Last night, Chris informed me that he took exception with my description of his music room as "filthy" and said he was going to post a rebuttal. I warned him that if he posted a rebuttal, I would follow with my own rebuttal of his rebuttal and that I would include pictures. He posted this morning and told the entire internet that I was lying about his room.

I have decided to leave it to you to settle, internet. We'll play a rousing game of He Said, She Said and you can choose who is right about the state of the music room.

First off, here's what I said: I happened to go into Chris's cd/guitar/stereo/half empty soda can/rock hard old gummi bear room (which I never enter as it is filthy and as I am responsible neither for creating nor cleaning the filth I just blissfully pretend it does not exist) to look for a pen and found the pink pacifier perched on one of his pedals. He is now in the dog house and also responsible for boiling the thing for half an hour to remove residual filth.

Here's Chris's reponse:The music room is actually, in my humble opinion, the most organized, well-kept personal space under my purview. Between the 3500+ CDs, six guitars, gigantic stereo, 8 speakers, two amps and five guitar pedals, I think the fact that there's any floor space in the tiny 10X10 room is a miracle of organization. There's even art on the walls. And a nice, hand-woven rug on the floor.

Now, I admit that when I went down there this morning to take pictures, the room was somewhat cleaner than usual, mainly in that there was no food rotting on the floor. However, I think I found enough evidence to back up my claim.

First, the establishing shot:

From here, it looks messy, but I not necessarily filthy. (Not pictured are an equal number of cds shelved on the opposite wall.)

Next, we have the old, half-empty soda can:

No idea how long this particular can has been in residence, but I would bet it is at least a couple of weeks.

However this old root beer bottle has been in this exact spot for no less than two years.

Moving on, I think it is fair to say that this room has not been vacuumed since I got rid of the cleaning lady in October, which explains both the very old, dried out, nearly decomposed cat puke:

As well as the half of a cricket carcass. I have no idea where the other half is, possibly it makes up the cat puke on the other side of the room?

I admit that the rug is nice, but it is also bunched up under the door:

If Chris were left to his own devices, the shirts in this picture of the inside of the closet would still be steeped in three years of accumulated cat pee. I washed them.

As an aside, I would like to point out that I gave Chris the big Crate amp and also the lovely handcrafted wood guitar stand that you can almost see in this picture behind the pile of crap:

Upon a review of the photographic evidence, I suppose the truth is somewhere in the middle. However, if you vote for me, I'll post more pictures of Mia.

This week, a twofer!

First, Mia with her favorite green pacifier. She dares to be different.

And then, yesterday, Chris audioblogged the baby. Since our marriage is based almost entirely on competition, I had to do him one better.

Yup, video! Has darling but loud and high-pitched screeching baby sounds. You were warned.

Happy Friday, sports fans. I have slept, let's see... 12 hours out of the last 80 so I think I am a little punchy. Everybody likes punchy, right? (And people please, please do not email or comment that at least I don't have to go to work. I know that. I know I am lucky to not have to go to work. But 12 hours or sleep in 4 days is still a real bitch.) Anyway, a few things:

No way in hell am I posting a picture of Mia's hotty pediatrician. (Does anyone else love how he has progressed from "a little cute" to "hotty" in three days?) I am fairly confident that the pediatrician in question will never stumble upon my little site and recognize himself as the hotty in question, but am less confident that nobody he has ever known would ever see a picture I posted and send him the link thereby requiring me to find a new doctor in another state lest I die from embarassment. As I said, he is very sweet with Mia so I would hate to have to do that. Just picture a skinny sorta nerdy maybe 30ish doctor type with glasses and dark hair and then make him kinda cute and there you have it.

It is distinctly possible that Mia's doctor is younger than I am. That makes me a little crazy. When did I get so old that doctors are allowed to be younger than me?

Could someone please tell me where in the hell I can buy one-piece, cotton, footie pajamas in 12 and 18 month sizes? Yes, my child is ginormous, does that mean she should be deprived of pajamas?

I have been looking for Mia's pink pacifier for days. She has a green one and a pink one that are her favorite teething rings and the pink one went missing forcing me to make way too many trips up and down the stairs after the green one. I happened to go into Chris's cd/guitar/stereo/half empty soda can/rock hard old gummi bear room (which I never enter as it is filthy and as I am responsible neither for creating nor cleaning the filth I just blissfully pretend it does not exist) to look for a pen and found the pink pacifier perched on one of his pedals. He is now in the dog house and also responsible for boiling the thing for half an hour to remove residual filth.

How does a 21 pound infant take up fully half of a queen sized bed?

