Eight Months

Grumpster will be eight months old on Saturday. I think that's just beyond weird. She's hardly the same child now. Her personality is much too big for her body. She's constantly crawling all over creation and pulling herself up to stand on anything she can reach. She likes to do naughty things like sit on mommy's computer or try to feel daddy's brain by going in through his eye socket. She also enjoys saying "mamamamamamama", but only when she's whiny. During her other, happier moods, she likes to say "da daaadadaadada". I'm not sure how I feel about my name being associated with sadness. 

She's a little snot, but I love her dearly. I've honestly tried to imagine what my life would be like if we hadn't gotten pregnant immediately after our wedding, and I can't. Well, I can, but it's very... empty. As frustrated as I get with her, I definitely wouldn't want my life any other way -- stretch marks and all.

Since It's Sunday

When I was in high school,

there was always a student who read the morning announcements

over the loudspeaker.

At the end of everything, they'd say

"Make it a great day, or not... the choice is yours."

I never really thought much about it

until I was struggling with my divorce.

It was up to me to have a good day.

It was up to me to find something to be happy about.

My mood was my choice. 

Let's all choose today to find just

one thing

to be happy about.

Even if we are, quite possibly,

having the worst day of our lives,

there's always one thing to smile about.

We always have a choice.

I Take It All Back

Hello, dear readers!

I've missed you.

I know that I'm a little lot late to the party this year

but I've decided to try something else with my little corner of the internet.

While I will hopefully maintain a certain

je ne sais quoi (translated- sassypants)

I also want to aim a little higher with my posts.

While I may lose some readers doing this,

I feel that it's important for me to share with those who will listen

what makes me happiest in life.

No, not every post will be

"churchy."

But there will be some.

Please know

that I don't mean to offend any of you with my writing.

All I ask

is that if you disagree with something I've said,

please be respectful and kind.

I'm a Mormon

and

Since It's Sunday

"I stand in holy places
Protected from the storm
Anchored safe in harbor
Though my sails are ripped and worn
I stand in holy places
And I will not move
Until the Lord has come and says, "Well done,"
He is the hope I hold onto
In holy places"

-  "Stand In Holy Places" by Jenny Jordan Frogley 

Friday's Letters

Dear Lovekins: You're so awesomepants for taking care of me last week while I was puking up my guts. Honestly, how many stomachs can I possibly have for all of that to be produced? Regardless, I love you a whole bunch. However, I'm mad at you because when I "got you sick", all you got was a neckache. Boo. I mean, how do you do that? How do I spend four days in the fetal position clutching a bucket, when you get a neckache and are "a little chilly"?

Dear Christmas: I hate you and I love you. I hate you because: You're expensive. You're cold. You're messy. You come bearing fruitcake from everyone I have ever met. You are no longer politially correct. I love you because: You're Christmas.

Dear Grumpkins: You're a silly kid. I love that your personality is showing a lot more now. You're playing games and cracking jokes that only you get, apparently. Heaven forbid we interrupt you. Carry on playing by yourself in your crib. Mommy's gonna go have a nap.

Dear Judgemental Jerkholes: Yes, I'm married. No, I'm not sixteen. Yes, she's mine. Yes, I know who the father is and NO, I was not drunk during conception. Does that answer everything? I mean, really. I know I'm small, but so? I don't pass judgement on you just because your entire shopping cart is full of boxed wine and you smell like feet. We are all God's children. (Said with the utmost Sassy Pantsness.)

Dear Bloggy Friends: I've come to the realization recently that I'm loads funnier while I'm pregnant. That being said, no, I'm not going to run out and get pregnant again any time soon. Not on purpose, anyway. So, for now, you'll just have to put up with some occasional lackluster posts about The Grumpster and my dying social life. Cheers.
 

Instagram Update

 

 

 

Babies are the coolest.

She's babbling now.

Saying

da da da da da da da da da da daaaaa

over and over again.

Nick thinks that counts as a win.

It's not a win, is it?

 

She also likes singing.

Not only does she like my singing,

but she likes to sing

all by herself.

She sounds a bit like

a dog whistle

on steroids.

But it's okay

because

it makes her so happy.

Especially when we clap

and say, "YAY!"

 

 

Like I said,

babies are the coolest.

Why Texting is Satan's Plaything

Anyone who has ever texted on a smartphone, or used predictive text, knows what a dangerous situation they are putting themselves in. Namely, what is this message actually going to say when the other person receives it?

