twotothree

We’ve had a busy couple of months.  The family went to my sister’s graduation, I’ve been studying for my licensing exam, we lost a dog, we found the dog, I had an identity crisis, I fostered kittens, we went to a pool party, we celebrated family birthdays, and I began running again (for the first time since early pregnancy!).  Gloria has also been busy, her time being consumed by discovering how to pick up tiny floor debris, growing out of her six month clothes, and acquiring all of the skills necessary to scoot across an entire room, open the wipes container, and stuff as many as she can into her mouth.

Every month of parenthood brings a slew of new lessons.  Each time you think you’ve got this baby thing mastered, she throws the game entirely and you have to learn how to deal with her all over again.  Some things we’ve learned in the past month:

• Spoons are the only toy worth her time lately.

• A lack of photogenicity is genetic, and Gloria and I can't seem to coordinate our rare good shots.

•  “Mama” is a ridiculous word and deserves only spite and loathing.
• Gloria says “dada."  All.  Day.  Long.  She whispers it, she screams it, she says it in different lengths, in different volumes.  She says it in a growl, she says it in a screech.  Her doctor says that she's at the right age to learn and practice consonants, but I’m unconvinced that it's that innocent, because “d” seems to be the only one she has discovered.   And she says it to me with that uplifted eyebrow of suggestion like, "hey mom, how do you like THOSE apples."
  
  (Blogger formatting is the most nonsensensical thing.  It's second in stupidity to MS Word formatting.  This page is littered with bullets that I can't get rid of, and I refuse to apologize because IT'S MAKING ME SO ANGRY.)
  
  Me: “Mama, Gloria.  Say ‘Mama.”
• Gloria: “Dada.”
• “Maaaama.”
• “Adadadadadada.”
• “Maaamaaaa.  Say ‘Maaaamaaa.”
• At this point she will giggle maniacally, but then become really serious, and say in a threatening tone, “dada.”
  
  Trying to get her to say “baba” (in an attempt to wipe the smug look off of Mike’s face) yields similar results.
  
  She’ll sit in the corner of her nursery, playing with a toy and whispering “Ah-da.  Dada.  Dadadadadada.” to herself.  Frankly, if I were Mike I would be more worried than proud.  She’s certainly not in the corner plotting about “mama.”
• Brushing her teeth is the most fun she’s ever had.
  
  
•  That’s right, Gloria now has a little pink toothbrush that lives next to ours in the cup in the bathroom.  She thinks brushing her teeth is great fun and she squeals when I take it out.  This is an excellent response, considering she has learned to enjoy dog kisses so much that when Kevin or Desi approach her, she closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and sticks her tongue out to receive the affection.
• If the water isn’t exactly 78.6 degrees or warmer, she isn’t going in.


•  I excitedly got her all decked out for a day at my friend’s pool.  She got a floppy straw sunhat, a fancy pool floaty, a fashionable bathing suit.  I spent forty-five minutes agonizing over pool diapers because I couldn’t find anything other than Winnie the Pooh, and I hate Winnie the Pooh more than I hate anything.  (I’ll be damned if my daughter is going to be one of those smelly drunk women at the DMV, wearing a Tigger muumuu and heels and screaming at the attendant about her baby daddy’s truck.  Which is exactly what I associate Winnie the Pooh with.)
  
  I thought she would love the pool, considering how she lives her tiny baby life for bath time.  But the minute her toes touched that water she was screaming.  All she wanted to do was sit on the deck in her bathing suit, sunglasses, and floppy straw hat, and play with the old cell phone Mike gave her (since she is always trying to drool all over ours).  I find this a deeply disturbing predilection at age 6.5 months.
  
  The camera didn't come out until my friend started yielding it after multiple margueritas, so there are only a few pictures, none of which display her finery.
    
  

But, like most parents throughout history, I will ignore these disturbing signs and focus instead on cute photos of kittens.  These are two kittens that a coworker found a couple of months ago.  Other coworkers have been taking turns fostering them until they are ready for their new home at ten weeks.  I lurked until they were past the bottle-feeding stage before taking a turn, but when I reconsidered this bright idea once I brought them home and they started climbing the walls of my house.  The gray-faced one is particularly evil.  You can tell by the deranged look on her face and the villain-esque comic book coloring of the photo.

You should thank me for the censor.  Cat butt is gross.