The pregnant belly dance

Boy Baby is posterior.  He is head right down in my nether region (making me feel an incredibly strong urge to pee every time I stand up), but his head is facing out.  Not in, like they are supposed to.  That, of course, means that his little strong legs are also facing out, towards my belly button, and you can physically see limbs moving across my stomach from time to time.  I can tickle a whole foot.  Judging by the strength of these movements, I’m actually kinda glad that he’s not facing inward.  I think my intestines and internal organs will thank him for it later.  Of course his spine is on my spine, so my spine thinks otherwise.  And my legs.  He seems to pinch some nerves from time to time, making me nearly fall over mid-stride, legs unable to work, and in great pain.

But look on the bright side, without a posterior baby, I wouldn’t get footage like this (taken yesterday @ 35 weeks pregnant):

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Flashback Friday: 1.5 years of phone camera photos

Ok, so it’s not exactly Friday, but I did start this post on Friday. It just took me a very long time to rotate and caption all the photos!

I recently got a new phone, which is good because my old phone sometimes worked, but sometimes decided to be so quiet that I couldn’t actually hear the person on the other end, making me sound like a fool with all my “what, I can’t hear you, sorry, my phone doesn’t work properly.”

This may not be a very old flashback, but here are 1.5 years of photos from my old phone. There were some from the other .5 years, but I already had those off the phone and on my computer and well, I couldn’t be bothered adding those too.

Most of these photos were taken to then message to Aaron while he was at work. I like to make him smile a little while he is slaving away at his computer desk.

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Am I hard to live with?

Aaron, Hannah and I live with Aaron’s Grandma.  It’s mutually beneficial; she can’t afford to pay the bills by herself, so we pay all the bills, and we don’t have to pay any rent. Hannah gets her own playroom and bedroom, big backyard and plenty of Grandma cuddles.  Grandma gets her bills paid, doesn’t have to worry about falling in the shower and no one finding her for many days (an actual concern she had before we moved in), doesn’t have to do the vacuuming and cleaning, lawn mowing and if she’s not being ridiculously stubborn, has someone to do all of the other chores as well.

It took all of us a while to adjust to living together, but in the end, we got there (mostly).  Sure, we fight and annoy each other immensely sometimes, but that’s to be expected.

But now YaYa (Grandma’s daughter, Aaron’s mum, Hannah’s YaYa) is here too.  We’re all butting heads and driving one another crazy.  I don’t think any three women with families of their own can actually live together.  It doesn’t work.  Everyone thinks they are  the Mum, everyone has their own way of doing things which of course doesn’t correspond to anyone else’s way and drives each other nuts, and everyone thinks that their way is best.  Or maybe that’s just me….

I started thinking (yes, I do do that sometimes).  Maybe I’m the annoying one?

The other day, I went grocery shopping with Grandma (we always go together, but buy groceries separately, as she doesn’t eat any of the same things as us).  I bought an avocado.  Grandma got one for YaYa.  My avocado was picked out specifically to go in a salad the very next night.  I picked it out knowing that it would be plenty ripe (but not too ripe) and super delicious in that awesome salad.  YaYa’s avocado wasn’t as ripe.  I didn’t know if it would be ripe enough to eat by the next day.  Looking at them, I knew that if someone were to come along and eat an avocado, they’d choose mine.  The ripe and ready one.  Of course.  But YaYa’s avocado wasn’t bought lovingly with a specific fate in mind.  It could have been eaten at any time during the week.  I didn’t know when it would be eaten.  So I wrote my name on my avocado.  I, of course, thought this was a genius, logical and easy plan to make sure that my avocado didn’t get eaten and got to grace us with it’s presence in my delicious salad.

No one noticed my name on the avocado.  Humph. I suppose it’s hard to see when a) you’re not looking for it, and b) avocados are rather dark.  At least when they are ripe.  Naturally, I whinged about my avocado being eaten.  I had to open the other avocado and hope for the best.  If it wasn’t ripe, it would be wasted and my salad would suck.

It was fine.  Just ripe.

Then I found out later that not only did people not think my name writing on the avocado was a great stroke of genius, but they actually found it obnoxious, annoying, and childish.