We've all been there.

Now, I love using autocorrect. Really, I do. It capitalizes words for me and adds the necessary apostrophe to any contraction. As a former English major, I'm a little embarrassed of how much I rely on it, honestly. However, there are those fabulous occasions when autocorrect turns into an extremely interesting fiasco. For example, this:

When I sent this to my charming husband, we were still dating. He was actually planning on proposing on the aforementioned Monday. He never did take me pooping...

Or this:

Nick: Do you want me to pick up something for dinner?
Me: Nah. I've got some chicken thawing. Butthat you.
Nick: Did you just call me a butthat?
Me: Yes. Yes I did. I did, however, mean "but thank you."

Or this:

Me: Can I borrow your crackpot?
Mom: Sorry. I just can't part with it. But I can lend you my crock pot.
Me: That works. Really is a shame about that crackpot, though. Maybe another time.
Mom: I don't like to share.

Or there's the time when I sent a text meant for the hubs to my mother:

Me: I miss you, lovekins!
Mom: Are you on drugs this morning?
Me: Apparently.

And that's why I shouldn't text anymore...

Whoops

It has come to my attention that I apparently the name of my blog
[Run Faster Mommy]
is attached to another web page. 

My bad.

So, in light of this new knowledge

I will be taking the next little bit  to redesign my blog.

Again.

So, pardon the mess.

I'll see you soon!

Child Posession: The More You Know

I'd like to preface this post by saying that my daughter is wonderful and I love her.

However, lately her "moments" have become more and more frequent. She's screaming like a banshee, cries when she's put down, and is biting me when I try to breastfeed her. Granted, she can't technically bite since she has no teeth. But, still, it hurts. What's more, she thinks it's funny. 

After asking her during one of Alexa's checkups, the nurse told me that if she begins to bite me whilst breastfeeding, I am to pull her away and firmly say, "NO." 

When I do that, she laughs.

I am not joking.

So what do I do about it?

Well, first, I got annoyed. But, honestly, how can you stay annoyed at something this adorable?

So, then I tried threats of withdrawal. "If you keep biting me, you'll never eat again."

Not so effective. 

So, I've folded like a napkin and simply given her a bottle if she does it. I just don't care anymore. I'm too tired and my boobs hurt. Sue me.

Daddy is still on the East Coast. Perhaps she's acting out because she'd rather look at him for twenty days in a row. If the doctor told me that was the reason, I'd believe it. 

Anyway, I have an appointment tomorrow to have her skin checked out because it's all bumpy and dry and I think it's eczema. Poor thing. In the meantime I bought some super special lotion and have been slathering that all over her every chance I get. She'll either become very soft, or very sticky. I don't care either way as long as her skin clears up.

13 "Secrets"

Well, considering I haven't had many readers lately, I figure this is as good a time as any to divulge my "secrets" to you. 

1. I've been known to dodge a phone call if the song on the radio is a good one.

2. High school wouldn't have sucked so much if it had any resemblance to what the portray in movies.

3. When I was a flattycakes, I never used to understand why well endowed women hated their boobs so much. Now I know.

4. Since I had Alexa, I cry at everything. I am not joking. Yesterday, I cried during Cars. It was just so nice when Lightening McQueen helped everybody in Radiator Springs... *sniff*
5. I still can't swim because of a traumatic experience I had when I was seven.
6. Unless I'm on a treadmill or something, I cannot work out if someone is watching me. It makes me feel five times heavier and ten times dumber.
7. I'm pretty sure that I could watch "10 Things I Hate About You" every day for the rest of my life and be completely okay with it.
8. I cannot stand the song "Silent Night." After singing it 10 times a night for three nights in a row during a high school Christmas program, I can go the rest of my life without hearing it ever again.
9. I want to go to school and expand my intelligence. But, once I get there, I immediately stop caring.
10. I love shopping for tops. I hate shopping for pants.
11. It's no secret, but I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints [Mormon] and I am extremely proud of it.

12. I'll never admit this to him, but my dad was right. I do regret quitting piano lessons.

13. I love my freckles. I think people are crazy when I hear them talking about covering theirs up. They're so cute!

There you have it. 13 things you now know about me that you didn't really care about in the first place. To those of you who still actually frequent my blog, don't forget to say hello so I know you're there!

Happy Sunday!

Book Reviews and Slang Envy

I've discovered something, recently. Foreigners are a lot funnier than Americans. Specifically the British and the Irish. 

