Genevieve is 11 months old!

Haaa ha ha ha!

I love this photo. She was watching the dogs bark at the fence. She is getting so, so big. We have six teeth now. She walked behind a walking toy for the first time yesterday, and right after I took this picture, she just let go and, like, stood there for several seconds. She was just standing there like it was no biggie, watching the dogs, then she put her arm back out and grabbed the toy again. I squealed and tried to grab another photo but I wasn’t quick enough. Plus, the pooper scooper would have been in the background. Whoops.

I ordered first birthday party invitations yesterday. Crazy.

Advertisements

A few things.

Children defy statistics.

Theoretically, one has a 50% chance of putting one’s shorts on with the front on the front and the back on the back.

I think we’re running with a 5% success rate. Heh.

Payne has inexplicably attached himself to an ice cream scoop:


They met at Target and have been inseperable ever since. This has earned us some strange looks in public. Especially since Payne approaches complete strangers with the announcement “My got an eye keem goop!”.

Oh, and Stella decided her work place wasn’t ergonomic, so she made a few adjustments; brought in some new equipment…

You’ve really got to keep the head, neck, and spine as fully aligned as possible.

Boys.

While walking into a restaurant last night, Payne sneezed about four times in a row, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. I asked him “Payne, do you need a tissue?”. His response: “Nope. My just need mine arm!”. Ha!

The games my children play.

Splatter

Playing field: Within the confines of a motor vehicle.

Rules: Player 1 inititates game by making eye contact with Player 2 and blowing raspberries as hard as humanly possible. This continues until exhaustion forces a player out of the game or the driver of the motor vehicle yells. The winner is the player most thoroughly drenched in their own saliva.

Hysteria

Playing field: The living area of a domestic residence.

Rules: Player 1 initiates game by making eye contact with Player 2 and laughing in an uncontrolled fashion. Player 2 reciprocates. Player 1 responds in kind. Repeat until nearest adult puts on a cartoon. The winner is the player closest to the t.v. when the aforementioned caretaker gives in.

Rocky Mountain Sheep:

Playing field: Anywhere.

Rules: Player 1 initiates game by approaching Player 2 and smashing their head and face into the opposition. Players then shove each other with their noggins until a player is pushed to the ground or the nearest adult interferes with play. The winner is the player furthest from the floor at the point of cessation of play.

Post-game, both players are thoroughly checked for any instances of profuse facial bleeding and asked how sumo wrestling with one’s head can be sooooo funny.

A small confession:

I’m a complete baby clothing related prude.

Even with boys, I manage to find things worth my moral opposition. I won’t put Payne in sleevless shirts, or shorts that are more than a couple of inches above the knee. I turn down shirts that say “Ladies man” or “L’il Romeo” etcetera. I’ve even spotted boys sweatpants with a phrase written across the butt, and turned those down as well.

With Genevieve, the list is endless:
-No halter dresses or tops. Because, you know, all of those babies in halters look just like Victoria’s Secret models?
-No one shoulder dresses or tops.
-None of that one full shoulder and one spaghetti strap business. That there is for floozies.
-No off the shoulder dresses or tops.
-No sweetheart necklines. What exactly would the middle of the neckline be drawing down to reveal?
-No ruching at the center chest. Again, what optical illusion are we trying to create, exactly? Gross.
-No baby bikinis, and two pieces must cover her belly entirely. I don’t want any 15 month old boys in shades checking out her chubby belly, you know.
– No baby heels (yes, these exist).
-No sassy phrases like “Little diva”, “Flirt”, “Daddy’s Princess”. Those are just…off putting.
-No writing on the butt.
-No glitter. I may lose this battle sooner rather than later.
-Hell, I’m not even crazy about true spaghetti straps (I prefer a flat, wider strap).
-No peep toe shoes. They’re not work (read: playground) appropriate, guys. We don’t want her encountering play place discrimination.
-No suggestive skirt gathers, like a raise in the hem at the thigh (Oh yes. I’ve seen this in the toddler section). I don’t need no baby can-can dancer.
-No lingerie style lace. I bought some leggings with a wide lacy trim and found myself repulsed by the effect once they were on.
-No patches of transparent fabric (Seen this too, sadly).
Pretty much, if anything could be worn on a full grown woman and viewed as sexy, its not going on my daughter. As I’ve never seen a woman walking down the street in ruffle butt bloomers or a summer bubble (looking anything but ripe for institutionalization) I deem these items acceptable, even though they show a lot of baby leg.
I mean, I bought her this and it’s really cute (and it was like 40% of its original price) but it still makes me vaguely uncomfortable:

This is all reeeeaaaally ironic, considering I have no qualms displaying her naked butt to the world…
Many of the things I won’t buy aren’t even remotely offensive to 90% of the population, so I know the crazy is all me. However, it doesn’t go down quite as weird as it seems from my list. It’s more like I’m shopping and flipping through the racks going “Nope. Nope. Nope. No way in Hell.” but I don’t think about why I’ve immediately rejected something until I’m dissecting my own reaction to it. The negative reaction is immediate and sort of visceral, and then I move on.

I’m pretty sure once she outgrows the toddler section of mainstream stores I’ll be trying to order most of her clothes out of a catalogue that caters to fundamentalist Christians. She is going to haaaaate me. Ha!

Seeing as her father proclaims with great conviction that she is going to grow up and become a nun, I think we may compound each other’s parental conservatism to a leeetle bit of an excessive degree. If any of my dear friends ever spot Genevieve sporting a neck to ankles jumpsuit while clutching a baby safe rosary, it might be time to sit me down for a talk.