Puppy Love

I had a little bit of a breakdown last Friday - I swear I'm typically a rational person despite what I write here - when I found a lump on my dog's neck. I sat down and promptly googled him into a painful bout of lymphoma that was certain to end in a tragic yet noble demise. By next week. At the latest.

I called Joshua to tell him that Helo was dying, per google, and in a move that I will remember with gratitude for the rest of my days, Joshua immediately left work and came home to take Helo to the vet with me. Because while Matilda may hog the limelight on our blog, our home is not only crazy because a certain seven month old would like to maintain eye contact with one of us at all times. We are also have our emotionally disturbed basement-only cat, whorish plump lap cat, and our handsome Helo to worry about:

I never had a dog growing up, but my grandfather had generations of hunting labs that I watched grow from clumsy puppies into gentle plodding old men. I remember the waver and huskiness in my grandfather's voice when he talked about his dogs that had passed on, the sense that suddenly he was lonely in a room full of family. And I completely panicked over this death lump because we love Helo in a similar way, in a way that does not allow Joshua or I to ever talk about his eventual journey to the beyond without choking up. In a way that turned Joshua into a heaving, gasping mess at the end of Marley and Me while I sat in the kitchen refusing to even look at the TV because my dog? My dog is going to live forever.

Helo was my idea, and Joshua gave in because a dog was sort of a consolation prize at a time when I was struggling through an isolated, dark place in my life. We walked into his room at our local posh little animal shelter (no really, the cats live in Pottery Barn baskets), Helo rolled right over for a belly rub, looked at me with his melty chocolate eyes, and I declared, "I want him!" I was signing adoption papers and handing over my debit card while Joshua was still slowly saying things like, "but..." and, "what if...", and I was all, "Yay! We have a dog! My new best friend!"

Aside from his long-standing feud with our mentally disturbed cat who has claimed the lower level of our condo as her domain (much to everyone's dismay) Helo has been nothing but sweetness and joy since we adopted him and he is now a patient, tolerant big brother to Matilda.

I'm not going to drag out the drama of this quick chapter in Helo's life, because he is just fine. (And I am crazy, but you knew that). Basically after a series of unfortunate events (the vet was closed for a staff meeting at 11:30am on a Friday - yes, that's great planning, I had to work at 7pm, Matilda didn't exactly appreciate the change in her afternoon plans), Helo got a lymph node biopsy, we waited on pins and needles all weekend for the pathology report, and despite the google death threats, he is cancer free. He has a reactive lymph node, probably from sort of little cold or maybe a scratch on the neck from his days giving swimming lessons and roughhousing at the beach.

Animals are tricky little creatures to love because your lifespan is so likely to exceed theirs, making those weepy ugly goodbyes almost inevitable. I don't think about it very often, because Helo is going to live forever I'm pretty good at denial, but oh when you are laying in bed trying to keep your rambunctious baby from swiping your pup's eyes out and suddenly you feel a big lump in their neck, it's hard not to let that cold sense of dread suddenly sweep over you. And I know there are far, far greater tragedies in life than losing an animal - I work with critically ill babies every day - but there is just something about a dog that makes your breath catch in your throat. Right? Dogs, and really all beloved animals, love us in the unconditional, unassuming, honest ways that we sometimes wish people would love us, and I don't take that for granted.

Maybe I will tone it down on the googling, and maybe I will try to avoid calling Joshua at work blathering about this being the end of Helo's days, but I can't really promise that either. I love this little mutt with all my crazed, emotional, overdramatic heart and I'm just so thankful that he is as healthy as can be.

Matilda Month By Month

I know I'm just a broken record at this point, but honestly, our Matilda Claire becomes more of a little girl every day. Lately there have been quick moments when she falls asleep in the middle of playing, with her arms out at her side in pure baby exhaustion, and I suddenly catch a glimpse of her as the toddler she will be before I know it. And every so often when she curls her body into mine to nurse, especially in the early mornings when she's laying next to me, I realize that her dimply knees and chubby toes now press against different parts of me than the days before.

This baby, with scrawny legs and long spindly fingers, who slept so soundly I was worried she had hearing loss, seems entirely too fragile to be our Matilda.

This baby, still swimming in her zero to three month onesie, hands still clenched in those baby fists, is precious and wee and can't fling herself off the bed or make it across the living room in one graceful barrel roll.

This baby, more alert, with round fleshy knees sticking out beneath her suddenly small tutu, is the beginning of the Matilda I still see today.

