I took a Sick Day

I admit to occasionally being frustrated with the other parental unit in the house. I know, I know, it's hard to believe, but it is true. However, in the last couple of days I have been overwhelmed by what a fabulous husband and father I lucked into. I came home from a monthly girls' dinner on Wednesday and shortly after I laid down I started to feel a little under the weather. Then I noticed a huge painful lump in righty. Since I have been breastfeeding for almost eight months now (wow!), I have had many a lump, but few have been quite so big or painful. I massaged it for a while and I think I was reasonably successful in working out the blockage but the pain continued. As the night wore on I felt worse and worse and at one point I thought I might have food poisoning from my very eclectic dinner choices. Note to self: don't mix fried pickles, ceasar salad, rare ahi, and brussell sprouts (only a taste...and yuck). That might have explained the nausea but not the fever, aches and general malaise that had settled in. I spent the whole night tossing and turning, piling clothes on and then stripping them off, as I went from hot to cold and back again.

By morning I was in pretty bad shape, but I sent Neil off to work with a kiss anyway. By some sort of crazy miracle, Sophie let me sleep in until 8am. Sometimes I think that kid knows more than she lets on. I tried to tough it out, playing with her and trying to be business as usual, but after an hour or so it was clear that I was in as bad, if not worse shape than I had been the previous night. So when Neil sent me an email asking how I was and if I needed him to come home, I was so relieved. Mercifully, about this time Sophie was ready for a nap, so I fed her and put her down while I waited for Neil to get home. I decided a shower would make me feel better so I headed for the bathroom. As I stripped down, I happened to look in the mirror (something I normally avoid doing out of respect for my fragile ego) and noticed the fist-sized strawberry birthmark-looking discoloration right where the painful lump had been and realized that what I had been fearing since I began breastfeeding and had been hoping all night wasn't the case, in fact, was...dunh, dunh, dunh...mastitis.

So after a call to my gyno with a request for some antibiotics, I was off to bed. I spent most of the rest of the day curled up in bed while Neil watched the bean. Every three hours or so he would bring her to me for a feeding and a cuddle but other than that he manned the fort. Of course, I still made dinner, but he did offer to order pizza, so I can't be bitter about that.

Now here's the really horrible admission: I actually enjoyed my sick day. Don't get me wrong, I was totally miserable, but having a whole day where I didn't change a diaper or have to worry about entertaining the baby or my husband and all I had to do was lay in bed, sleep and watch the Wire in the Blood dvd from Netflix that's been sitting on the table for a week because I haven't had time to watch it, was actually kind of nice. Its a cool show, by the way, I just love BBC.

TGIF, I've had a couple of doses of the antibiotics. Most of the symptoms have disappeared, the pain is down to a dull roar and unbelievably, Sophie let me sleep in until 8 again. I feel like a new person. The moral of the story is, don't get mastitis because it really does suck, but if you do, it's almost worth it for the mini-vacation.

Warning: Poop Talk

It took some time, but I believe we have finally conquered Mount Solid Food. There were some stops and starts and at one point I thought we were going to have to go all the way back down to Only Breastmilk Base Camp, but in the end, we were victorious. The bean is actually eating at least one twee jar of food a day. What I hadn't quite prepared myself for was the change in poop that accompanies the transition to this new diet. During the BF exclusively days, her poop was very liquid-y and smelled, if not good, then not bad. Oh, gooey poop, how I miss thee.

Now it has a much more solid consistency, which isn't altogether bad. However, the stink that accompanies said poo definitely is. After one particularly foul smelling episode, I told Neil that we were just going to have to abandon solid food until she was potty trained. I think he thought I was kidding. I admit, it might be a little weird breast feeding a three year old, but I'll trade that awkwardness any day for that righteous stink. I mean, seriously, I'm going to have to deal with these nasty poopie diapers for the next 2+ years? Is eight months too early to begin potty training?

I recognize that this is not the most appealing of subjects and that I have nearly scared the grandparents away from babysitting with my exposure of her recent blowout, but I can't seem to resist talking about this aspect of parenting. Maybe it's because I spend so much of my day attending to her "movements" or maybe its because I stopped reading the bloody parenting books so I didn't see it coming or maybe its because I'm a stay at home mom whose primary daily interaction is with a 7 month old baby. Probably all of the above. Sorry.

My Little Funny Face

I realized I haven't posted a picture of the bean in quite a while, so for those of you jonesing for your Sophie fix, here it is:

Happiness is...

