So this morning the baby girl and I took our weekly trip to the grocery store. By the way, last week was the first week she sat in the grocery cart instead of in her carseat attached to the grocery cart. This is because she has outgrown that carseat and now has the permanently-attached-to-the-back-seat-until-further-notice-type car seat. Last week, she kept flopping over to the side and I had to keep straightening her up. Luckily she has a nifty shopping cart cover to keep her from being too uncomfortable and to keep me from freaking out over all the possible germs that she might gather on her hands that she can’t keep out of her mouth even after touching nasty things like shopping carts. This week, however, she was able to keep herself in a sitting position the entire time, so I was kind of on a high when we left. Well, except for the fact that the bagger kept tickling her stomach and playing with her hands until I wanted to scream “STOP TOUCHING MY BABY AND GETTING ALL YOUR GERMS ALL OVER HER BECAUSE SHE CAN’T KEEP HER HANDS OUT OF HER MOUTH, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” I didn’t, of course, because that would be rude. But I wanted to.

Anyway, we went out to the car, and it being Arizona and it being hot even though it was not even 10:00 am, I decided to take her out of the basket and put her in the car right away. I didn’t buckle her in, but I left the car door open so I would remember to do that after I loaded the groceries. I loaded the groceries into the back of the car, closed her door, got in and drove home.

Yeah, you noticed I left out a step did you? I realized I had forgotten to buckle her into her car seat as we were pulling into the garage. To be fair, the grocery store is only three miles away from our house, but still I felt horrible. All I could think of was what could have happened. But it didn’t. Nothing happened. She was fine. We got home safely. Everything was okay. And hopefully I learned a good lesson.

But nonetheless, I can’t help feeling a little like the Worst. Mother. Ever. :(

Things my daughter has accomplished this past week or so:

•Rolling over onto her tummy while actually in her crib rather than only when she is out of the crib.

•Sitting up unassisted for little bits at a time.

•Doing a complete non-stop roll tummy to back to tummy in one direction.

•Standing up while holding onto the couch for a few seconds.

•Putting everything she comes in contact with in her mouth. This includes but is not limited to: her hands, her clothes, her toes, burp cloths, towels, blankets, my fingers, my forearm, my hair, my clothes, my nose, my cell phone, Daddy’s fingers, Daddy’s nose, books*, the cordless phone, fingers belonging to various other people, kleenex, paper towels, every toy she can possibly get her hands on, her bottle, most of her food, her bib, and the edge of her high chair tray.

•What she didn’t put in her mouth: the Cheerios I laid so nicely on her high chair tray so that she could practice her fine motor skills by gracefully picking them up and putting them into her mouth. Not even when I held them in my hand in front of her face. Not even when I put them in her tiny little hands (which had I done with any other thing in the entire known universe she would have broken every land speed record known to man getting it in there). Not even when I made the Cheerios tap on the tray and dance and sing silly Cheerio songs. And when I broke down and put one in her mouth so she could see that yes indeed she wouldn’t get in trouble for putting it into her mouth, she spit it out. Remember the above list? She has never, not once, EVER spit any of those things out. But she spit the CHEERIO out. The Cheerio that I have been waiting forever to be able to feed my perfect child. SHE SPIT IT OUT. DO YOU HEAR ME??????????

I think my child is broken. *sigh*

*Okay, she didn’t actually put the books in her mouth. She licked them instead. But I maintain that if they would have fit in her mouth, they would have gone in her mouth, so they stay on the list.

I signed up for swimming lessons today.

They start next Tuesday.

8 lessons for $6.

Gotta love city subsidized programs.

Yeah. Me learning to swim.

Whoa.

big girl
Originally uploaded by kmrg.

First time in a restaurant high chair

When a man of God doesn’t act like it and freedom of speech is taken away.

When a real man of God’s character is attacked for no apparent reason and our freedoms seem to be slowly being eroded.

When a leader of the church leads by intimidation rather than benevolence.

When a leader of our government finds it necessary to describe something to do with our country by using the word Nazi.

