she is beautiful, no? Worth every penny and every patch of skin as dry as Nevada. Not Nivea. Nevada. The desert one.
Thanks Katrina Massey for the photos.
And for sitting and waiting with me for hours in Starbucks. <3 p="">3>
Now she's seen every single day of the week. More than once. Piper knows about Mondays. She knows about the weekend. She loves to sleep good on the weekend because she loves chillin with her pops.
Piper loves baths. Piper does not love bubbles in her face.
Piper loves long walks.
Piper loves to eat. Piper will eat anywhere. Just today she was eating while I walked down to the parking garage to let someone in. She eats at Starbucks. Any coffee shop really... Piper is not brand loyal. Nothing will stop my little piglet from getting whats hers.
This month she has gained more than two pounds, she can hold her head up for a frightfully long while. And she snores. Like a trucker.
She's snoring while I write this brief post to let the interwebs know that I am capable of doing something productive while having a child. So there. Take that. Now to quickly publish before she wakes up. Because Piper doesn't stand for late meals. Won't be having one bit of that nonesense.
Photos By Katrina Massey (Blue Bottle Photography)
When I read this, it made me feel that I could possibly really love the works of Mr Scott Fitzgerald.
I've mentioned before, I don't pretend to be a cultured, complex literary student. I read Nancy Drew mysteries and Heartland in grade school... I've never been able to properly digest the old prose of Jane Austen or Charles Dickens. Too many adjectives for one page, I say.
I watched Midnight in Paris, so I have this vision of what Scott Fitzgerald was like which is probably really inaccurate, but somehow, it frames my reference. Old Sport.
But then this quote changed everything. Beyond being mystified at the life of Gatsby or mildly entertained at Owen Wilson playing pretty much the same character that he has in every other movie I've encountered, its truth moved me.
I'm not too young to be a mother, nor is it too late for me to change career paths. I've made my way down little rabbit trails that I didn't particularly like, and it takes such courage to turn around and go back and try again. Because in turning around, in changing your mind, you're admitting that you might have gone the wrong way. Or perhaps the courage is in hoping that there is always something better than what you thought you should have had. Either way.
"Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it"
So right now, on the 27th of December, we're all finding ways to improve ourselves by taking an underwater yoga class or opening a savings account; hoping to achieve financial freedom and an enviable figure by the time the turkeys go back on sale.
But the truth is all we have is today, and if we fail, tomorrow is always there to remind us that its never too early or too late to make a change for the better.
Have a sparkly New Years. I'll be warming up with a hot cup of something and try to finish some knitting projects for this little peach.
My Resolution list:
- import a South African husband, specifically the one that belongs to me already.
- complete growing a tiny human.
- facilitate tiny human entering the world.
- keep her alive.
- keep me alive.
- be an industrious home-made maven. (optional)
Well my pretties, here it is. We're half way there. This peach and me.
I arrived safely and relatively without drama in my cold homeland... ok lies there was total drama all over.
But first, the pictures. Katrina Massey of Blue Bottle Photography and I reunite after she photographed our wedding photos two whole years ago! I have so loved seeing how apparently pretty my little family can look through her particular lens. Mostly though, this past while, I just missed my bestie. We had almost two weeks of coffee, watching stupid talk shows and glorious baby shopping together. It totally hit the spot.
So the draaaaaaaamaaaaaaaa
Step 1. Guy next to me nearly gets kicked off the plane for being a drunken scary mess from Manchester. (That was among the drivel that he was sputtering following his 8th miniature bottle of ick cheap wine)
Step 2. British airways were total arse-faces to me on the next leg of my flight and gave me a middle seat when I pre-booked an aisle to help with the pregnant peeing-every-five-minutes routine. They totally hassled me even when I tried to hang out inconspicuously at the back of the plane and cry myself out of existence whilst trying to stretch out my leg cramps.
Step 3. Run out of gas 5 minutes from the airport to fly to my parents' place. After filling the car by hand with a jerry-can, realise that the battery is dead. Arrive to an airport security checkpoint smelling of gasoline and totally flustered.
"Cross my heart I did not just make a bomb quick before coming here"
I would't have really said that. Joking about bombs in an airport = invariably uncool.
Step 4. Slip on the ice in - 30 weather for the exclusive purpose of breaking my elbow. Inflicting pain and discomfort that can only be treated with tylenol on account of the offspring I currently house.
Step 5. Luckily I never take drugs at all so tylenol kind of makes me high. xx