...waking up before the baby.

...my husband watching the baby so I can sleep in.

...coming down to a clean kitchen after sleeping in.

...sleeping more than four hours in a row.

...going to the mailbox and finding only the newest People magazine - no bills OR junk mail.

...a full glass of Coca-Cola over ice.

...realizing that I haven't stepped on the scale in a while and when I do, I've lost 5 pounds!!

...getting to the cash register and realizing those absolutely fabulous shoes are an extra 25% off.

...taking two sizes of pants into the dressing room and fitting into the smaller pair.

...seeing my husband cuddling with our daughter.

...when that new recipe turns out better than expected.

...watching the bean sleep.

...that first warm and cold bite of apple pie a la mode.

...an empty laundry basket.

...buying something lite/low fat and discovering it tastes just as good as the leaded version.

...going to sleep with a perfect cool breeze coming in through the open windows.

...seeing my daughter smile.

What is happiness to you?

The Most Interesting Man in the World (aside from my husband)

I've heard the commercials for Dos Equis about the MOST INTERESTING MAN IN THE WORLD a bunch of times and generally I think they're kind of hokey. Although, if truth be told and why not, I am strangely drawn to them. But there's one where they're going through the list of all of the reasons he's so cool and they came to one that almost made me do a spit-take in my car: aliens abduct him so HE can probe THEM. Hahahahahaha.ha..ha...ha...

...maybe it's only funny in the context of the others. So here's some more:

If there were an interesting gland, his would be larger than most men's entire lower intestines.

His shirts never wrinkle.

He is left-handed. And right-handed.

Even if he forgets to put postage on his mail, it gets there.

He once knew a call was a wrong number, even though the person on the other end wouldn't admit it.

You can see his charisma from space.

The police often question him, just because they find him interesting.

He once punched a magician. That's right. You heard me.

When he orders a salad, he gets the dressing right there on top of the salad, where it belongs...where there is no turning back.

If a monument was built in his honor, Mt. Rushmore would close, due to poor attendance.

Anyhoo, there's a website with more fun tidbits and games: staythirstymyfriends.com

You have to be 21 to enter the website, or at least say you are. Because no one would lie about their age on the interweb. Definitely check out "Learn the Vernacular" under "Get to know me." It's a little awkward to navigate, but the insults from around the world are worth it.

Oh What Joy, Teething

Adam and Eve had many advantages, but the principal one was that they escaped teething. - Mark Twain

Despite saying that I was abandoning the parenting books (which I have for the most part), I did look in them to see what to expect on the teething front. Because there can't really be that much up to fate on this aspect, right? I mean getting teeth seems to be a fairly straightforward affair. Pretty much everything says they'll get that first tooth around 6 months and then get one a month after that. Additionally, these teeth will come in a particular order - bottom front two and then top front two and then top sides and bottom sides and so on. I know that kids get their first teeth at different ages, so I was surprised but not worried when her first tooth popped through at 4 months. Of course, I was a little nervous as to how this might impact nursing, but so far that hasn't been much of an issue. Small mercies.

Since then, her teeth have been coming in hard and heavy and in an order that can only be considered erratic. Right now she has all of her teeth on her left side and one on her bottom right and an ugly area that looks to be another tooth on her right side. With this newest tooth, expected to come through any day, her average is up to two a month. The good news is that it is the other front tooth, so at least she's starting to look a little less like a hockey player. And it does look like at least one other right sider is gearing up to make an appearance, thankfully. At this rate, I fully expect her to have a complete set of teeth by the time she's a year old. Do I just skip the baby food and go straight to steak?

And I'm seriously thinking about nursing her that long with a mouthful of razor-sharp baby piranha teeth?

Fun Factoid of the Day

I admit to sometimes forgetting to cover my gaping yap when I yawn when it's just me and the Bean. She finds it terribly entertaining. So much so, that sometimes I will fake a yawn just to get a smile. Then it occurred to me that unlike adults, she doesn't yawn in response. And I began to wonder at what age babies/children develop the reactive yawn reflex. So I did a little research (god bless the internet) and it turns out that yawns become contagious to babies between one and two years of life.

Interesting, n'est-ce pas?

I also found out that one theory behind the yawn is that in caveman days the leader of the pack (herd? clan?) would yawn and this signaled to everyone else that it was sleepytime. Therefore, yawns are an unneccessary remnant of those early days since we have clocks now and don't need our leaders to tell us when to sleep. Which is good because I wouldn't even trust most of our leaders to tell me when to brush my teeth.