Did you know that butternut squash looks and tastes remarkably like sweet potato? Did you know that Mia despises sweet potato? Would anyone like about a dozen frozen cubes of butternut squash? Free to good home!

One of my cats might have a urinary tract infection. She's on antibiotics. If the antiobiotics don't work, than either she has something like bladder cancer or it is the other cat. Remember when my cats were my precious angel babies? Now they are lucky if I don't lock them in a closet to keep them from waking Mia.

(I don't lock the cats in the closet, and the one we think has the UTI is 20 years old so if it is bladder cancer instead than really it would just be a race to see whether that could kill her before her kidneys fail entirely or her hyper-active tyhroid explodes. Either way, I'm letting her chill on her heating pad for the rest of her days rather than hauling her back and forth to the vet because that is what makes her happy and at 20 I think happiness should be the only goal.)

Mia's awake, time for the next round of The Mommy Show. Kisses.

Mia Bean,

You are seven months old today and I don't know where the time has gone. It seems as if we just brought you home yesterday, and it seems as if you have been here forever. You are just over 21 pounds, have two sharp little teeth, and hair that is the envy of every baby on the block. You have an astounding buddha belly and fat rolls on your legs that you could lose things in, but more and more now you look solid rather than chubby.

This month you have really begun to express your opinions. For example, it is your considered opinion that no object should ever be allowed to remain on top of any other object and you consider it your sacred duty to rectify this situation wherever it exists. Your father and I have spent hours stacking your toys so you can knock them over. You are also of the opinion that toys belong on the floor rather than in any sort of container and delight in upending your toy box and watching everything scatter. Your favorite toys are an old cordless phone, an old remote control, your saline nasal spray and your plastic comb. You love books, but more for chewing than for reading.

You are starting to get mobile. When you are sitting up you can turn around and can also scoot along the floor on your butt. On your tummy, you are starting to get your knees up under you and have just started creeping. Backwards. You are not rolling as much as you used to when you first learned how to do it, and your preferred means of locomotion is still to stick your chubby arms in the air and fuss until I pick you up and move you somewhere more interesting. You also love to jump. You have a jumperoo that you like, but only if your father or I are there jumping along with you. You would rather have me hold you so you can jump up and down on my legs. You even do it when you are sound alseep in my arms if your feet happen to land on something solid. You have been ready to go since you were a few weeks old, and the flesh is about to catch up with the spirit.

You talk all day now, a constant stream of babble and screeches and giggles. The other night while we were getting ready for bed you threw yourself at my lap and said Mama very clearly, but I am not kidding myself that it was anything other than coincidence. The next day, we sat on your floor and I said "say Mama" and you said "Dada."

Speaking of Dada, oh how you love your father. When he gets home every day you bust into a huge smile and I have to hold on tight to keep you from wiggling out of my arms in your rush to get to your daddy. Most days, he takes you and you spend some time playing his guitar. You grab the strings so tightly that you hurt your little fingers, but it never stops you for long. You also love to play the piano, so I think Daddy may finally have someone to share his love of music. He has already found you a quarter-size guitar and I'm sure you will be able to play before you can read.

We have been giving you solid food for a little over a month now. So far, you like avocado, and even that only occasionally. You will sometimes tolerate rice cereal, and you hate oatmeal, potatoes, banana, prunes and peaches. Sweet potatoes are evil. You like to play with your bottle and sippy cup, but when it comes to getting actual food into you it is all about Mama. I love breastfeeding you and am incredibly proud of how you thrived as an exclusively breast-fed baby, but I am also starting to look forward to the day when I can go somewhere for longer than an hour without worrying that you are going hungry.

We moved you into your crib this month with mixed success. One night you were in your crib until 5 AM, but most nights I bring you back to bed with me somewhere between 1 and 3, and some nights we give up and just take you straight to bed with us. Your early sleeping success seems like a dream and lately getting and keeping you in bed has been a real fight. I am sorry for the nights when it makes me cranky and I am sorry for the nights when I lose my patience and tell you to just go to sleep already. Dealing with a cranky mommy is the trade-off for never being left in your crib to cry. I will never sit and listen to you cry alone, not now and not ever.

Every day now is something new, some new feat of strength or something new you learn or some new aspect of your personality. You have started shaking and then banging everything you pick up to see what noise it makes (before craming it in your mouth, of course). Your father and I had a conversation last weekend about me going back to work. I had planned to be home with you for a year, so it's about time to start figuring out what I'm going to do. I know I might feel differently in a few months, but right now the very thought of handing you over to someone else makes me sick to my stomach. Caring for you is more important than any other job I could have, and even when I talk about nothing other than poop for a week straight it is more rewarding than any other job I could have.

