Oh Lord.

We need to get this child some cowboy boots.

After he clicked out of my bedroom like this, I went and put a knob cover on our closet door. Not because I’m concerned about his appreciation of a good heel, but because I’m beyond sick of putting six scattered pairs of my shoes back in their rightful place every evening!


Poor Second Children.

First time parents are both neurotic and incredibly smug. If one is going to spend countless hours freaking out about being in charge of keeping a completely helpless little blob of person alive, one at least requires the pay off of a decided sense of superiority among fellow parents.

“Oh, I don’t let my 15 month old watch T.V. He doesn’t even know what Sesame Street is!” (Parent who spent 45 minutes earlier in the day installing coffee table corner bumpers, and who may or may not have caregiving induced IBS, puffs out chest in pride.)

When the second child comes along (and this is as far as my personal life experience has taken me) things become far more focused on survival. A good day ends with both children in bed, still breathing. That’s it. “Both kids have a pulse eh? I’m breaking out the bubbly!”.

Therefore, the poor second child doesn’t experience the same level of developmentally appropriate insulation in the early days. When Payne was a baby, he didn’t know what a cartoon was.



And the hilarious part is that I get frustrated that it doesn’t distract her like it distracts her brother. With a three month old Payne I was all “Here! Look at this rattle I’m shaking instead of watching the news!” and now with Genevieve it’s more like “WHY WON’T ELMO MAKE YOU STOP CRYING!?”.

This attitude goes for toys as well. Payne had almost no noisy toys, and we didn’t put batteries in anything that lit up etc… Now we’ve stuffed them into every single baby toy we can. Everything lights up or makes noises, and she loves it. If a backflipping light up duckie that screams “Camptown Races” in falsetto buys me an extra five minutes while cooking dinner, I’ll buy AAs in bulk…and wear ear muffs.

Children are humbling, that much I have learned!

T-Rex arms and another chapter in The Life and Times of Piggi(es).

Babies are not dissimilar to dachshunds.

I don’t mean that in the kibble eating, incessant barking sort of way, but more in the “hilariously disproportionate” sense. I’ve never had a stronger urge to laugh at an inappropriate time than when viewing an x-ray of Stella after a back injury. I have similar (although less offensive) urges to laugh when babies stretch, extending their arms over their head.

Exhibit A:

What’s so funny about this, you say? Well, take your own arm, extend it, and bring it up to rest against the side of your head. Note the position of your hand. Now, look where Genevieve’s hand is resting, with a fully extended arm.

Heh heh heh heh heh! WHY did I not think to dress her as a T-Rex for Halloween?

In other news, meet the twins:

Piggi and Piggy? Hell, I don’t know. They’re both “Kiggy” to Payne.

Piggy has had a stunt double for quite awhile (acquired with considerable effort and expense after Piggy was discontinued) but the gig was up fairly early in the charade, and now Payne keeps both of them in his room.

The twins were wearing matching onesies, thanks to a generous donation from Genevieve, but Payne decided they were dirty and needed a bath. Desperate to avoid water logged swine, I created a Pig tub out of an overturned plastic stool, which I placed in the bathroom while Payne himself was getting a scrub.

Payne’s hair was washed, the pigs hair had to be washed. Payne’s back was scrubbed, the twins backs were to be scrubbed. In similar fashion their “teeth” were brushed and I was very specifically instructed to “get deir butt” while drying with Payne’s snake themed hoodie towel.

After their bath some “Kajamas” had to be procured (again, a shout out to Baby Sister is in order), and bottles provided. During their feeding I took one and Payne took the other. Team work is imperative when caring for multiples, especially in the early days.

After some snuggles:

“The Girls” were tucked in under a rocket ship themed comforter, and got a head start on some shut eye before being joined by their most devoted caretaker.

I want to tell Payne that co sleeping might lead to some behavior issues in the future, but I’m really trying not to overstep my bounds here. (sigh)

Public humiliation edition 7,653:

We were having an exciting time in Samsclub this afternoon. I was consulting my list when Payne grabbed it from me, glanced at it in a purposefull fashion and said “Dr. Pooper”.

I asked “You mean Dr. Pepper?” (which wasn’t on the list)

Payne: “NO! Dr. Pooper!”

Me: “Dr. PEPPER.”

Payne: (gleefully throughout the rest of the trip) “DR. POOPER DR. POOPER DR. POOPER!”

Bed Head

I suppose every moment of every day involves bed head when you’re an infant.

I do think my kid sort of takes the cake on the concept though:

What do you think we’ve got there? Like an inch of scalp to tips clearance?

Haaaaa ha ha!:

I should retire “Beaker” and start calling her “Sonic”.

Payne helped me put this old toy together. He will use any excuse to get the “skoowiber” out of the junk drawer that he is expressly prohibited from sifting through. After Evie was in the rotating bouncer/hammock thingie he went around the perimeter of it and pretended to tighten all of the visible screws.

The victor brandishes his trophy:

Contrary to the present optical illusion, the baby does indeed possess a torso.


What could be better than naked FattyFattersonMcFattypants legs terminated by itty bitty stripey socks?:

FattyFattersonMcFattypants legs covered in tights with horizontal stripes; that’s what:

(Payne calls these “Gen-vive’s wainbows”.)

And what could be better than both?

Warning: Continuing to peruse could result in cute induced spontaneous head combustion…


Baby Gap had my number as usual. Damn.