There are lots of other theories behind the need to yawn, including oxygen deprivation, the need to stretch facial muscles and my favorite, that our brains are overheating. I'm sticking with the caveman theory, though.

That Darn Cat

We are a family of five - Neil, Sophie and me and our two cats: Potter and Gomez aka Grumpy and Crazy. Their relationship leaves something to be desired. Potter was my furry baby from my single days. She's a Devon Rex and super affectionate (to me) and has a very sarcastic and interesting personality. She's a cat of hidden depths.

A couple of years ago we decided that she needed a playmate. I'm not sure what drove this decision because it was not as though she roamed the house crying out for a companion. But decide we did and because I am allergic to cats and the only kind I can tolerate are the uber-expensive and hard to come by Devon Rexes, we started researching breeders and found one in Erie, Pennsylvania that had a litter available for adoption in a couple of months. We sent off a check and awaited our bundle of kitten joy. Fast forward two months and Neil goes to the airport to pick up our new baby. We decided to name him Gomez because he's just that quirky. That's him as a kitten. This breed is pretty much bald as babies but then they grow the most beautiful wavy fur. What that means is that they have a few awkward months in there. I liken it to middle school.

I had hoped that bringing a kitten into the house would bring out Potter's maternal instincts. Truth be told, I was a little concerned that she would start loving the new kitten too much and would forget about me. I needn't have worried about that.

Pretty much since the moment he arrived, Gomez's main goal in life has been to torment Potter. Don't worry, he tortures us as well. He has done his best to destroy most of our furniture, including, but not limited to: the dining table and chairs; the living room sofa and side chairs; our box springs; Sophie's crib and changing table/dresser; as well as the carpet throughout the house. I could actually go on with this list but I think you get the point. We did put Softclaws on him and that seems to have slowed down the destruction, although not entirely. He is a clever little thing and still finds ways.

But his greatest delight is chasing Potter through the house. I can't count the times they have torn by, Potter howling and hissing with Gomez hot on her heels with a malicious gleam in his eyes. Potter seems to think that I will either rescue her or that simply the act of getting close to me will stop the G-man, so very often the finish line of this rampage is yours truly. Unfortunately for Potter, neither of these are the case. I figure, she's a big cat, she can take care of herself. And Gomez clearly has no fear of me.

As I've mentioned before, I'm still breastfeeding Sophie. I generally feed her right before sleepytime, which is usually five or six times a day. On any given day, two of those times will be interrupted by Potter and Gomez racing into the nursery, howling the whole way, whereupon Potter leaps onto the ottoman of the glider where I am nursing Sophie. Almost invariably this will happen just as Sophie has really relaxed and is on the edge of sleep. And rare is the day that this doesn't wake her up and put us back to square one. Much like her mama, she is easily distracted. Why, you ask, don't I just close the door to the nursery? The answer is simple, no greater temptation exists for a cat than a closed door. And Gomez and Potter will put aside their differences and come together for the challenge of getting that door opened. Potter will scratch at the carpet while Gomez rams the door with his head. I haven't actually seen him do this, but that's what it sounds like.

They are also fond of racing across our bed while I am sleeping, typically after Neil has left on those rare days when Sophie sleeps in, or during one of my precious, precious naps. They will generally jump over my body, using some part of me as a launch, that part often being my head.

So at the end of a day full of scratching, biting, clawing, hissing, growling, howling, jumping on everything, disturbing baby's sleep, disturbing my sleep, and generally causing mayhem, I am a little short with the wee beasties. And then Neil comes home from work and Gomez greets him at the door and is all lovey-dovey and he asks how I could possibly yell at the sweet, adorable cat.

And I say, one day, buddy, just one day in my shoes.

Along those fe-lines

I want to direct everyone with a cat to Maternal Mirth, who did a dead on illustration of a night with two cats. Honestly, I was laughing out loud as I read through this post. Enjoy!

Genus: Pyrus

The solid food adventure continues. Neil gave Sophie pears yesterday while I was out shopping and swears she was so enthusiastic for them that she was craning her neck with a giant open mouth to get to the spoon. Unfortunately, when he got out the pears for a repeat performance for me today, she was less than excited. She spent most of her time wriggling around trying to prevent him from getting that spoon anywhere close to her mouth. Which means there was a lot of pear goo on the rest of her, because he would try to time a surprise spoon attack with the swinging of her head and would miss nine times out of ten. But we continue.