For instance, this book: 

This book became one of my favorites while I was only halfway through. It's written as a series of notes, letters or emails between Rosie Dunne and Alex Stewart. It begins with them in first grade and goes all the way to fifty years old. They are best friends and bad influences on each other. In a word: perfection. The Irish wording and all-around wit had me in tears. I recommend this book to anyone with even the smallest sense of humor. 

Then there's this one: 

This is the first in a series of eight books. Honestly, when I'm perusing the library for a good read, if the title is funny, it's as good as checked out. It uses terms like "fabbity fab", "double cool with knobs on" and "nunga nungas." Why on earth do the Brits get such hilarious slang? At any rate, this book follows the day-to-day life of Georgia Nicholson, a 14-year-old girl who has stone aged parents, great friends, a drag-wearing cat, and who is ultimately aiming to make the Sex God Robbie her boyfriend.  It had me snorting with laughter the entire time and I'm extremely grateful that I chose to read it within the confines of my own room.There's even a glossary in the back to explain their wildly amusing terms. Some especially noteworthy phrases are:

Blimey O’Reilly
(as in Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers) This is an Irish expression of disbelief and shock. Maybe Blimey O’Reilly was a famous Irish bloke who had extravagantly big trousers. We may never know the truth. The fact is, whoever he is, what you need to know is that a) it’s Irish and b) it is Irish. I rest my case.

Boy Entrancers
False eyelashes. Boys are ALWAYS entranced when you wear them. This is a FACT . . . unless of course they get stuck together and then boys think you are mad and blind and not entrancing at all.

Bum-oley
quite literally bottom hole. I’m sorry but you did ask. Say it proudly (with a cheery smile and a Spanish accent).

Conk
Nose. This is very interesting historically. A very long time ago (1066)—even before my grandad was born—a bloke called William the Conqueror (French) came to England and shot our King Harold in the eye. Typical. And people wonder why we don’t like the French much. Anyway William had a big nose and so to get our own back we call him William the Big Conk-erer. If you see what I mean. I hope you do because I am exhausting myself with my hilariosity and historiosity.

Double cool with knobs
“double” and “with knobs” are instead of saying very or very, very, very, very. You’d feel silly saying, “He was very, very, very, very, very cool.” Also everyone would have fallen asleep before you had finished your sentence. So “double cool with knobs) is altogether snappier.

Full-frontal snogging
Kissing with all the trimmings, lip to lip, open mouth, tongues . . . everything (Apart from dribble, which is never acceptable.)

Have the painters in
An expression to indicate that a girl is . . . er . . . having her . . . you know whats. Oh, come on, you do know. Having her . . . er . . . well to put it plainly . . . her . . . well that the “red flag is flying,” that her “little friend has come to visit.” Period. Menstruation. Menses. Women trouble. Trouble at the mill. I can’t go on with this; it is making me tired.

Nuddy-pants
Quite literally nude-colored pants, and you know what nude-colored pants are? They are no pants. So if you are in your nuddy-pants you are in your no pants, i.e., you are naked.

Nunga-nungas
Basoomas. Girl’s breasty business. Ellen’s brother calls them nunga-nungas because he says that if you get hold of a girl’s breast and pull it out and then let it go—it goes nunga-nunga-nunga. As I have said many, many times with great wisdomosity, there is something really wrong with boys.

...Okay, that's enough.

Aren't you glad I read these books so that I could tell you all about what your life was missing? Of course you are. What are some books that have made you laugh out loud in public places?

Let Me Hear You SCREAM!

Okay. I'm awful. Blogging is stinking HARD with a baby. Sue me. But I'll have a bit of help for a little while, now.

For an indefinite amount of time, Nick will be on the East Coast helping with the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. He left this morning. So, because I didn't feel like being all by myself for who knows how long, I decided to drive two hours west to stay with my parents until he returns. 

It was a surprisingly tearful goodbye. On my part, anyway. I had really hoped that his last image of me wouldn't be a snotty, teary mess. But, alas. I have the worst timing.

At any rate, he could be gone anywhere from a week to a month or more. Last year there was a massive flood in Minot, North Dakota, and people from his company were gone for five months. Hopefully they'll take into account that he has a family waiting for him at home and let him come home relatively soon.