One day, YaYa asked what she could do to help.  I told her she could do all the big dishes because our dishwasher is a bit special and doesn’t actually fit normal sized plates (the arm is on the bottom of the top rack, and it won’t spin if they are on the bottom, but they don’t physically fit on the top) and other big things like pots and frying pans.  “But don’t wash Hannah’s cups.  They have to go in the dishwasher.”

I used to be ok with washing her sippy cups in the sink with the rest of the dishes, but then one day I was washing up when Grandma came in and grabbed the little bottle washer thing that I use to get in all the nooks and crannies of the sippy cup lid.  That is the only thing I have ever used it for, and that is the only thing I ever wanted it to be used for.

The First Years Take & Toss Spill-Proof Cups – 7 oz Pack

Thing I use to clean Hannah’s sippy cup lids

“What are you doing with that?”  I asked Grandma possessively.  “That is only for Hannah’s cups.”

“Oh, I was just going to clean around the taps in the bathroom with it.”

Excuse me?  Just clean around the taps in the BATHROOM??!?!?!?!?!?!!! You’re going to use it to scrub away all that disgusting black stuff that builds up around the taps????????

I was mortified.  How many other times has Grandma used Hannah’s bottle brush to clean the bathroom? What else has she used it for?  After that, Hannah’s things were strictly dishwasher only, and if I find them in the dish drainer when Grandma decides that she needs to do the dishes, I take them out and put them in the dishwasher anyway.

The cans in the pantry are in nice organised rows.  There is a row for pasta sauce, one for canned fruit, one for canned vegetables, another for beans and spaghetti, one for soup, and one for recipe base packets.  There is a shelf for snacks, one for pasta/rice, another for cooking things (flours, sugars, etc.).  I think my system is wonderful, logical, and beneficial.  I know where everything is (and anyone else would too if they listened when I talk). I always know what I have, nothing ever gets lost amidst the chaos of an unorganised pantry, and I don’t spend ages looking for things.

I get cranky when someone messes up my rows of cans, puts a snack item on the cooking shelf, or pasta on the snack shelf.  Others don’t seem to take much notice of my system.  They throw things where ever, mis-align my can rows, think I’m pedantically organised.  Humph.

But I know what happens when you have an unorganised pantry.  Things get lost, you can’t find anything, you never know what you actually have, and then before you know it, you eat a can of something, and spend all night vomiting because it had been in there festering for years and years. Or you go to use something else only to find it’s 20 years out of date.

When I first moved here, I cleaned out the pantry to super organise it to my standards.  Everything was everywhere, you could spend an hour looking for a particular item.  I actually did find food that was 20 years out of date.  Yeah, I really did.  See, my pantry organising doesn’t sound so crazy now, does it?

I suppose I can understand why I’d be hard to live with, but you know what? I do everything for a reason, and in my mind, they are all very good reasons.

Am I hard to live with?

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Years to collect, minutes to ruin

My bedroom door

Okay, so it may not be most peoples hobby of choice, but as a teen, I collected stickers.  Not the kind you’re thinking….  There were no binders or folders full of neatly placed stickers on every page.  No, nothing like that.  The stickers I used to collect were far more…illegal….

I can’t remember how it started, but I used to see a funny sticker, and then i’d stealthily (or sometimes not so stealthily) peel them off their source and put them on my stomach for safe and undetectable travel home, usually under the cover of darkness.  Or to my van (which was awesome by the way).  When I got home, I’d proudly display my plunder all over my bedroom door.  I got dumpster stickers (the best one being from a horse poo dumpster and said “doo-doo only“), Honey Bucket stickers, wet floor stickers, anything that I could get really.  Yeah, yeah, I was naughty….

Some of them are just plain funny

After a couple years, my door was completely full.  No room for anything else.  I think I stopped at that point.  My collection was finished.  Plus, I went to Australia, so I couldn’t really get any more stickers anyway.  Not to mention I got too old for that sort of thing.  I mean, I could probably get away with such juvenile behaviour as a juvenile, but when I turned 18, I figured I could actually get in trouble if I were ever caught.  So, I pretty much stopped all such behaviour (gnome stealing, sticker stealing, can tipping, etc.).  I didn’t want a “record,” and I certainly didn’t want to get in trouble.  I’ve never particularly liked being in trouble.