We've slowed down on taking pictures of her while she eats. Although they're always cute, its getting a tad redundant. Basically its the exact same pose in different outfits and with different colored goo around her mouth. So here's a cute one of the bean and her daddy, sans goo.

Oh Good, More Wrinkles

I just looked in the mirror and I swear there are a whole new set of wrinkles around my eyes. Great, I'll just add those to the other byproducts of having a baby: two black hairs that sprouted on my chinny chin chin, the cellulite that won't go away despite working out every single day and the stretch marks that have taken up permanent residence on 70% of my body, and we'll call it a day.

The hubby is one lucky fella.

Seven Month Inch

Sophie Bean is officially seven months old. It's that time again for me to say - where has the time gone? How has it been seven months already? Especially when each individual day seems so slow? Don't mistake that sentiment for the tiniest bit of remorse over staying home with my daughter. The opportunity to be there with her during all of her firsts is greater than any personal loss I may feel from the lack of adult interaction and the sabbatical from professional life. And I know that the time will be here before you can spit when I look back on these days through the rose colored glasses of memory and don't remember the hours of boredom and loneliness. I will think only of when she crawled for the first time or listening to her chatter and coo as she builds up to her first words.

And on that note, I will mention that the Bean has developed her own method of movement which I'm calling the inchworm. Although her exact means of locomotion isn't exactly clear. She doesn't quite use her arms or legs and yet somehow she manages to move across the floor. I suspect she has highly developed stomach muscles that propel her along. I first noticed it the other day when I laid her down on the floor about three feet from the TV remote. I looked away for a second and when I turned back, she was at the remote attempting to stuff it broadside in her mouth. I did a double take, thinking perhaps I hadn't put her as far from it as I had thought. So I repeated the experiment and this time, as I watched, she slithered over to the remote. Whenever she's on her stomach, I fold her legs up underneath her to try to inspire her to a more traditional crawl, but to no avail as yet.

Anyhoo, that's her seven month picture in a dress given to her by her pinni and amamma. Its still a little big, but sooo cute I couldn't resist putting her in it. Does she look any different since her six month picture?

Move Over Miss Cleo

Now I don't want to say I'm psychic, but recent events lead me to believe that I may be the possessor of some extra special abilities. Exhibit A: Yesterday I had a dream that Sophie would get more teeth and that they would be quite unattractive. Today while we're at swim class she was especially irritable (which was disappointing to me because I thought she was starting to enjoy it, or if not enjoy, then not hate), and I happened to look in her mouth and her left front tooth is starting to come through in a most raw and unpleasant looking way. Freaky, right? Exhibit B: I had a premonition that she would be very cranky but would be mollified by nursing and a good, long nap. And that ALSO came to pass. Do you have goosebumps yet? Because it gets weirder. Exhibit C: Finally, I had a premonition that once I got done with the chores I try to squeeze into those precious minutes/hours while she is asleep, I would attempt to take a nap and she would wake up the very minute I dozed off. And would you believe, that is EXACTLY what happened.

I'm considering putting a sign on the front lawn advertising my services.

Bad Dreams

I just had a dream that Sophie had teeth coming in all over her mouth, in a very Sloth from Goonies sort of way. And that was why she has been making these funny shapes with her mouth lately, including one where she opens and closes it repeatedly like a fish. I jerked awake and had to run in and check her little mouth to make sure that this was in fact not happening. I am happy to report that the only teeth are the four that we already know about and no unpleasant new protrusions. Phew.

Mother's Day Top Ten

Top ten reasons I love being a mom:

1. I get to park close to the store. I don't know who thought up those pregnant/moms with infant parking places, but there is a special place in heaven for them. When I see people without kids parking in them I want to key their cars. Is that too harsh?

2. People pay lots of attention to you. People who would ordinarily not even make eye contact with you will come across rooms to talk to you about the baby and to coo at her. Sometimes this isn't necessarily a good thing.

3. I have a built in excuse to get off the phone. Telemarketers beware, that crying baby may have been inspired by a pinch.

4. The reason I'm still, um, round. I will be blaming my ass on the baby until she goes off to college. I certainly can't blame it on my lack of willpower and that rather large piece of lemon meringue pie I had at lunch today. Sha.

5. I get to wear dirty clothes. Who thinks a thing about a young(ish) mother of an infant that has goo of various colors and consistencies on her clothes. No one needs to know that it is actually just a toothpaste stain.

