This little tiny baby girl, this thing who took up residence in my womb for nine months, who played with her papa through her mama’s belly, who kept us up all night long one September night, who, when she was born was the most amazingly beautiful baby that her parents had ever seen (see the photo above, taken mere seconds after her birth)… this same baby girl, is growing up. She’s saying the most ridiculous things, and seems to think that she’s been around forever.
A few examples of the constant craziness::
“Don’t think your jacket is pretty, Mama. It isn’t.”
“Where do babies come from? Oh, I know. They come from toenails.”
“Your toilet drives me crazy, Mama.”
“Can we walk to Marme and Granddad’s house on the sidewalk of the world?”
“We ate fish bones for lunch.” (Translation: fish sticks)
“Aww, you are my yiddle papa.”
“Would it be easy to take this book downstairs, Papa?”
And last night, Kinsley woke up at about 3am and came into our bedroom. Dan carried her back to bed, saying “It’s not morning yet, Kinsley. You have to go back to bed.” About five minutes later, Kinsley came back into the room, and cheerfully exclaimed “Good morning Papa!”
In loving memory of my dear friend, now beyond the reach of my help. It’s so hard to believe this could happen. One day you were in my hands, safe and secure, and functioning as you should. The next day, you are flashing an Error 99, in a very melancholy sort of way. Then, you’re gone. With no thought to all the times we’ve shared, and memories we’ve created together. Without even a glance back, and no chance to make things right. Oh, the heartache.
Sophie turned one last Sunday. We celebrated with spaghetti and cake. All eaten with the bare hands if course! Baby Drew will be one this Sunday. Baby Drew’s mom is a very dear childhood friend of mine, and we found out we were pregnant about a week apart, did all of our prenatal visits together, Drew’s mom came to Sophie’s birth. She brought pineapple (a constant craving then, and through my whole pregnancy), and rubbed my back while I was in transition, so it’s just perfect that we get to celebrate the babies’ first birthdays together…
What is your middle name? Would you change any of your names if you could? If so, what would you like to be called?
My middle name is Damara. I used to not like it, but I’ve gotten quite used to it, and I think I’d keep all my names! After experiencing the agony that goes into naming babies, I think it’d be pretty rotten (to one’s parents) to go and change your name…
If you were a fashion designer, which fabrics, colors, and styles would you probably use the most?
If I were a fashion designer, it’d have to be for baby, toddler, and children’s clothing. That’s one of my favorite things to do anyway! I’d lean heavily towards the vintage (as in 30s-early 60s) mixed with some more modern prints and styles. I would not use synthetic fabrics, that’s for sure!
What is your least favorite chore, and why?
Is it a bad sign to not have a favorite chore? I do love to make the bed, but it has to be done just so, or I’d rather not make it. In fact, one time I came home, and freaked out because my bed was made, and knew that I did not make it. When I say freaked out, that may be putting it a tad mildly. In reality, I saw the bed, grabbed the phone and called Dan to see if he had been home and made the bed. He hadn’t. So I called my grandma who lives nearby to see if she had been over. She hadn’t. I knew it couldn’t be my mom, because I had been out with her. So, I did what any logical seven-month pregnant woman would do, and I got out the gun, went to my neighbor’s house (he’s a sheriff’s deputy) and asked him to come check out my house, “Because I knew someone had been in there”. He asked me how I knew, and I told him because my bed had been made by someone other than me. He had the nerve to give me a strange look and ask me to stop waving the gun around and go stand by the door while he checked out the house. He found no one, and went home. Just about then, my mom called. She had stopped by my husband’s office, and had heard that I was freaking out over my bed being made, and called me to tell me that when she came to pick me up, and while I was in the bathroom, she had made my bed for me! That evening, when we went for a walk, we saw the neighbor again, I thanked him for dealing with my hysteria and he asked if I figured out what happened. When I told him that my mom had made the bed, he said “Yeah, usually criminals don’t make beds”.
What is something that really frightens you, and can you trace it back to an event in your life?
I’m scared of earthquakes. But I don’t think that resulted from anything in particular in my childhood. Actually, I hate this kind of question.
Where are you sitting right now? Name 3 things you can see at this moment.
On a clifftop in Ireland, overlooking the sea. Okay, not really. I’m sitting in my computer chair, in my sewing room/office, typing on the computer, where’d you think?
I can see my keyboard, my one year old, an abacus, a Curious George book, about a million yards of fabric, a plastic pink pig, a miniature dachshund named Frances – oh three. Never mind the last few then. But what I can smell, that’s another story. And now I know what I’ll be doing when I get done here – changing a diaper, that’s what.