Inedible...I can't remember what this was from exactly, except that it was something that was CLEARLY not for eating

My bedroom door has remained the same ever since I put all those stickers up, over 10 years ago.  Every time I come back here for a visit, I can look at it and giggle at how silly I used to be.  Plus, some of them are actually quite funny, and go in the WTF, why would someone actually put a warning sticker on something for that?  Needless to say, when I arrived this time, my door was just as I left it.

tearing stickers off the door

For a few days anyway.  Then Hannah found the sticker collection.  She didn’t seem to like it.  No, she didn’t like it at all.  That, or she wanted those hilarious stickers for herself.  She wasted no time in tearing the stickers within reach right off that nostalgic door, often ripping them to pieces in the process.  Bits of sticker lay all over the floor in my room.  Each time she is hanging out near the door, (usually shutting the door before I can get in and then giggling her cute little head off ) she pulls off more bits.

My poor door is now sad looking, with vacant spaces within toddler reach, like an unfinished, or vandalised work of art, with bits of once was still hanging there by a thread. Oh well, my parents are going to move within the next few years, so I won’t ever see my door again anyway.  Maybe Hannah was just helping them get the door ready for future buyers.  I suppose someone had to do

torn stickers litter the floor

it.

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torn stickers

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Rotund man in fake beard and bright red suit: SCARY!

Last years Santa photo

I’m not quite sure what the obsession with Santa photos is.  Heck, I’m a mom myself, and I don’t even know.  I do know that I definitely, 100%, want to get Hannah’s photo taken with Santa.  She got one last year (although that one didn’t go so well…), I’ll want her to get one next year, and probably even the year after that.  I’m not quite sure at what age a parent no longer feels this burning desire to make their child sit on a strange, fake bearded, bright red suit wearing, rotund man’s lap, but I guess sooner or later I will get there.  Or Hannah will protest so strongly and eloquently that I will have no choice.

I bought Hannah a nice new greenish sundress dress (so it would compliment Santa’s suit of course), put her fine bubba hair in pigtails, and washed all the gunk off her face.  I don’t know how she manages to have so many collections of gunk of her face, but she does.  I don’t call her cheeky monkey for nothing.

As we approached the queue (ahem, line for those of you who are not Australians), Hannah clung to me a little tighter.  She knew something was up, something not the norm.  She watched other kids sit on Santa’s lap, jolly smiles on their faces, squeals of delight emerging from their lips.  She clung tighter.  She watched as Santa gave them antler headbands to wear, a gift of thanks for getting their photos taken on the strange man’s lap.  Her legs wrapped around me.  I probably could have let go of her and she wouldn’t have fallen.

Our turn came and we entered Santa’s little roped off area.  We approached Santa.  Santa looked at Hannah, and gave her a

Santa photo with Me and The Jess

jolly smile, his fake beard and mustache hiding most of his mouth.  Hannah doesn’t cry a whole lot, but at that moment, she screamed bloody murder.  Her whole body was shaking.  My poor little bubba was TERRIFED of Santa claus.  She didn’t even want to look at him.

“Why don’t you sit on his lap too, and she can sit on your lap.”  The assistant suggested.  Um…ok.

“This is awkard.”  Yeah, I actually said that to the fake, strange Santa Claus man.  He gave no reply.  I’m pretty sure he had no come back for that one.

We were still far too close to Santa for Hannah’s comfort and she wouldn’t settle down in the slightest.   Not even with Auntie Jess making silly faces at her.  They snapped one photo and that was it.  I wasn’t going to traumatise my poor little monkey any further.

There was no way I was going to spend money on that horrid photo-  me, sitting awkwardly on Santa’s lap, Hannah trying desperately to escape the whole situation.  It was not a pretty sight.