When you were first born, there were times when I would look at you and just burst into tears. I couldn't help it. Now, there are times when I look at you and burst out laughing. You are a marvel and beautiful and precious and stunning and the absolute joy of my life. I love you, Mia Monkey, Amelia Bedelia, Beaniac, Mia Bean. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Love,
Mom

I've had a Terrible Thought. What is Mia's pediatrician reads my blog? I know it's unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe one day he googled "baby poop, smokin' ass and too many purses" and lo, there I was. And maybe he has kept reading because he recognized me and secretly is charmed by my unbrushed hair and the list of ridiculous questions I have every time we see him.

Now, I'm not concerned that he may have read where I called him a little cute, because since the filter between my brain and my mouth goes on the fritz sometimes - ok, a lot - I would say there is at least a 15% chance that the next time I take Mia in and he asks "do you have any more questions" I'll say "yes, did you know that you are cute in that dorky nerd boy way I like so much?" Yes, it might be a little awkward, but nothing I'm not used to from years of being a social moron. No, what worries me is that he reads my blog and will think that the reason I showed up yesterday with my hair and makeup done rather than my usual "look" of ratty ponytail, no makeup and vomit stained clothes is because I was trying to impress him. The truth is that we had portraits taken yesterday so I had my hair and makeup done for that. Pure coincidence, you see. (Although I did change into the slinky dress and heels just for Mia's appointment, but, um.... everything else was dirty?)

I'm rather worried that the combination of my (far) better than usual appearance yesterday and my calling him cute on my blog will give him the wrong idea, and next time we go in he will look stealthily over his shoulder and confess that he finds me strangely compelling and hasn't been able to stop thinking about me since the first time we met and wants me to run away with him. And I will say I'm sorry and I'm sure it's a lovely offer, but I love my husband so I can't do it. And he will say but he will dedicate his every moment to making me happy. And I will say no. And he will say but he knows he is the man for me. And I will say no. And he will say but he always picks up his dirty underwear and puts it in the hamper. And I will have to take a few minutes to think it over, but I will still say no.

Sorry... what was I talking about?

Granted, the one time he called me (because I left a message about a prescription for Mia, not because he secretly burns for me) he asked if I was "Amelia's mom" when I answered the phone. But maybe that was just an act, maybe he was just pretending he didn't know my name when in fact he lies in bed every night murmuring "Beth, Beth." (Which likely annoys his wife a great deal.) (I've always sort of wished I had a name that took more to murmuring, but I suppose it is too late now.) Maybe one careless comment on my blog has gotten his hopes up and now I will have to dash his dreams and break his heart and we will have to find a new pediatrician because he won't be able to face seeing me knowing he can never have me and that will really be too bad because he is very sweet with Mia.

I guess what it boils down to is that I hope he doesn't read my blog. Oh, and also I hope that my husband is laughing.

Before:

After:

Reaching new heights:

Please note the adorable little pink high tops.

Yay for topics. Mia is actually sleeping (at least at the moment) so let's knock a few of these out, shall we?

Bethany wanted to know about the last book I read and the last movie I saw. The last book I finished was Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire. Don't bother. I'm currently reading Cell by Stephen King. Now, I am a fan of Stephen King and will happily argue with anyone that he is a good and unfairly criticized writer, but zombies are zombies and so far, this is just another zombie story. Not bad, just a little too predictable. I honestly can't remember the last movie I saw. I have watched a few since Mia was born, but not many and not in quite a while.

Pammer asked a good one, who would I cast to play me and Chris in the movie about our lives. For Chris, I would cast Brad Pitt circa A River Runs Through It because at the time that movie came out they looked almost exactly alike. For me, how about Audrey Tautou. She's cuter than me, but I'm picking.

speckledpup apparently got me confused with my husband and posted about guitars. Try one blog over.

GranolaSpice (who has given up blogging to my great sadness) inquired as to whether she could take a trip to L.A. with only one purse. Now, I can barely take a trip to the grocery store with only one purse, but if you can go to an entirely different city more power to you and I demand that you identify the purse in question so I can go get one immediately.

mo-wo is pondering whether the Bingo of musical note is a farmer or a dog. I sing this song to Mia a lot, and now my head hurts from trying to figure it out. I believe it is all a matter of commas. Wanna vote? Bingo was the farmer's name-o or the dog's name-o?

dawn threw out pirates, so I will tell you my best (and only) pirate story. I had LASIK a couple of years ago (best six large I have ever spent, even though it hurt like a motherfucker) and the informed consent form included "eye loss" as a possible risk. I joked with Chris that if I lost an eye I was going to force them to give me a parrot so that I could be a pirate. Anyway, I went in for a pre-op meeting with some random office person and as I handed over the informed consent form started making jokes about the parrot. Apparently I had forgotten that the poor woman didn't live in my head. She hussled me out of her office right quick after that.