6. My house can be dirty. No one, except my mom, expects my house to be spotless.

7. I can talk to myself when I'm shopping and people will think I'm talking to her. Of course, this occasionally backfires.

8. Since I'm still nursing, I don't have to clean out the litterbox. And haven't since we found out I was pregnant. (Big smiles!)

9. My husband treats me like a queen. He was always good to me, but now that we've created life together (dunh dunh dunh), it goes to a whole new level. More reasons he's great!

and finally,

10. When my baby smiles at me, it gives me a high no drug can possibly aspire to. Which is a good thing since, as I'm still nursing, I can't drink. Narf.

Happy Mother's Day!!

An Ode to Sophie - In the style of Fessig

Oh my sweet Sophie Bean,
you are my little queen.
Although sometimes your poop is green,
and your face is not so clean.
Occasionally, there is lint in your toes between.
And I know that someday you'll be a cranky teen.
I can't resist those little eyes like sateen
or your hair with its sheen.
Your cuteness hits me like a ball peen,
if you know what I mean.
You rarely let me read a magazine,
And every day there is no routine.
I can't wait to read to you of a rabbit made of velveteen.
Someday you'll have to wean,
but for now, I am your canteen.
Despite, or perhaps because of, your mercurial mien,
I love you, my little bean.

Atomic Poopie

I made the great big mistake last week of bragging that Sophie had never had a poop blowout. And by that I mean we've never had something that made me shake my head in awe at the sheer quantity of the poop and the acreage of body parts it covered. We've occasionally had a little bit mush out a side, but never anything really bad. Until Saturday. We had her in the Bumbo, working on feeding her some carrots. Which was actually going pretty well. The carrots are sweet, and she was eating them up when I heard the tell-tale sound of expulsion. Neil actually calls the Bumbo the "Poop Seat," because it so reliably brings one on. Note to self: Adult sized Bumbo as constipation aid, hmm.

Well, because there was no precedent for atomic poopie, I didn't race to get her upstairs for a change. In fact, I will often let her stew for a few minutes awaiting a possible round two. (This should be an addendum to the Never List.) So, we leisurely finished the carrots and I carried her upstairs to her changing table. At this point, I was still unaware that there was a problem, although if I'd taken the time to look IN the Bumbo before wandering off, I would have known (shudder). When I laid her down on the changing table, I was still blissfully unaware. As I undid the snaps on her little jeans, though, I began to see evidence of trouble. Even then, I didn't realize the scope of the problem. It was not until I got the jeans fully undone and hiked up to her waist that I began to understand. There was not a body part, except her head, that was spared. I'm not even sure how it could have gotten to some of the areas it got to. It took no less than 20 wipes just to get her cleaned off and even then she had to have a bath.

The moral of this story is never brag about disgusting things your kid HASN'T done. It angers the gods and you will be visited with something three times viler than you could ever have imagined.

How 'bout them chompers, Ralph

Here is the Bean in all of her toothy glory. If you click on the picture and blow it up, you can see the newest additions.

An Apple a Day...

We tried apples today. BIG HIT. The first bite was a bit of a surprise because it had an unexpected tang to it. Don't be silly, of course I ate some, whatever doubts I might have about eating vegetables, I have none about the fruit. It takes me back to my very short-lived babysitting career in high school when I occasionally watched a set of twin boys who were about a year old. Once I got them in bed, which was pretty early, I'd dive into the baby food. Hey, they were paying me $3 an hour, FOR BOTH BOYS, I figured a jar or three were perks of the job.

Anyways, Sophie really took to the apples after she got past that first bite and was actually sort of closing her mouth around the spoon. The problem we're having is that she isn't really interested in the feeding process and spends most of the time leaned over the side of the Bumbo reaching for everything. I try to gently turn her back to me so we can get back to the business of eating, but my tiny little girl has a grip like a teamster. I don't want to manhandle her back into position, nor do I want to forcibly hold her in place, but how else do you get them to stay focused? Should I hang something in front of her, a la the carrot for Bugs Bunny?

On the teething front, yet another tooth has popped through! And no, it's not one of the front top two, and it's not the corresponding tooth on the other side from the most recent tooth, its on the bottom, below it. So she's even further off kilter now. Argh. I've been doing a teething dance to try to get those middle ones out, but given the current configuration of teeth, I suspect the Tooth Fairy is on some sort of a bender.