Santa photo with me and Aaron

We went upstairs to Myer to have a go with their Santa.  Maybe she would be more comfortable in a quieter setting, something that isn’t right in the middle of a large shopping centre.  She still didn’t like Santa.  This one though, didn’t make her immediately burst into tears on sight.  She wouldn’t sit in his lap.  I guess I can’t really blame her.  I can’t say I enjoy sitting in random peoples laps either.  And lets face it, facial hair is scary regardless.

We did manage to get a photo of The Jess, Hannah and me on Santa’s chair, with Santa cheekily peeking out from behind the chair, not at all in sight of the terrified Hannah.  I thought it would be a bit strange just getting that photo, and not one with Aaron in it, so Aaron, Hannah and I came back the next day.  She was still scared of Santa, but we managed to get a photo.  She even gave Santa a high five at the end.  High five: Ok.  Sitting on lap: totally not ok.  Fair enough. Maybe next year she will sit on the fake bearded, red sporting, fat strangers lap.  I can only hope.

Why isn’t it purple?

Hannah:

I don’t know who was more excited, me or Mommy.  Mommy had been telling me for days that her and Daddy were taking me to the Penrith show.  I think Mommy likes shows (although she calls them fairs because “she is American”).  Mommy said that I’d get to see lots of animals.  I do like animals.  I see lots of animals in my books every day.  Oh, and on my toys.  Some of my toys are animals.

As soon as we got to the show, Mommy got really, really excited.  I think she even jumped up and down a little.  She was tugging on Daddy’s shirt, saying there were pony rides.

“Isn’t she too young for  pony rides?” Dad asked.

“NO!” Mommy declared.  Mommy said she started riding horses when she was way younger than me.

I didn’t know how I’d possibly ride a pony.  Aren’t  ponies really small?  My toy ponies are way smaller than me.  Maybe the ponies were going to ride me.

“Look, there’s a pony!” Mommy and Daddy said.  I looked where they were pointing.  Wow, ponies are really big!  Daddy put me in the saddle and I held on while Daddy walked next to me and Mommy hid behind her camera taking endless photos.  Riding is really fun!  We only got to go in a little circle though, so I got bored after a little while.  I really like ponies!

I got to see a cow too!  It was laying down and the nice man let me go in it’s playpen and pat it.  I was a bit scared of all the animals at first.  They make really loud, funny noises.  Mommy and Daddy always tell me that a cow says “Moo” and a duck says “quack” and a sheep says “baa,” but they don’t sound anything like that!  I think Mommy and Daddy need to practise their animal noises.  I soon got used to their actual noises and then I wasn’t shy with them anymore.

The show even had a petting zoo!  Daddy got me out of my pram and took me inside the animal playpen.  There were goats and chickens and a baby pig and even a pen full of piggies (guinea pigs, Mommy and Daddy call them piggies)!  Oh, and there were a couple of puppies too!  I like puppies.

Someone gave me a carrot and the goats all wanted some.  I was the most popular little girl in the playpen (when I had a carrot)!  I got to feed and pat all of the goats!  It was so much fun!  I was having so much fun that I didn’t even realise someone stole my balloon while I was in the petting zoo.  It’s not very nice to steal someone’s balloon 😦 .

There is one thing that I don’t understand about the animals though.  Why aren’t they purple?  Or pink?  Or even yellow, or blue or green?  All of my toy animals are brightly coloured.  I have a blue sheep, a pink and purple pony, a green koala.  Maybe they only wear their special colourful fur when they go to weddings or parties.  Yeah, I suppose that’s it.  I only wear my really nice clothes when I go to a wedding or something like that.  I bet their mommies don’t want them to get their nice furs dirty wearing them everyday.  I know my mommy doesn’t want me to get my nice clothes dirty all the time.

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What’s that smell?

I’d been smelling it all day.  There was no mistaking it.  It was poop.  It was following me around.  Was it Hannah?  I checked her bottom.  Nope, no poop there.  Was she just farting?  Maybe, she does fart long, loud and often.  I checked my shoe.  It didn’t smell like dog poop, but maybe I’d stepped on a wayward nugget.  You never know….  No poop there.