This baby, curious and content, wide-eyed and full bellied, still lives here with us.

This sweet round little babe had to graduate to the next size up in tutus, and although you can't tell, wore her onesie unbuttoned for part of this photo shoot because her chunky baby self was literally busting out the seams.

This is my Matilda. And this independent girl is not even as wild as the baby who spent today bouncing and reaching and flailing and army crawling  - yes, she did, there was belly scooting and rocking on all fours and a determined momentum that will coordinate itself soon enough.

These pictures are all unedited, and some are the teensiest bit out of focus. We have some plans of what we will do with the best shots out of our twelve months of photos, and they will be cropped and the lighting will be corrected and it will all be very polished (it will probably not be me doing this, let's get real). But I like these raw photos for the way they capture Matilda as she grows. It's amazing to glance back and see that from the very beginning she has actually looked so much like she still does now. She looks both incredibly different and comfortingly the same as she was the night she was born.

We haven't taken her six month pictures yet. We took most of these towards the end of whatever month she was in, partly because we are disorganized like that, and partly because by the end of the month she is doing all the things that we then remember that month for. She turned five months on July 1, started sitting alone on July 5, and when we took her five month pictures she was sitting alone in almost all of them. Because sitting is what five months was all about.

Also, assisted standing.

Oh, watch out world. Six month pictures this week and then a seven (seven!) month old baby are barreling around the corner.

Those pesky teeth. If five months was about sitting and seven seems like it will be all about crawling, six certainly has been all about the pearly whites so far. Both bottom front teeth broke through at the same time, we had a bit of a reprieve (look how much less crying this post had than this one last week!), and now one of the top teeth is on its way in. Ouch.

See? Foreshadowing.

A Cat Peed On This

This is a post that approximately three of you have been waiting for. Wherein, my baby does absolutely nothing cute, and I keep it real. I do not keep it short, so just be warned.

This is really for a few of my work girls, who accosted me in an isolation room informed me nicely me that my blog is bringing everyone down due to the excessive positive content. Apparently there is way too much chunky baby sentimental sweetness in my posts and people are starting to think our lives are all precious moments and butterfly kisses and bedtime stories.


I can see how I've led you astray.

I told Joshua about this workplace harrassment friendly reminder the next night, and he stared at me for a second to see how serious I was and then I think he busted a gut laughing. Literally, we looked around at the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry and mournful, underappreciated animals and whiny Matilda with carrots in her hair and we just laughed for a solid minute because people! Our lives are a hot mess.

Before we scampered off to the lake every day last weekend, we had a long string of incredibly crappy days. As I was leaving for work on last Tuesday, Joshua told me that it was going to be eighty degrees and sunny on Friday and I burst into tears. To clarify: I started crying because the weather was going to be gorgeous on my day off. That is a place you arrive at when you are wretchedly sleep deprived and overwhelmed, and I was both of those things.

During that stretch of crappy days, I had to take a cab home from work at 12:30am because Joshua left his phone on silent during my evening shift and slept right through the whole part where he was supposed to come pick me up. So I fumed all the way home while sending him passive aggressive texts with the cab number and the driver's description just in case I was murdered instead of driven to my destination (have I watched too many crime dramas? I think yes).

That was Thursday. Then I only slept roughly 13 hours from Friday morning to Monday morning. I will go ahead and do the math for you - the recommended amount of sleep an adult should be getting between a Friday and a Monday is about 24 hours. It's all fine and good to have a baby who sleeps through the night when you are a parent who sleeps through the night but what if you are the odd night-shift working, breastfeeding mother who has to sleep in the day? You. are. screwed.

And you are even more screwed if during your work weekend your typically sweet-as-pie daughter is wanting to eat more frequently than usual due to The Teething. Matilda's first tooth actually broke through her gums a day or two later, and while I feel absolutely terrible for the little munchkin's misery, can I just ask what is the deal with teething? Was there a reason those chompers could not be part of prenatal development? Like when you are busy growing your bones and organs painlessly? I realize a baby with a full grill would be a little terrifying, but we'd all get used to it. Right?

Anyways, there was a lot of woe from Matilda's end, and a lot of frustration from Joshua who was the sole caregiver except for when she briefly stopped whining to eat, and a lot of desperation from me and by Monday afternoon, with only 4 more hours of sleep added to that 13 from the weekend, I was a complete wreck. There was this hour right before Joshua got home where Matilda just groaned and rubbed her hands on her gums and I sat on the couch holding her while she tried to throw herself and all her teether items onto the floor repeatedly. I would like to say that we were both crying, but I honestly can't remember if I had enough energy for that outpouring of emotion. I may have just stared at the wall and thought about crying.

