Three Months

There are certain things that happen everywhere we go.

People ooh and ahh over the Wren Bird.

They tell me she's such a cute little boy.

I resolve not to dress her in blue any longer.

I see that she's just so darn cute in blue stripes that I vow to move to France.

The Midwest isn't ready for little girls in Breton stripes.

Something else also happens wherever we go.

I've come to the conclusion that we give off an intense aroma of heavenly delight and manic desperation.  It begs for sweet ladies at the grocery store and the JoAnn's cutting counter to look beseechingly into my eyes and whisper with tears choking their words that the Wren Bird will be grown and gone before I know it -- I must cherish every second.

Well I'll show them.

In order to make time slow down, I will now be posting monthly updates at seven week intervals.

For the Birdie's three month birthday we went downtown to experience the Super Bowl Madness.

In the middle of the week.

At 11:00a in the morning.

Just our speed.

She wasn't that impressed.

I bet she would have been if we'd seen Ryan Gosling.

Hey Girl.

This month the Birdie met some special people...

and played with some special friends.

She learned that the tv is the mostamazingthingEVER.

I learned that it was worth compromising my 

crunchy-mama-books-only vision when tummy time became the 

latest form of child abuse.

Obviously this is the first principle I've compromised since the Birdie arrived.

I should probably end on that note.

One of Those Days

I think the Mister worries about us while he's gone.

There was this one time, just before the Wren Bird came, there was a tornado coming and I read the weather map (that was live and in motion) backwards, thought the storm had passed, and proceeded to whine that I really wanted to watch Dexter.

He was very worried about the Birdie's future that day.

He doesn't like it when I go running during lightning storms.

Or when I play "Chicken" with the cars that are in MY ROAD while I'm running.

He worries about my psychological health when I tell our puppy that I'm going to rip her ears off and stick them up her nose.

Come to think of it, I worry about my psychological health when I tell our puppy that I'm going to rip her ears off and stick them up her nose...

Huh.

So in the chaos of Newborn Life, there are times when I suspect he's torn between rushing home to the rescue... 

or just not coming home until many. hours. later.

Last week, I had to send him this:

Text message exchange on said day:

Freddie: This is the trail of pooped on and spit up on clothes at our house right now.

Mister: Oh no!  Are you going to be okay until I get home?

Good thing he's much more the swooping in, red cape, 

white knight kinda guy.

Seems Uncanny

Don't get me wrong.

We love books in this here little casa.

When I was growing up, I was regularly grounded from reading.

(but that's another story)

I confess to unintentional voter fraud in order to save my library membership.

(but that's another story too)

We intend to instill a similar love of books in our little Birdie by inundating her with Eric Carle books until her wee eyes cross and her head bobbles in exhaustion.

(this may or may not have already happened)

The Mister thought I had gone off my Stay At Home Mommy rocker when I babbled excitedly about how the little Birdie loved story time and would cry if you didn't ACTUALLY READ to her.

He was proved wrong.

(but THAT'S another story too)

So, you see I love books!

I love classic children's literature!

 But... 

Is it just me?

Or does the Wren Bird astonishingly sorta resemble a 

Robert McCloskey illustration?

 

Two Months

9lbs 11oz

22.5 in.

Our life at two months:

The Wren Bird took her chubs very seriously this month.

She rocketed into the 20th percentile and has the rolls to prove it.

I waffle somewhere between smug and bewildered that I now use "percentile" in everyday language.

This little girl loves her daddy.

I feedher.rockher.clotheher.changeher.takeherforwalks.readtoher all.day.long.

She's pleasant to me.  She's happy for me.

But the instant the Mister walks in the door, she wildly flaps her now roly-poly arms and squawks like the love child of a seagull and Tickle Me Elmo.
While the time Wren and I spend at the changing table could been seen as a forecast of our relationship in fifteen years, the only sounds I hear from her room when the Mister is home are coos and giggles.
I encourage frequent use of the "Daddy Diaper Patrol."

Because of this shockingly warm winter, the Wren Bird and I went on our first run outdoors in the BOBS stroller.

We call him Bob. 

We're that kind of clever 'round in these here parts.

 

The Birdie got her first shots.

If you think this is bad, you should have seen my face.

In addition to the coos and laughter, that achieve a level of verbosity we're fairly certain has never been and will never again be seen in an infant, the Wren Bird is learning many forms of self-expression.

It's Beginning to Look Alot Like Christmas

After four years of participating in Very Large Yuletide Decorating Projects at my places of employ, it was lovely to decorate square footage in the four digits.

Especially lovely when "decorate" is defined: burrowed on the couch while directing, "hmmm... a few more lights on the right."

Have I mentioned how much I love the Mister?

pretty twinkle lights and doily snowflakes.

festive lanterns and mistletoe.

quirky elf that the mister thinks is creepy. 
i love you little elf.

pretty sparkles. 
why hello there, self in reflection.

the prettiest advent calender you ever did see. 
thank you aunt rachel and uncle jeremy!

when in doubt, add more twinkle lights.

candles in mason jars with a mistletoe-scented candle.

cheerful ornaments and bows.

Howdy Pardna'

The weekend after Thanksgiving, the Wren Bird met her 
Uncle Ben from Texas for the first time.

He began the relationship on her terms...



But it wasn't long before he was teaching her to say "Yee Haw!".

One Month

7lbs 6oz
20in.

Our life at one month:

Victory: We have yet to be late anywhere.

Recount?: We've only committed to being three places
at a specific time.  

Two of them were the Wren Bird's doctor appointments.

Victory: The Wren Bird rolled over twice.

Recount?: Both occasions were during Tummy Time and it was just a serendipitous coordination of her enthusiastic flapping that sent her rolling to her back.

Her astonished blinking was priceless.

Victory: The Wren Bird slept through the night twice last week.

Recount?: I suspect that she was just begging for relief after days filled with errands.  Her cooing on the monitor implied she just needed some peaceful time with her thoughts.

Amended Victory: The Wren Bird didn't cry during the night twice last week.

Victory: The Wren Bird recognizes the Mister's and my
face and voice.

Recount?: Some articles and nursing books say your little one will begin to gaze adoringly at you while you're nursing.  
The Wren Bird does recognize me, but the look she gives me most often is a furrowed-brow, suspicious, sideways glare that says 
"What took you so long?!?"

Victory: We have established an orderly routine.

Recount?: The extent of that routine?
Every time the Wren Bird burps or pooters (delicate mommyspeak for flatulence) we clap and crow like she graduated valedictorian.  

Every time she flings both arms wildly from her swaddle and stretches her little seven-pound body, we giggle, throw our hands up and cry, "SOOO BIG!"

Every time she falls asleep on someone or does tummy time, we know we have time to accomplish one thing on our list... and yet we choose to take more pictures.

We are the picture of dignified consistency.