We went out in the car.  The poop was following me!  Hannah wasn’t cranky, she didn’t seem to have a stomach ache with noxious gas emissions.  I know it seems a little crazy, but I checked under the seats.  Nothing.  Well, ok, not nothing, our car is very messy (mainly due to a) I can’t be bothered to clean it, b) I don’t have time to clean it, and c) I’m kind of scared of what I’ll find in there), but there was no poop there.

We went to the grocery store.  The poop followed us.  I was going crazier with every step. WHERE WAS IT COMING FROM!?!?!?!?!

We went to the register to pay for our purchases.  I opened my purse.  Oh snap, there it was.  The little blue tied up bag was staring right at me as I unzipped my purse.  In the little blue tied up bag was a nappy.  A poopy nappy.  All of you non-Mommies, I can hear all of your horrified gasps from here.  Why would I have a poopy nappy in my purse?  Oh my goodness, why would I have a POOPY nappy in my purse?  WHO puts a poopy nappy in their purse?!  Next time you are in the middle of, well, anywhere without a bin, and you have to change a poopy nappy, and have nowhere to put it, then you’ll understand.  This is the exact reason that some clever person invented the little scented poop sacks (ok, nappy sacks).  Roll up nappy, put in bag, tie up, put where you can.  Only, you’re not supposed to forget that you put it there like I often do.  Sure, I could litter, but I don’t condone littering, and I’m pretty sure that some other mother doesn’t want their unsuspecting child to excitedly run up to the colourful poopy bag, pick it up, and frolic about.  So yeah, I put poop in my purse.  Deal with it.

Ok, so these ones aren't blue like mine, but you get the idea

Operation: Move and Tuck

Every night, I read Hannah a story, give her a cuddle, lay her down, put her blankets on, turn on the sleepy music (thanks to the baby monitor), say good night, and turn out the light.  No problem.  At least it didn’t used to be.  Recently though, Hannah has been ditching her blankets and moving about her cot before going to sleep.  Sometimes her feet will be where her head usually is.   Other times, and apart from losing her blankets, this is the issue, she will fall asleep sideways.  I don’t mean on her side, I mean her head and her feet are both against opposite sides of the cot.  The problem is she is too big to fit that way without having to make like a sardine and bunch herself up in an awkward, uncomfortable position.  Then she wakes up in the middle of the night and instead of resettling herself like usual, she has to move to a more comfortable position, and then is quite awake, and has trouble going back to sleep.  Not to mention she is cold, since she ditched her blankets.

I got brave one night before I went to bed.  Holding my breath, heart beating a mile a minute (because if you wake a sleeping baby, it’s pretty much the end of the world), I slowly turned the knob on the door that leads to her bedroom.  The bedroom with the sleeping baby.  I could hear every spring compressing as I turned the handle.  I shut my eyes, paused, listened, scrunched up my face in anticipation.  No stirring, she was still asleep.  Phew….  I opened the door and crept in.  Operation tuck had begun.  I snuck in Hannah’s room every night for a week and put her blanket on.  She didn’t stir at all.  Then I got even braver, I decided it was time to move her.  Maybe she wouldn’t wake during the night if she didn’t have to remove herself from her sardine can.

How do you move a sleeping baby?  Easy, this is how I do it, step by step:

1) Open door.  Don’t just open it, open it quietly.  Turn handle, then push door open.  You don’t want to find out what happens if you don’t get the contraption all the way inside the door before pushing.  Sleeping babies probably don’t enjoy the loud clicking noise it makes.

2) Enter room.  Hold breath and stay still after not so gracefully colliding with the dresser on entry.

3) Somehow navigate the minefield of toys and clothes and make your way over to cot in the dark.

4) Determine where in the cot baby is laying.

5) Find out which end is head, which is feet, preferably without taking out an eye.

6) Once shoulders are located, place hands under baby’s armpits and slightly lift baby while dragging to desired position.  Hannah prefers her head to be right up to the end of the cot, belly down.

7) Put blanket on baby.  Don’t cover her head, she won’t like that and you don’t want to smother her.  If your feeling really adventurous, you could tuck the blanket in at the sides.