Tuesday I had to work overnight again (this is when I ruined my makeup over the weather forecast) and when my poor baby woke up from her afternoon nap on Wednesday she promptly lost her little tooth-cutting mind. So being the calm and rational working mother that I am, I went ahead and lost my mind as well.

I had been in Matilda's room organizing some laundry while she napped and trying to pick up the disaster that is our house after I've worked five out of six nights in a row (not Joshua's fault! Hi, Joshua! You are a wonderful dad!) Maybe I could have kept it together were it not for this stench that had been wafting around in her room. It's a very long story but basically her room had not smelled good for a few weeks, and since our building needs new tuckpointing we were convinced there was mold and must from water damage in the brickwork.

So here I am, literally days behind on sleep, clutching an angry, thrashing child as I run around from corner to corner in her room attempting to finally pin down where the smell was the strongest. I had to stop my desperate quest in order to pick up Joshua from a meeting, and I will say that our ride home was not my finest hour. It was a lot of ranting and whining and words that will have to be edited out of our conversations once Matilda is about ten minutes older than she is now, and at one point I hollered, "I cannot live somewhere that smells! I hate our condo! We are going to lose all our money because it's molding and we are going to have to live there forever because no one will ever buy it!" (see, I edited the swearing) at which point I began crying. Again. AGAIN.

We got home and Joshua wisely took Matilda away from me (naturally, she was all sweetness upon being reunited with the sane parent) while I resumed my wild-animal-style sniffing around her room. I managed to get to this one corner that smelled the slightest bit stronger than anywhere else and when I made Joshua check it for me, he moved her curtain the slightest bit and then said,

"Oh. Oh my god. A cat peed on this."

A CAT PEED ON THIS.

I had written multiple huffy emails to our condo association about the unacceptable 'mold' smell in my daughter's room, demanding quicker action on the brickwork and after weeks of going crazy over this 'undefinable' musty smell, as it turns out A CAT PEED ON THIS.

Do I even have to tell you that I cried again?

So yes. Our most recent weekend was filled with trips to the lake and mimosas at brunch (which a certain nameless six month old may have dumped right into my lap, thanks) and playing on the rug in the middle of a sweet-smelling baby girl's room. But if you start thinking that we are all fun, all the time, please just picture me shaking with the overtired caffeine jitters weeping into a pack'n'play while my lovely daughter refuses to nap and I have to work again. And I love my job and my life and my family but it was a little painful to realize I have been walking around in a fog for weeks, composing nasty emails about mold in our walls and sobbing about losing our life savings over it when really, oh hell it was actually the stench of cat pee that nearly pushed me over the edge.

A CAT PEED ON THIS.

We've Been Busy...

on the swings...

at the beach...

letting the pup do what he does best...

grilling everything we can...

staying cool inside...

...and just enjoying summer while it's still here!

I have so many half-finished blog posts, including one that ends dramatically in a hysterical meltdown over a long work week and a teething baby (you're welcome, nicu girls - you know who you are. It's not all beach days and park trips around here! There is crying and swearing and a distinct lack of margaritas available on the days when they are needed most).

But for now I just wanted to say that we are spending our time soaking up the season.

We waste no time; we actually spent part of today's downpour packing up tomorrow's beach bags. And we haven't forgotten this space...so please accept our apologies for our absence by way of sweet Tilda pics.

In summer, the song sings itself.

-William Carlos Williams

Six Months

On the night Matilda was born, Chicago was waist deep in one of the worst blizzards on record. We drove slowly home through huge snowdrifts two days later with our 7lb 8oz, 21.5 inch very bundled bundle of pure winter joy.

Today Matilda is six months old, it's 97 degrees, and we drove home from her pediatrician appointment with our 20 lb 11.5oz, 27 inch (whoa!) sweaty, sundress-clad little girl sprawled out in her carseat.

These six months, this winter that faded into a chilly spring and then suddenly cranked into a blistering summer, have just flown by. Our sleepy, content newborn is now a babbling, grinning, social and opinionated girl. I'm not a huge fan of the Dear Baby, You are XYZ Months Old blog posts (mama blogger heresy, I know!) but I do want to remember what Matilda is like at this age and so while the only people who may want to read on are her grandparents, I would to like to briefly discuss Matilda: Six Month Edition.