We visited Mammom yesterday for a couple of hours and I was optimistic that the time spent playing outdoors would inspire a nice long afternoon nap. Wrong. She dozed off immediately in the car and went down easily for a nap when we got home but woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed just one hour later. The good news is that she almost slept through the night following this day of activity. I say almost because she did wake up once, at around 3:30. Neil and I had both gotten up to go to the bathroom preceding this, though, and its right next to her room, so we might have woken her up. We'll never know for sure what might have happened if we hadn't gotten up. It was definitely nice to get like FIVE hours of sleep in a row. If you'd told me PB (pre-baby) that this would seem like such a luxury, I might have reconsidered this whole procreation thing. Actually, I think people did tell me, I just didn't believe them. Silly me.

Oh, the carnage!

This morning, as most, I was awakened by Sophie's chattering in her crib. Today was on the earlier side at 6am, but bearable because she had only gotten up once during the night, although I had righteously bad dreams that woke me up several times in a cold sweat. What is it with me, I get the chance for a halfway decent night's sleep and my brain is like, psych. So after laying in bed listening to the bean talk for a few minutes to make sure she was up for good and not just moving around before going back to sleep, I got up, put on my slippers and headed in to the nursery.

I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me as I opened the door. I had heard noises during the night (perhaps fueling my bad dreams?), but had attributed them to Sophie knocking around her crib with her lovey that has a rattle in it. Although it is possible some of the noises were caused by this, I have a different suspect for this crime scene.

Sophie doesn't have many stuffed animals yet. She isn't interested in playing with them except as to how well they fit in her mouth. However, she does have a dozen or so that sit, ever so cute, lined up on the bench under the window in her room, awaiting the day when she will love on them. In the past, Gomez has occasionally taken interest in one or the other of them and carried it off, but he has been leaving them alone lately. But something happened last night. Perhaps one of them made a snide comment that Gomez just couldn't ignore, maybe a rude finger gesture. We'll never know how it started because nobody's talking, but I'm fairly sure I know who got the last word. There, spread out all over the floor, were all of Sophie's stuffed animals and dollies. And not in a they-just-got-knocked-over kind of way. There was clear malicious intent to the way the bodies were strewn around, arms and legs akimbo. And in the middle of this carnage sat Gomez, pleased as punch with his night's work.

What surprises me is really not that Gomez attacked, because by all accounts he is a BAD cat. In fact, I speculate that Sophie's first words will be "Gomez, NO!!" What surprises me is that Sophie apparently slept through this melee. Meanwhile, if I accidentally tread on the creaky step, she wakes up, but Gomez had a mad stuffed animal slaughter, literally right next to her, and she sleeps through it. There is no justice.

Welcome to the Land of Bean

Welcome to the Land of Bean, a magical place inhabited by giants (that's me and Neil - and I mean that relative to the wee-ness of the bean, not the size of our belts, although some might argue that point), mystical creatures (Gomez and Potter - alright, maybe they're not mystical but if I live a hundred years I don't think I'll ever quite understand them) and a beautiful princess named Sophie(no clarification required, of course).

Every day is an adventure here. Today, we had one of our walks around the neighborhood and were accosted by the foul exhortations of two trolls debating whose posterior was in the greatest danger of being assaulted by the other. Despite that, the walk was a glorious trip through the many blooms of the season.

And on that note, I will bid thee good day and many happy returns.

Hillbilly Bean

We've had a couple of major developments in the Land of Bean in the last few days. First off, her third tooth has finally come through. And because my girl refuses to be one of those sheep who grows their teeth in the normal order, it is not one of the expected front two. No, it is her left side incisor. I know I should just be happy that she's getting another tooth, but I have a bit of an OCD thing for symmetry and having this tooth off to the side bothers me. I keep looking at where the middle two will be and thinking, "please come out!" because then she won't look quite so hillbilly. When she smiled with just the two bottom teeth, it was so cute, but now she's going to look like Granny Clampett.

The next big development is that she is beginning to understand that when I put a spoonful of something up to her mouth, that it is okay to let me put the spoon in her mouth. She won't close her mouth around the spoon, though, so I have to sort of scrape the food off on her gums. Clearly she's doesn't quite get the mechanics of this style of food delivery yet, but it's another step in the right direction. We tried peas today and they were not a big success. Although I don't like peas normally, I was so pleasantly surprised by the tastiness of the sweet potatoes that I figured these might turn out to be good, too. Wrong again. They were just as yucky as I expected them to be. No wonder she didn't respond very well to them. I'm going to finally follow everyone's advice and get her some fruit. If nothing else, I'm fairly certain that when I have to show her how, that at least I will like eating them.