8) this should be an 8, but it seems WordPress thinks it should be a smug looking emoticon man.  Stifle giggles and try to exit quickly without running into anything as baby does a long, loud fart which rivals grown mens.

9) Close door in manner discussed in step 1 (because we know what happens if you don’t turn the knob first).

10) Enjoy not having to get up in the middle of the night to recover or reposition baby.  Sigh in relief.

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Waking your baby up by camera flash is not a good idea

A day in the life/head of Sheri

Time since birth: 15 weeks

The cup of tea I made this morning is sitting in the microwave, waiting to be consumed after it’s 3rd nuke of the day. I am only now brushing my teeth and it’s 11am. I haven’t showered today, and I’m living in my sweats. A lot of days dinner consists of something haphazardly thrown together such us eggs on toast because there is no time to make anything else. I’m in bed at 8pm. I refer to myself as Mommy or Mama, and to Aaron as Daddy, and then talk about myself in the third person. I am mom to an infant, the most rewarding, challenging job in the world. Below is a day in my life.

6am – Hannah is grizzling, “Mommy, I’m awake, please come and get me now!” I go in her room and she gives me a giant smile and squeals at me. I love it when she does that. I try to feed her but lately she much prefers to play before eating. Playing is much more fun then eating! She always does a giant poopy in the morning. After changing her, I lay her on her mat and so she can kick with her nappy off, one of her favourite activities. She babbles to me and blows raspberries as she kicks her little heart out. She does a snart (sneeze and fart at the same time) which produces projectile poo poo. Luckily I have laid an old magazine out from the bottom of the mat, and the poo lands on it. After having to scrub the carpet and my pants a few times, I’ve learned my lesson.

I put Hannah on her baby play gym mat thingy so she can bat at and grab the hanging toys and play with the giant plush caterpillar (ok, it’s really a centipede, but I don’t like centipedes, so I call it a caterpillar), and coloured rings that I lay on her belly. Of course they go straight to the mouth and receive lots of slobbery attention.

7am – booby time! She eats some then tries to be cheeky and looks at me with the most adorable blue eyes and gives me a cheeky little grin and starts telling me about her morning. I know I shouldn’t encourage her to be distracted during feeding time, but she is so cute, I just can’t resist smiling back at her and stroking her hair lovingly. She gives me an even bigger smile then goes back to feeding. She makes me smile. After she’s finished I wrap her up and she share’s with me her disgust at having to take a nap by voicing a large whinge as I wrap her in her bubba straight jacket. She has to have the special Houdini can’t get out of it wrap or she’ll manage to free her hands then startle herself awake when she hits herself in the face with them. I put her in her cot, put on her bubba nursery rhyme music, and then leave the room. I can hear her whinging for a while as I do the cleaning, but eventually she falls asleep. She’s not allowed out of her cot for 1 hour and 30 minutes. If she wakes up again, which she often does, I pat her belly until she falls back asleep.

Mmmm that cup of green tea sounds pretty good about now. I might sit down, drink some tea, and have a snack. I put the tea back in the microwave. I made it this morning, but haven’t had time to finish it. DING DING DING. Who made the finish noises on microwaves so loud? They obviously didn’t have a sleeping baby in the house. It seems when I’m trying to be quiet I become a super clutz. I drop cutlery, knock things of the table, trip over cords, you name it, I do it when trying to be quiet. Maybe I’m just super special.

I can see 3 people coming down the stairs outside in front of my house. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. They are knocking so loud I think the door might fall down. More importantly, they might wake up the bubba. Was it really necessary to knock that loud? They could clearly see me sitting on the couch sipping me tea when they came down the stairs. It’s not like they had to try to awaken me from a deep sleep or anything. Before I even realise it, I’ve jumped up, bounded to the door, and proceeded to crankily tell the intruders to be quiet, the baby is alseep. They ask me if I’ve heard of the “spiritual mother.” I say no and give them an I’m so not interested look. They don’t take the hint and keep going. “are you a christian?” they ask. Yes I am. “and you haven’t heard of the spiritual mother?” I think maybe I haven’t understood them properly as they don’t seem to speak english very well. “What?” I say (stupidly). They ask me if they can come in for 2 minutes to tell me about the spiritual mother. I say no and once again tell them to be quiet as my baby is sleeping. They don’t get the hint and won’t let up so I eventually have to shut the door in their face. My blinds are open so rather then have them still staring at me while standing next to my door, I also shut the blinds. Spiritual mother? Seriously, I don’t know what bible they are reading. Not once did they mention Jesus or even God. I decide to tape a note to the door to deter people from ever knocking so crazy loud again. “DO NOT KNOCK LOUDLY baby might be sleeping.” Problem hopefully solved.