As far as baby stories go, she is growing like a weed. Of course, my mom is stoked that we're invading her house because that means she gets infinite playtime. Which, honestly, is totally fine with me. I mean, come on. I'm tired. I haven't slept in three and a half months. Not really, anyway. For instance, last night was the first time she slept the whole time. I, of course, woke up at her usual 2 AM for about a half hour before I could finally coax myself back to sleep. 

Guess what else? She's learned to scream. And I don't mean seriously intense crying. I mean screaming. Full out, the-sky-is-falling, zombies-are-attacking-the-city screaming. And she'll do it just because she feels like it. There really isn't a particular reason. This morning she was screaming because apparently my shower was too long and being in her swing was no longer acceptable. Needless to say, it wasn't a very relaxing shower experience. 

At any rate, I've got one weird, adorable, hilarious and needy baby. Oh, well. I'm going to look at this positively. At least I know she wants me around. 

Motivation Mondays

It would seem that I'm not off to a very good start with my Motivation Mondays. This past week, I had one nasty cold and my allergies were kicking my butt. Consequently, I hardly worked out. 

With the weather getting cold so rapidly here in Minnesota, I'm not sure that I want to go running outside with a two month old baby. Soooo, I'm going to make a slight alteration to my plan. Instead of running, I'll do TurboFire on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I'll continue to do Jillian Michaels' "Ripped in 30" on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Granted, I'll allow myself some wiggle room considering I can only work out during Alexa's nap time, and that ranges anywhere from 20 minutes to 4 hours. 

Anyway, I'm sorry that I don't have much in the line of updates for you today. But, I'm feeling much better and I'll spend this week kicking butt and taking names. 

Happy Monday!

Through the Eyes of a Child

My baby is getting huge. I don't mean that in the typical pinch-your-cheeks-oh-my-you're-getting-so-big fashion. I mean, literally. She's huge. At her 2 month checkup she weighed 12 pounds 4 ounces and was 24 inches long. Now, for those of you who know me, I'm not quite 5 feet tall. So... yeah. She's almost half my height at 2 months old. I'll let myself out...

Here we are now, and she's almost THREE months old. What is this lunacy?! She's laughing and babbling and trying so hard to roll over. She's drooling buckets and has decided that lying on the floor is for babies, whereas she's a big girl and, therefore, must sit upright.

I never knew that a baby could be so hysterically funny. I never knew that so much milk could be spit up at once. I never knew that seeing her smile at me would make my entire day so much better. 

What is it about our children that makes us want to rip our hair out and kiss them at the same time? How can we be so aggravated at them one minute, and want to shield them from ever getting hurt the next? Children are so beautifully innocent. I think, as adults, we forget that life isn't meant to be complicated. We get the notion that things should be a certain way, and become upset to the point of ruining relationships if they don't. You'll never see a child do that. To them, life is simple. They don't know how to hold grudges. They don't know how to feel superior. They don't know how to not be friends. 

Since having Alexa, I often find myself taking a step back from my life and asking myself, "Would the 4-year-old me like who I've become?" If the answer is no, it's time to change something. 

Happy Thursday!

Orange You Glad?

Naturally, I'm a blonde. I've never dyed my hair fully. I've only ever highlighted it. Why? Because I love my blonde hair. It looks good on me, and that's the color that I'm used to. 

Now, que pregnancy. Those dang hormones turned my hair an icky, dirty brown. It's not even a cute brown. It honestly looks like my hair needs to be washed CONSTANTLY. So, what do I do? I dye it. I get a box of blonde coloring and carve out an hour of my life to perk my hair up again. 

After applying the color the best I can, I have to sit around for 25 minutes while I unintentionally get high from the fumes. Ding! Time to rinse! Scrub scrub. Wash wash. Holycowitsorange.

That's right, my friends. Brown hair doesn't dye blonde very well. It turns a wonderful shade of coppery orange. I. Am. Stylin'. 

Granted, it's not my whole head. But my roots are now extremely noticeable. Seriously. I see you eyeing my scalp as you talk to me. Just ignore it. 

But wait! Here's the best part! I can't go to the salon to fix it while I have my baby with me. I honestly had no idea. Apparently if I have to pick her up at all, the colorist will stop and I'll look like Cruella DeVille. Now, my mother lives two hours this way. Nick's mother lives one hour that way. And everyone else I know around here either already has kids or lives too far away to warrant driving out there. Translation: I'm stuck like this until next weekend.

At least Alexa still recognizes me. 