Sleeping: As of two or three weeks ago, Matilda sleeps through the night. She usually goes to bed around 8:30 and wakes up around 7:30ish to eat, play for a few minutes, and then conks out again until at least 9:30. I know some people say it's a myth that starting solids make babies sleep through the night, and others swear it's the gospel truth. Personally, I don't think that Matilda is suddenly so satiated that she can't bear to wake up in the night (two tablespoons of sweet potatoes doesn't seem that filling) but I do think that the actual activity of eating solids has made her sleepier. We just put away the cosleeper last night because she slung both an arm and leg over it the other day and that just seemed terrifying so now she's happy in her pack'n'play (which we originally didn't think would fit in our room at all - that was based on feelings, not measurements, which are vastly more precise). Now that she doesn't wake up to nurse overnight, I suppose we could transition her to her own room. I suppose...but I love looking over at her sweet sleepy self and she has her whole life to sleep in a separate room. Also, she is not disturbing our sleep and we don't seem to bother hers, so! Baby remains in our bedroom, will update when the status changes.

Eating: Matilda has tried, in order: avocados, brown rice cereal, sweet potatoes, peas, green beans, bananas, and carrots. She could care less about cereal, which is great because I'm not super thrilled about it as a first food. She adores avocados and carrots, detests green beans (as in, spit it into Joshua's face), and is happy enough with everything else. Right now she is only eating solids once a day, nursing four to five times, and clearly is getting all the nutrition she needs. Rolls on her rolls, people. Matilda likes to think she is entirely independent when it comes to feeding herself - she won't really take food unless her pudgy, sticky fingers are also holding the spoon, and she guides it to her mouth with shocking accuracy. She also tries to hold her bottles when I'm at work and Joshua is feeding her, although she isn't very good at it and she gets mad and he gets frustrated and I'm told it's quite a sight to see. Also, if you have had the pleasure of holding all twenty plus pounds of Matilda on your lap lately, you know that if she's hungry she will begin pawing at your shirt and chest and lunging towards you in a socially awkward manner. August is breastfeeding awareness month, so I will just say breast is best! and yes, I'm sorry if you've been attacked by a ravenous (but cute!) blue-eyed baby lately.

Eating, and all that comes After: What comes after is frightening. The first time I changed a diaper (cloth, not the peel-off-your-kid's-butt-and-throw-away-STAT! kind) after Matilda had eaten avocado, I almost threw up. Disposable diapers were literally invented for the horror that is the first time a human's digestive system encounters a vegetable. (A fruit? Avocados are tricky.) But, because I am really dedicated to cloth diapering and because the sight and smell of disposables piling up in the trash makes my little recyclers' heart sad, I did my research, ordered a diaper sprayer and biodegradable liners with free two day shipping and then pinched my nose and went on with my life. After a few weeks of adjustment, stripping the diapers of any ammonia buildup and then bleaching them out in the sun, we are back to 100% cloth.

Playing: The best part of six months, by far, is everything that Matilda can do. She started sitting up a few days after turning five months, and now she can sit and entertain herself passing a toy back and forth from hand to hand, shoving it in her mouth, flinging it on the floor, and then rolling over to get to it. She is amazingly adept at getting what she wants through a combination of barrel rolling, army crawling, and just flopping forward, no holds barred, straight to the floor. It's exciting! And scary! She loves her jungle exersaucer, which we still haven't put the batteries in because we are waiting for the right amount of boredom to set in before we blow her mind with that, and she's outgrowing her playmat completely. She loves to turn the pages in her board books, and chew on them, and chew on anything else chewable in sight. She also adores Helo and Pam, who are so tolerant of her ripping chunks of their fur out and shoving it in her mouth. That's not my favorite. I like when she pats their ears and noses and makes me feel like filling our home with animals and then having a baby was the best choice we ever unknowingly made, and not insane like so many people warned us.

Everything else: Is Wonderful. I love hot, sticky six month Matilda. She screeches and smiles and babbles at everything and everyone, reserving her belly laughs for only the funniest of funny situations. It's joyful and delightful and exhausting and not without its stresses and challenges of course! But I love that I am not just a mother but her mother, and God has given Joshua and I this adorable ninety-fifth percentile all-encompassing gift of a daughter.

Happy Six Month Birthday, sweet Tils. Your mama loves you more every day.