When I really just don’t get it.

The Bishop of Phoenix (his name is Thomas Olmsted) needs to go away. Far away. Another planet would be a good choice.

That is all.

I feel edgy.
I don’t know why I feel edgy.
Not knowing why I feel edgy makes me feel more edgy.
I don’t like feeling edgy.
So that makes me more edgy too.
Bleh.

Last year on Father’s Day, we knew we were pregnant. So there was much anticipation and joy in the air. The Father’s Days before that were spent either with Mike’s dad or with me being irritated with my father for not being around anymore. And while I’m still kind of irritated with him over the whole situation, at least he has made an effort to stay in touch a little more regularly and even visit his granddaughter once in awhile so she might remember who he is. But I don’t really want to dwell on my father today. I’d rather talk about the father of my child. (Read on …)

Yesterday I changed my daughter’s poopy diaper at about 6 p.m. Then we were hanging out together for an hour and a half or so and I got a whiff of her diaper. Again??? Didn’t I just change your diaper? And being the creative silly person that I am, I made up a song on the spot (sung to the tune of I Want You to Want Me - the “didn’t I see you crying” part). “Oh, oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I change your diaper? Oh, oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I change your diaper? Gotta lotta poop and I know that you need wiper. Oh, oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I change your diaper?”

Why am I sharing this you might ask? Well, because after I sang it to her, I thought I would share with her father because, after all, HE is the one who is supposed to be changing pooopy diapers and now I had to change TWO, count them TWO, in under two hours. (He was at a gig at the time.) Anyway, being the kind, sharing silly person that I am, I texted him my new lyrics. I figured if nothing else it would make him feel guilty he wasn’t there to do the dirty deed he would get a chuckle out of it. Not five minutes later, my phone rang and it was him. I answered it thinking he was going to share a mom/dad laugh with me. But it was even better than that. In the club where they were setting up, a song was playing right before my text came in. The song stopped playing and his phone beeped immediately to signal that he had received my text. What song was playing? Dwight Yoakam’s version of “I Want You to Want Me.”

Wow, I am posting about poop! I feel a little like Dooce today.

Tampon applicators remind certain people of push-pops.

Don’t ask. You really had to be there.

My ob/gyn is nothing if not a positive thinker. Maybe that comes from just becoming a third-time father a couple of weeks ago, but as I left my yearly appointment yesterday, he said “see you when you get pregnant”. And we’re not even trying yet. But, hey, that’s why I like him. He’s positive and funny and yeah, I really like him. Doctors like him are one in a million. Really. I’m so lucky to have found him!

Some other great snippets:
*He still remembers my placenta (it was rather a mess) and it makes him mad every time he thinks about how much my baby girl had to struggle in there with that nasty placenta, but she seems to be none the worse for wear. :) Not so sure I want to be remembered for my placenta, but oh well, I suppose there are worse things to be remembered for.
*And when I told him we weren’t going to really “try” to get pregnant, but rather just take the attitude of “if it happens, it happens, if it doesn’t, well, we’ve got one awesome baby already”, he said, yeah that sounds like something Mike would say. :) You get to know your ob/gyn very well when you’re pregnant and in there at least once a month, and since Mike went with me to pretty much every appointment, we all got well acquainted. :)
*Oh and this might be in the “too much information” category, so you have been warned. I’m not back on my regular monthly schedule yet (that apparently is fairly normal after you’ve had a baby), so they made me take a pregnancy test, which I told them would be negative, but they made me do it anyway. No biggie, it’s always nice to get a chance to empty your bladder before your exam. Anyway, as he’s walking out the door, he says “I hope it’s positive!”

It wasn’t. Just in case you were wondering.

If you are as interested in brain research as I am, make sure you read this article. It’s fascinating.

Note to self: When husband says don’t flush the toilet or turn on the faucet or otherwise put anything down the drain while he is working on the sewer line, that means don’t turn on the washing machine either.

Not that I did that.

I’m just saying.

My child thinks she is a pterodactyl.

That is all.