Sheryl totally surprised me by confessing that she thinks Simon Cowell is hott, and I am sure that Sheryl doesn't throw that second t around lightly, but he just doesn't do it for me. Vote number 2! Do you think Simon is hott? Hott enough for a second t?

Ok, I think you are all bored enough now. More topics later! Or tomorrow! Or, you know, sometime!

(Oooh, wait! Vote number three! Is it bad that I think Mia's pediatrician is a little cute? I mean, I'm not going to jump him or anything since I'm married and all and also not that fond of doctors, but he is definitely a little cute in that dorky nerd boy way that I like so much. Is that bad? Do any of you think your pediatricians are hott?)

If these pictures don't make you smile, well then I think you have no soul.

Props to the Cactus for the photo shoot.

Dude. Can we please talk about something - anything - other than poop? Now I know that you and I have not been talking about poop, but Chris and I have discussed precious little else in the past week or so, ever since Mia decided that pooping wasn't really her bag. Lately my entire life has been focused on getting this kid to poop. I keep thinking, "you know, I went to college" which really is neither here nor there especially since I think I spent more time watching General Hospital than I spent in class. I did get an A in Calculus, which again has nothing to do with the subject at hand but math is very hard for me so I like to throw that out whenever I can. I feel it is proof that I am an excellent mother that I got Little Miss Steel-Trap Colon to poop twice in one day, but I suppose it is proof that I am a bad mother that I seriously considered IMing Chris to share the news before I cleaned her up.

Um, wait. Wasn't I going to talk about something other than poop? And have I just dedicated an entire paragraph to (hold on, let me re-read quickly, yes, just as I thought) poop. Argh. I need help. You all must help me, rescue me from the poop. Give me a topic, any topic, and I will talk about that instead.

And people, please. Do not, and by that I mean really do not, talk to me about poop. I am sure that you have the 100% guaranteed fool-proof method for maintaining regularity in children under 4 and that by not receiving and following your advice I am dooming my child to a lifetime of poop problems and likely therapy to address those poop problems, but I am a terrible, self-centered, uninvolved mother and I do not want to hear it. Really. No. Thanks anyway, but don't do it.

Now, topics? Anyone? Save me from myself? I'll be your best friend.

Yesterday, as a Valentine's gift for Chris, I did one of the dirtiest things I have ever done.

I don't hate Valentine's Day, I just think it's a bore. I still want presents though. In honor of this boring day, I asked Chris if he would mind if I posted the story of our Valentine's Day last year as an example of a crappy Valentine's Day. He said no based on the totally irrational objection that the story I wanted to tell was not true. What a stickler! Now really, the story I was going to tell is true, it just did not happen on Valentine's Day. Once I realized that, I asked Chris if he would mind if I said it did happen on Valentine's Day because that would make it funnier. He felt that would be lying. I felt it would be artistic license. However, since Chris has withheld permission to tell the story based on the minor detail of it being partially a bald-faced lie, you will all have to wait and hear it on Mother's Day, which is when it really did happen and therefore he cannot object.

(I feel I should take this opportunity to mention that if you are looking for something as dull and pedestrian as the truth you ought to look somewhere else. I consider this a "reality-based" blog in that I have no qualms about changing facts to suit my idea of funny and presenting them to you as the unvarnished truth. I rarely make anything up out of whole cloth, but I also frequently rearrange reality to suit my whims (which I also do in real life, but we won't get into that). Now you can't say I never told you.)

Anyway, I wanted to tell the story because I thought I would do this thing where I posted my worst story and then asked all of you to post your worst stories and we would all have a giggle, but then I realized that probably 27 of you would have had the same idea and we would get tired of reading the same stories over and over. Instead, I am going to tell you about my most romantic Valentine's Day (which I do not need my husband's permission to post because we hadn't even met yet, take that!) and then if you want you can tell me about your most romantic Valentine's Day and, oh I don't know, maybe anybody who has a story so sweet it actually causes me to vomit will win a prize or something. Alternately, in the spirit of my not-quite-true blog, you may make something up and tell me a big whopping lie.