Not Fantasy

Our camera took a little tumble during Joshua's week away in the Rockies, and apparently all it needed was a short roll from the bed to a carpet to turn the LCD screen into a Jackson Pollack. Sadness. It's currently off in the suburbs getting repaired, and in the meantime we've been just been using our phone cameras to capture Matilda's every move. Someday, she will wonder why whole weeks of her life, including holidays, were only photographed using hipstamatic. Is it necessary to make july 4th 2011 look like a moody summer day in the 1970s?

No. But maybe yes?

By the way, I'm having the worst time trying to make my photos bigger on this blog. I messed with the html to make this a 3 column layout a while ago, and now everything I upload is really small and I cannot figure out how to make it larger. I can google my way through a lot of things (recipes, online shopping, if it's likely that any of us have a rare disease) but now I think google wants me to host my pictures somewhere else besides Blogger? It led me to some message boards from 2009 that were very rude about the Blogger picture upload feature, but very out of date as to how to fix this. Not helpful. Can anyone tell me how to fix this?

Also, as I was typing that last sentence my computer completely froze, sad faces appeared on all my tabs (I am not making this up), and then everything crashed. So...small pictures it is!

Matilda update: in the last few weeks she's experienced the thrill of the kiddie pool, been to the splash park a few times and learned that she loves swings.

This picture is huge. What is going on here? It's also adorable.

We discovered on her first day at the park over the holiday weekend that she can sit up unassisted. It's been all downhill from there - literally, she'll sit happily for 10 minutes straight and then suddenly do a terrifying bobblehead move that lands her on her belly in less than a second. This girl has no fear and seems oblivious to pain; she'll look up and grin at us like that tumble was the highlight of her day, let's do it again guys! She grabs her feet, practices pushups, and would rather sleep on her belly for naps. My SIDS-averse, panicky little self can hardly stand this development - I have been a no bumpers, no blankets, no belly psycho for the first few months of her life. I'm slightly more fond of the way she sleeps on her side at night, one leg straight down, one pulled up towards her chest, hands clasped together right near her face. It's exactly, freakishly, limb for limb the way I sleep and it fascinates me to no end because it's another one of the odd curiosities of watching your genetics play around in someone else's body.

After weeks of Matilda reaching and swiping for our food, and weeks of bemoaning whether or not she was ready and how exactly we should go about it, we decided it was time for her to start solids. Ok, the bemoaning part was me. Joshua was all, whatever you want to do! I'll stand over here far away from the crazy lady who can't stop talking about baby food theories! I did manage to get a grip and realize I was overthinking the entire process (I'm not sure why this was the hill that my teeny tiny smidge of type A-ness chose to die on) and then I just smushed up avocado in some breastmilk and Matilda was absolutely thrilled by the whole thing.

And by 'just smushed up', I mean I went to Whole Foods to find the perfect organic avocado, also purchased the perfect organic sweet potato, spent a while debating which one to give her first, and then took a lot of pictures of Matilda playing with the stupid fruit/vegetable (fruitable!) before she ate it. I know...

On a non-baby related note, I haven't seen Harry Potter 7.2 yet. Or 7.1. Or 6. This is not because I don't adore Harry Potter. I do. I bought each of the books the day they came out and devoured them. I would tell Joshua in all seriousness that I was completely unavailable on a Harry Potter release day. After I finished The Deathly Hallows, I closed that huge book and cried because when I started reading the series I was a kid and suddenly it was over and Harry was all grown-up and so was I. I love those books; all the magic and whimsy and deep truths about everything from how much it sucks to be fifteen to how love and friendships are so intensely powerful. I love the entire, endlessly imaginative, courageous world that JK Rowling created in those books, and I hate that Harry's story is over. So while I think that the movies are surprisingly good and may have the most charmed and perfect casting of any book adaptation ever, I'm not ready to finish it all yet and I haven't been since I finished book seven. I'm waiting because I hate when something so utterly enjoyable really, truly ends. This is called denial, and I'm wallowing in it. And, (spoiler, look away) Fred. Fred! I have spent more time than I care to admit wondering why, of all the plucky heroes who could have been offed in the final pages, it had to be him. I feel like without Fred, George is aimlessly wandering through his post-battle for Hogwarts life and this saddens me immensely. Obviously, I'm not emotionally ready for the cinematic version.

Also, Joshua doesn't like Harry Potter.

He. Doesn't. Like. Harry!!!

I'll let that one sink in, and then I'll tell you that I'm holding out this thin shred of hope that he will suddenly see the light (lumos!), will read all seven books immediately, start a movie marathon with me, and let me cry on his shoulder when the last one ends. This is never going to happen because he, and I quote, "doesn't like fantasy."