Hannah starts crying. I go in there and try to calm her down to no avail. I pick her up and sit on my rocking chair. She starts farting and screaming. Sometimes I think that her farts burn her little bottom. I wonder what I ate last night to give her such a problem. She is fine after she gets all of her farts out. I didn’t eat chili or anything. Maybe it’s the broccoli. Grandma says that gives bubba gas. I let her out of her straight jacket and she looks me in the eyes and reaches her beautiful little hand up and starts touching my face. She sticks her fingers in my nose, mouth, ears, and touches my cheeks. We’re bonding, and it’s good, but her little bubba fingernails are scratching me so I put my finger next to her hand so she’ll grab it and forget about touching my face.

She looks at me and makes farting noises with her mouth. Slobber goes everywhere. She finds it hilarious and I laugh. The room is a lot darker then it used to be. I look towards the window and admire my handiwork. A couple of days ago I noticed that the sunlight was getting through the blinds and onto her cot. I found a cot blanket with teddy bears on it in the closet which is about the same size as the window, so I made a curtain out of it. I think it looks pretty good.

Hannah’s hungry, so I decide to feed her on the couch so I can use the computer. I still need to finish Grandma’s 80th birthday present. I’m making her a this is your life book filled with photos from when she was a baby until now, and then getting it printed in a hardcover book. I see a photo of Bubba and realise her ears are starting to stick out like mommy’s. Poor Bubba, she got the Beath ears. Hopefully she will get Daddy’s thick hair to cover her stick out ears. I think she will as she already has a mop of unruly curls.

4pm – uh oh, start of the “arsenic hour.” I take Hannah for a walk. We go up the huge hill near our house and my lungs burn. I’m very out of shape. We walk for an hour and I can feel my buns burning. They got a good workout with all the hills. I can’t wait until I get the 3 wheel pram from Grandma so I can go jogging with her and get into shape for summer. I may still have my linea nigra, but I’m still going to wear my bikini. Hannah loves going for walks.

5pm – I have to hold Hannah and walk around in the house as she is quite cranky in the afternoons. As I said, it’s “arsenic hour.” We play aeroplanes on the bed and she giggles. It’s a good distraction for a cranky bubba.

5:30 – I start to feed her but she keeps falling asleep so it takes a while. She’s so cute though, sometimes I find it hard to disturb her

6pm – Daddy’s home!!!!!!! My sleepy baby is suddenly full of life and gives Daddy a huge smile. He puts her on his shoulders and she holds on to his ears until they turn an unhealthy shade of purple. She loves riding on Daddy’s shoulders. He leans forward so I can kiss her cheek while she is on his shoulders and she giggles. I change her nappy and put her pj’s on. She is outgrowing them and her toes barely fit into the feet of the pajamas. She has the cutest big fat rolls on her thighs. I think she is going to be a fat baby like Mommy was. I give her the other booby.

7pm – bedtime. I wrap her up and put her in her cot. I turn the music on and read to her from her book of bible stories. She wants to tell her own stories though and starts babbling really loudly. Daddy is laughing in the other room. I leave the room and don’t hear a peep from her until 3am when I give her a feed. Then everything starts all over at 6am.

Other things that happened this week: We celebrated Aaron and Grandma’s birthdays (they share a birthday) by going out to yum cha for lunch and eating a very rich brownie cake that I made. Grandma cried when she saw the book we made her for her birthday. Aaron got something like 8 more games for his birthday. I think that means we have a hundred and thirty something now.