The Stretch Mark Saga

Wow. I stink at blogging since Alexa's been born. Oops. My life has been going at 7000 miles an hour that I can hardly find time to sleep, much less blog. I have my priorities, I hope you don't mind. 

Okay, well, for the past month I've had the green light to work out the way I did before I got pregnant. Yay right? Wrong. I really took for granted how strong I was and how much endurance I had. Push-ups were no big deal. Reverse crunches? Easy cheesy. Wanna run three miles? It's chill.

As of late, I'm in the worst shape of my life. I have never been more self-conscious than I am right now. I had gained 60 pounds during my pregnancy, and a ton of the weight came off simply by breastfeeding. That stopped about a month ago. Now, I need to lose 30 pounds to get to my goal weight (that's 10 less than my pre-pregnancy weight) and it's HARD. I've been running. I've been weight lifting. I've been doing Turbo Fire out the wazoo. Visibly, I see no difference except in my legs. Insert sad face here.

Now, it's always been easier for me to tone up my legs because I've been running my entire life. There's a muscle memory there. However, I've never ever had a decent tummy. For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted a stomach that stayed flat even when I sat. So far, no dice.

So, here's my solution: 

To take the place of my Maternity Monday segment, I'll be doing a Motivation Monday to tell you how I did the previous week. Since I'm still in pretty lousy shape, I'll start off with a smaller goal of running three to four miles a week. I'll also alternate between doing Turbo Fire videos and Jillian Michaels' "Ripped in 30" to get more cardio and strength training as well. By the end of this, I want to be able to:

1. Fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.
2. Tone my tummy.
3. Run an entire 5k without stopping.

Whaddya think? Will you help me? Keep me accountable! Yell at me if I don't post and help me to stay motivated to achieve these goals. 

Thanks guys! I promise I'll be way better at blogging from now on. 

Happy Thursday!

Young and Restless Hops and Babies

First and foremost, I want to apologize to the people who actually care that I haven't posted in three weeks. Like I said in my last post, babies are quite the time suck. And I know that there are plenty of moms out there with a gajillion kids running around and THEY still find time to blog thankyouverymuch, but be patient with me. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on.

Seriously, if I want to eat something, I have to plan ahead. I no longer have the luxury of thinking, "Oh, I'm hungry" and then immediately waltz into the kitchen for food. Lately, if I put the baby down for longer than ten minutes, she has an honest-to-goodness meltdown. Which leaves me enough time to cook my meal, but not enough time to eat it. I swear, this child has a Spidey Sense of when I plan on eating. She could be in a dead sleep and as soon as I sit down to eat... BOOM. Crying. But it's not the "waah" kind of crying. Oh no. It's more like, "OHMAHGAHMOMMYHELPMEI'MDYING" cry. The neighbors probably think I'm cutting her skin off. 

Alexa has recently learned that the longer she stays awake, the sillier mommy gets. It's a vicious cycle. First, I'll rock her tirelessly. Then, I'll swing her. Then, I'll plead with her. Then, I'll cry. But, when she finally DOES fall asleep, I've discovered that sneaking out of her nursery is like trying to diffuse a bomb. Seriously. ONE noise will wake her up. However, that's only in the first ten minutes of her nap. If she decides to sleep for four hours, like she normally does, it's nearly impossible to wake her up. I can tickle her, poke her face, blow raspberries on her tummy... nothing. She'll flail about for a second, but then she'll go right back to sleep. It's infuriating. She sleeps when I want her awake, and is awake when I want her to sleep. 

...Unless daddy's at home.

Oh, that's another story altogether. Let's just say that she'll sleep so that he can play video games, but won't give me ten minutes to shower.

Snot.

ANYWAY. Guess what? I've been chosen to be the lovely Christa's co-host for her Restless Blog Hop. This hop is super popular and is an awesome way to meet new bloggers and also get more followers. The rules are:

1. You MUST follow Christa via the button below.
2. You MUST follow the co-host for that week. (That's me!)
3. You MUST leave a comment on my blog or Christa's.
4. You MUST place the Hop button somewhere on your post.

That's it! Simple, right? You'd be surprised how many people neglect to comment, though. So, first, follow Christa:

Second, follow me: 

<center> <a href="http://iturnedforpeace.blogspot.com" target="_blank"><img alt="Run Faster Mommy" src="http://i1248.photobucket.com/albums/hh484/heymishmish/cryingbaby.png"/></a></center>

Third, use the Hop button: 

<center> <a href="http://christanncox.blogspot.com" target="_blank"><img alt="young and restless" src="http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff281/chrissyann336/Faerie_Wings.jpg" /></a></center>

Lastly, comment and LINK UP!