Really, there are no words.

So. The end of Harry Potter reduces me to weepy sentimentality, Joshua apparently lacks a soul, our daughter eats organic avocadoes, and our camera remains captive in the suburbs. I've caught up on our life, and it's as messy and crazy and non-fantasy as ever.

Quite Long For a Post In Which I Say Very Little

I feel like I have only lame things to write after almost a month away from this space; just little odds and ends from our life. First of all, it pains me to report a disappointing update on the Glenn's Diner special I was raving about in this post. Joshua and I finally - after years of anticipation! - made it there at 4:45pm a few weeks ago for a late lunch/early dinner/how did you know we have a baby at home outing,and as it turns out the early bird special we have been blathering about all over town is not exactly as spectacular as we thought. It's not 'any fish any way', it's the fish they choose, their way. At a very reasonable price but still...I'm not sure how that all got twisted in our little minds, but for the record any fish any way would be a much better special and maybe someone should get on that.

Also for the record, Glenn's has this amazing brunch on the weekends and I really cannot recommend the make your own mimosa kits or the bloody marys enough. No, I did not get both, please reserve the judging of my character for another subject. Also my bloody mary came with a skewer of shrimp and that is pure lean protein for the baby.

You're welcome, Matilda.

Speaking of the baby, she will be five months old on July 1st. Five. It's staggering to think about. I know everyone says how fast their children grow up, and honestly before Matilda was born I was getting a little annoyed by often we heard it. But, but, it's the truest truth anyone has ever spoke to us about parenting. She was a wee sleepy newborn only five months ago, and now she rolls over, laughs, blows bubbles, is thisclose to sitting on her own, grabs all her toys, my hair, our clothes, likes to 'pet' the animals by ripping out their fur, yells, babbles, and even tried to help herself to a fistful of avocado salsa off my plate the other day. I stopped her pudgy fingers half a second before her first solid food ever would have consisted of a lot more garlic and cilantro than is generally recommended. She does something new almost every single day and it just GOES BY SO DAMN FAST. I love each new stage, and I know my mama life will be even more fulfilling as she grows up, but oh my heart, this child raising gig is bittersweet.

What else...Joshua is currently gone for the week on a business trip, and I completely hate living 'alone'. I'm not sure that's the right term when one remains responsible for a baby, a dog, two cats, and maintaining a functioning home, but the lack of intelligent conversation and surplus of poop that is mine alone to deal with is...unfortunate. Also unfortunate: discovering a flat tire as I was about to leave for work and our completely housebroken dog unexpectedly relieving his bladder on the bedroom floor the other morning. That was the bonus round, I think. Dear single parents and/or partners of those who travel frequently, I salute you. This sucks.

My lack of motivation by the time the day is over has led me to the most random post-baby-bedtime television viewing I can remember - the last few days have included Dr. Who, Freaks and Geeks, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, the strangely appealing yet demographically odd for me Men of a Certain Age, The Closer and an after-midnight viewing of Falling Skies, which I started only because I have this terrible weakness for post-apocalyptic dramas about the ragged human race banding together to fight the aliens/robots/whatever. (I also have a weakness for run-on sentences). I always like to imagine that if I was in a a similar situation, I would of course survive the initial attack and go on to be a gutsy heroine despite the fact that when Joshua is away I have to sleep with at least one light on.

Last bit of randomness...I gave away all our disposable diapers to my friend whose baby has slightly less meaty thighs than my own little cupcake. Matilda is 100% cloth diapered except for when the laundry is really running behind, and I hadn't needed a disposable for a few weeks so by the time I wanted to use one during a long laundry cycle this week, I realized it was shockingly inadequate for my very...adequate baby. Rather than risk creating even more laundry for my bodily-function-weary self, I decided to put her in this contraption instead.

That's a cloth diaper insert wrapped in some burp rags stuffed into the bloomers that came with one of her dresses, and it worked beautifully. Although please don't think that I'm not running out to Target this afternoon to get some back-up disposable diapers, because I sure am. I'm crazier than I expected about cloth, and part of me would like to just swing without a safety net on this (granola mama, where did you come from?!), but I don't even want to imagine the ways in which I could regret that 'decision'.

Now that I've wandered on to this subject (can you tell I'm desperately in need of more adult interaction?), I think I have to stop writing now before I sink into even less exciting topics. Joshua will be home tomorrow and as I'm sure you can tell, we are all thrilled and relieved and giddy with anticipation.