JESUS H. CHRIST ON A CRACKER, let’s all hope that’s the last post about my fucking boobs, eh?  I mean, until I decide to get a boob lift or some other sort of breast rejuvenating surgery, at which point I will, once again, have volumes to say about the state of my chest.

Olivia will be four months old on Sunday, so I am actually AHEAD OF THE GAME when it comes to posting this month.  Just like Temerity Jane told me, everything has continued to improve from the relatively dark days of her early babyhood- The combination of me figuring out how this all works and her aging like a fine wine has made for some generally happy days around here.

Just in the last week or so, Olivia has picked up some astounding skills (the superstitious part of me finds that this coincides a LITTLE TOO NEATLY with the end of breastfeeding- since she no longer had to spend any energy arguing with my boobs about getting enough food, she’s had plenty of it left over to become the world’s most awesome baby)- she can reach her toes, she can laugh, and she can charm the pants off a bunch of old ladies sitting at the table behind us at dinner last night.


Got 'em


Ok, wait.  I just had a moment wherein I got confused- so Olivia is TURNING four months old, but I am recapping her THREE month time, right?  No, that’s not right.  I’m recapping her fourth month of life.  Christ.  Time is confusing.

Olivia was also a chucken/dicken for Halloween, even though she did not participate in any Halloween related activities.


Chicken Duck, Duck Chicken


Mostly I was just thrilled to get to dress her up in something ridiculous, because I have a sneaking suspicion there will come a time where she will roll her eyes at my sartorial choices for her. Besides, all she currently wears on the regular are footie pajamas until I decide she’s covered it in enough spit up to warrant a change.  Maybe she was glad for the change of scenery too.

On the occasion of her four month birthday, we will be packing Olivia up for her first airplane flight ever, all the way cross-country to see my parents.  We’re taking a red-eye, so I am hoping for some quality shut-eye from her, but I have to admit I am getting WAY nervous about the whole thing. What if she cries the whole time?  What if her ears hurt?  What if the person sitting with us (ok, y’all, in THESE ECONOMIC TIMES, there was no way we could justify buying her a seat for herself, so she’ll be in our laps, and there are three seats in a row on this particular plane) shoots me evil looks the entire time?  If you have any hot tips for traveling with a small one, please please let me know.  We’ll have blankets and bottles and toys, but maybe I am missing some crucial, must-have baby flying accoutrement?



Bumbo in the Bathroom


So there you have it.  I’m getting the hang of things, she continues to charm me, and no one has died yet.  Rock on, little lady, rock on.