Well, anyway…I’m on a mission to get caught up on my blogging and picture-memory-keeping-what-do-you-call-it. You know…what you do with all the pictures you take on your phone every day, faster than you can blink.
I’m gonna try, regardless.
This could have something to do with the impending birth of Baby Brother, and all I can think about is how many pictures I’m gonna have THEN to process. This is where I serve myself up another anxiety attack.
So the oldest set of pictures that I haven’t blogged about yet are from our goddaughter’s 2nd birthday party. Yah, she’s four now. [slow clap] Thanks very much. Procrastination at its finest, and I am proud. I mean, look at this:
The difference between this baby girl and the one that is feeding her own kitty in the house now is astonishing. And painful. Oh my word my heart. That head on my shoulder: she still does that, only she’s so much longer now. And she wraps all the way around me.
(And yah…she’s wearing one of Mama’s old outfits. Yahoo! These updates will soon disappear altogether, because we’re out of the cute hand-me-downs; the stuff that’s left is the beginning of Awkward and Dated. And Baby Brother? Well, no baby boys in my mama’s house, so no hand-me-downs there….)
As usual, I’m so glad that my sister was there, too, or I’d have zero pictures of this day and this girl in this outfit and the hat that’s coming up here at the end. Everyone should get themselves a sister that doesn’t mind taking lots of pictures. They’re priceless.
It was such a nice party. I mean, from what I can remember. It was a pretty day, there was a swimming pool, there was sunshine, there was my baby in the grass, and there was a nice drive to and from in my old, beloved truck.
I won’t put up any of their pictures, because that’s not really my place, but we had a good time, and it was one of my early road trips with Katie Jane, so that’s always monumental. And the birthday girl will be five soon and in kindergarten and her mother just shot me A Look for even mentioning it.
A girl at our church had a baby about three weeks ago, and I’ve already seen her running around and performing her church duties while friends and family hold the baby, and sometimes, she’s holding the newborn while she’s still running around. I think I stare at her a lot with my mouth open. We’re all so different, aren’t we? I mean, mark my words: when Baby Brother gets here, you won’t see me off our place for months.
I dig a hole and climb in with my people that way.
Although I’m betting I won’t have near the freedom for that with a 3-year-old in the mix, but we’ll see. I have goals, people. Reclusive goals.
These are the things that cute three-year-old currently tells Baby Brother through my belly before bed at night:
“Hello in there!”
“Good night, and don’t let the silly gilly gumble bite!”
If you’ve not yet been exposed to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, then you’re wondering what nuttery we’re practicing over here, but I promise it’s legit. Well, as legit as a cartoon dog knocking knees over a mythical silly gilly gumble can be; and don’t even get me started on the subject of WHY PETE THE CAT IS SO ABOMINALLY BIG COMPARED TO FIGARO, ALSO A CAT. We’d be here all night.