Happy Hopping!

...And I Shall Call Her Mini Me

Most husbands will never understand the goings on between a mother and child while they are at work. I say this because every night when Nick gets home, the baby is cool, calm and collected, and he can't fathom why I'm so strung out.

"What's the matter? She's not even crying."

"Not NOW she isn't. She would only nap if I was holding her, and if I happened to leave the room she'd have a nervous breakdown."

"Aw, that's cute."

"Yes. It's so cute that she hasn't let me shower in two days..."

But, really. It's not that way every day. But there are days when she only sleeps when I'm holding her and has what can only be described as Vietnam Flashbacks if I happen to leave her line of vision. However, when I finally get her to stop fighting naptime and see her little angel face sleeping, all of the frustration melts away.

I'm to the point now that I don't need to sleep whenever she sleeps anymore. Now, I look forward to naptime so that I can get things done. Like showering. Or eating. I haven't quite gotten the green light from my doctor to begin any kind of exercise regimen other than a leisurely walk with the stroller. Frankly, I've been too afraid to do any kind of lifting or twisting, anyway. The C-Section was my first surgery ever, and I'm a bit paranoid that my intenstines will come gushing out at any moment. Granted, I'm not following "the rules" 100%. I was told not to climb stairs for four to six weeks. Um. Right. Nursery is upstairs. Food is downstairs. I'll take my chances with the stairs. Besides, they aren't NEARLY as difficult to climb now that I'm no longer pregnant. Today, I actually climbed the stairs two at a time. But, to be fair, it was only because they're hideously squeaky and I had JUST gotten Alexa to sleep. Sue me.

Has anyone ever told you that you look just like your parents? Well, check this out...





This poor kid is going to look just like me. Even my mother was a little freaked out when she saw the baby for the first time. I mean, I figured she'd have some features that resembled mine, but I certainly didn't think I'd have a clone. How horrifying. My mom had always threatened that I'd have a child just like me...

Anyway, I apologize for the lack of humor and consistency in my posts. Babies really are a time suck.

Happy Thursday!

Knights of the Kiddie Table

As I sit down to write this, my daughter is in her little swing next to me sleeping the day away. Lucky duck. Despite the fact that I'm exhausted, I still haven't managed to perfect the art of falling asleep at the drop of a hat. Hopefully I'll learn soon, otherwise I'll simply pass out. Either way, I'll sleep eventually.

Oh, perfect. She just loaded up her pants. That will be fun for me later. You see, I say "later" because she's not an all-at-once-r. No, she likes to make a mess in her diaper in strategically planned intervals. Just when I think she's finished and I go to change her... WHAM. Pee everywhere.  Luckily for me, I figured her little scheme out before I changed a poopy one. 

But, seriously, Alexa has been wonderful as far as infants go. Yeah, she wakes up in the middle of the night wanting food, but what baby doesn't? She's actually a pretty mellow kid. I am extremely lucky. Sure, my body needs a little extra sleep to heal up from a major surgery, but I'm dealing.

I've noticed that there is this unspoken mom club that you join once you have your first kid. Moms everywhere will rally together to give you advice or share little secrets with you. Sometimes, yes, they overstep their bounds, but most of the time it's all in the name of learning and coping. Facebook has become one of my biggest ally's. Got a problem? Post a status asking all the moms out there what they would do. Check back in ten minutes. Twelve responses. Perfect!

So, this post is to thank all the moms out there who have graciously accepted me as a fellow Knight of the Kiddie Table. Thanks for saying how adorable my baby is. (I know.) Thanks for all your advice. (Most of it has worked perfectly.) And, lastly, thanks for remembering what it was like to be a new, scared and completely lost mommy. 

And now, without further adieu, here's some pictures of my awesomely cute baby.

Happy Wednesday!

Oh, P.S., The doctor told me today that we don't have to wake her up in the middle of the night for her to eat anymore because she's gained 10 ounces in a week! Holy poop! I mean, I knew that she had been eating a lot, but wow! I'm glad she can't exactly understand me yet, because during her many feedings I'll change the words to the Hungry Hungry Hippos jingle to Hungry Hungry Babies. Tee-hee.

Okay, bye for realz.