Going to my happy place

Photo courtesy of Pioneer Woman

Today I’m trying to:
Embrace the mess.
Breathe deeply.
Not panic.
Pray for patience.
Slap a smile on my face
  and then make that smile come true.
Believe in a better plan than my own.

I’m not going to lie: This is difficult.
But:
It’s Friday.
I’m healthy. My family is healthy.
And we love each other.
And that’s a lot.

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You make me giggle

Today I left my baby in the Kid Zone at the gym with her fish lips pressed up against the glass door and a twinkle in her eye.

She’s my favorite thing in the whole world. Her, and her daddy.

Speaking of her daddy, she has started calling out to him from her crib in the morning:
Dad-dyyyyyyy!
Dad-dyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! 
she says.
And while we’re both still trying to steal snoozes in the early morning light, we can hear her, still in her crib, answer for him:
Yeah, baby? 
Yeah, baby?

There goes my Mother of the Year Award

See, it all started when I set out to make MB these whole wheat flat bread pizzas for dinner.

I had good intentions, you see?

But the closer it actually gets to dinner/bed time, the less MB cares about doing anything except exactly what she wants to do. Usually this can be temporarily solved by letting her help, so I pulled up a chair for her.

So this is what she did while I sliced and marinated and sprinkled.

Even if she had stopped with brushing her hair with the bottle brush, my Mother of the Year award may have been compromised.

But then she took out a gigantic knife.  This was not such an awesome plan.

And that was the end of that. I mean, after some shrieking and grabbing and a barrage of NO, MA’AMs.

But it was a small consolation that she loved the pizza.

The perfect diaper bag?

After my last diaper bag post, my sister, total buzzkill that she is, pointed out that any diaper bag without a cross-body strap was just asking for frustration.

Much as I hated to admit it, she is right. At least, she is right for people like us who have very little patience for clunky diaper bags falling off of our shoulders with a baby in tow.

And so, I present for your opinions what may be the perfect solution.

The Timi & Leslie Hannah Bag $154

Comes with a clutch, bottle bag, changing pad, and–AND– an attachable cross-body strap. And–AND–stroller straps.

BOOM.

For the record, I will say that I can’t find it in stock in this particular color. But it does come in bronze.

Which I also love.

So, what do you think? Too flashy for a diaper bag? It IS kind of shiny, especially for a person such as myself who rarely finds herself wearing anything other than jeans and spit-up soaked T-shirts for months postpartum.

But perhaps if I carried a shiny diaper bag, I would be shamed into actually–I don’t know, something crazy–like washing my hair on a daily basis after Baby Boy comes.

Thanks in advance for your help and advice on this terribly important matter.

Daddy sometimes does know best

As a full-time mom, I take pride in knowing all of the tricks that work for my baby. How to get her dressed when she’s said no to every article of clothing in her closet except her winter coat [in July], for example.

I hold on tight to this knowledge. I’ve earned it the hard way, after all, so sometimes it’s hard for me to take advice. Especially from someone who comes home five nights a week to a fed, bathed, read to, kissed and sleeping baby.

But after Lee saw this post yesterday he says to me: You know, he says, as I brace to roll my eyes at his advice, she never cries like that for me.

Now, I would argue that since most of my waking hours are spent alone with her, that the odds of her never crying are just not in my favor.

But before I can open my mouth to make my case for statistics, he continues: Crying babies get The Worm.

And what do you know? He was right.

I’m sure there will be a time when she will scoff at The Worm. But for now, it’s magic.

If my baby turns out a genius [and we highly suspect she will ;)] she will have gotten it from her Daddy.