Saturday, December 17, 2011


Yeah, I know this is a little out of focus. Looks like our pictures with Santa Circa 1976.
We marked Desmond's half- birthday today with a trip to see Santa Claus, who very conveniently stopped by the elementary school in the neighborhood. This Santa was good too: real beard, rosy cheeks and twinkle in his eye and everything. The big D did great, just hung out on the gentleman's lap while pictures were taken.  Again: this is a 6 month old in the picture above. We have a Big Baby. He looks like a bald two-year old.

It's hard to believe that an entire 6 months have passed, I can hardly remember when he wasn't here.  Sure, it takes me 30 minutes to get out of the house, even if I just need to run to the bank or the store, and every time I do leave the house I am laden like a pack mule with every possible item that I or the baby might need in the 15 minutes we spend at the grocery store. Diaper bag, handbag, car seat, jackets, hats, sometimes my briefcase and lunch bags all hanging from my arms. Rob once remarked that when I leave for work I look like a refugee. 

Desmond is well on his way to sitting up all alone, he is making sounds that are starting to sound like words- I suspect that 'kitty' may be among his first words. Two teeth on the bottom and more are on the way and with any luck, some hair. Poor boy has a head like a peach and it makes me worry that he's cold all the time.  
Six months? Too fast, already.

Every week I have to delete Barney from the Netflix queue.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Funny Over Here

Desmond Tutu. 

One day he's going to bring this up in therapy.  Mea Culpa.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Baby Talk

I spend a lot of time with Desmond. A LOT of TIME. In fact, the only time I am truly alone, no baby, no husband or co-workers is about two hours on Thursday where I am in the car rushing either to or from work. This is not a complaint at all, just a fact, and truth be told I would rather spend my time talking to the cute baby rather than many of the adults I talk to who merely think they are cute.

Here is a list of a few things I have caught myself, or been caught by somone else, saying to the baby, and if you know me well enough you will know just the sound of my voice when I make these pronouncements:
  • Are there tickles in there? Are there any tickles in there? Where do the tickles live? (as I repeatedly poke an annoyed baby in the armpits)
  •  Who has potato feet? Are these your little round potato feet? Can I eat your potatoes?
  • Is there a burp/fart/poop inside of you? Is it coming out?
Post your favorites (mine, yours or otherwise) in the comments. I can't be the only one talking gibberish most of the time.  We will be here, working on sitting up, making more teeth, hopefully some hair and striking terror into the cats.