This story is entirely true. Valentine's Day senior year of high school I was dating this guy named Xavier. (Ok, entirely true except he was not named Xavier.) We had been going out since around Christmas. On Valentine's Day, I went over to his house and up to his room where he had artistically arranged on his bed a teddy bear, a fabric rose like you can buy at 7-Eleven, and a bad poem (guy's an engineer now, poetry is not so much his thing) that said something about having the teddy bear to keep me company at night and that he loved me (which he had not said to me before). I thought at the time that it was the most romantic thing I could imagine, and I still think it was romantic because it involved 1) the effort to think of something sweet (even though it was pretty cheesy), 2) an honest statement of feelings, and 3) going beyond his comfort zone to do something he thought I would like (I fancied myself a rather fabulous poet at the time).

(It is also entirely true that the last time I saw Xavier was when I randomly ran into him in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. That would also be romantic if we were currently able to be in the same room without spitting at each other. Oh, and if I hadn't been, you know, married and with my husband at the time.).

And there you have it, my moment of grand Valentine's Day romance from (counting on fingers... and toes) 14 years ago today. Your turn, tell me a story. Oh, and send chocolates.

It doesn't take much to make a blizzard when you are only two feet tall.

1. Our 13th anniversary was... um... a couple of weeks ago. Whoops, missed it. Don't care.

2. A transcript of a conversation we had this morning, in it's entirety.

Me: Mexico
Him: Ah.

Him: Grow on trees?
Me: I think so.

Made total sense to us.

So I have this friend. No, really! We've known each other for about 15 years and been pretty close for the last 10 or so. I haven't seen him since last January when I told him I was pregnant. See, he likes to drink and smoke and since I wasn't in a position to do either we just never got together.

When Mia was born, I sent him a email to let him know. Then I sent him a birth announcement. Then a Christmas card. I had not heard from him once in six months. Finally, last week I send him an email to find out if he was still alive, in the area, etc. A couple of days later I got an email back telling me how busy he had been, giving me a lengthy update on his life, and then an oh yeah, how's the baby.

I wrote back. I told him I didn't think there was any kind of busy that was excuse enough for going six months without congratulating a supposedly good friend on the birth of her child. Much to my surprise, he apologized (he isn't really the apologetic type) and we made plans to get together for lunch yesterday. I was proud of myself for stating my case without going overboard (althought admittedly only because I had Chris read the email and took his advice to tone it down) and then moving on. I don't move on very well.

We didn't go to lunch yesterday. I didn't follow up, and neither did he (I knew he wouldn't). I didn't follow up because I am still angry, I am still holding a grudge. Because in my mind he is in the wrong and therefore should have to make the effort to patch things up with me. The reality is, I know this is up to me. It is my choice whether to suck it up, forgive and forget (how do people do that???) or walk away from a decade of friendship.

Right now, I'm inclined to walk away. I'm just wondering whether I will regret it later.

I was going to write something today since I have already posted pictures twice this week, but then I got annoyed about a couple of stupid emails/comments I have gotten recently. So, in order to avoid a diatribe I would later regret, I give you proof that parents will do just about anything to get a screaming baby to stop screaming, also known around our place as "giving Mia the chicken." You will have to imagine the sound effects for yourself.

And she has little pink bunnies on her butt.

6:30 Start putting napless child to bed.
8:15 Succeed in getting napless child to bed. Bastard firemen
8:30-9:00 Laundry
9:00-10:00 CSI and ice cream
10:30 Fall asleep
10:40 Baby cries, rescue baby from crib
10:42-11:00 Nurse
11:00-11:10 Rock
11:11 Decide to stuff the whole "teach baby to sleep in her crib" scheme for the night and take baby back to bed
11:13-11:20 Fend of hair-pulling from wide awake child
11:22 Baby asleep. Brag to husband about sweetness of falling asleep holding baby's hand
11:49 Wake up to remove baby toes from mouth
12:14 Wake up to remove hair from baby death grip
12:18 Move arm to block baby boob kicking
2:00 Baby cries, nurse baby
2:15 Baby wants to play
2:18-2:40 Jiggle, pat, rub, soothe baby
2:41 No dice
2:42 Get up with baby, change diaper
2:43-3:15 Bribe baby with boob and play minesweeper
3:15 Burp, rock, walk floor with wide awake baby
3:16 Return to bed hoping for the power of suggestion
3:22 Husband starts snoring moderately. Contemplate whether a gentle nudge would stop or escalate said snoring
3:24 Sharp kick to husband's shins
3:24:02 Seek shelter from atomic snoring
3:25 Baby stops wiggling and starts crying
3:26 Sit baby up. Baby stops crying. Contemplate feasibility of sleeping with wide-awake baby sitting next to head.
3:27-3:45 Try to soothe baby
3:46 Give up, get out of bed
3:48 Baby fast asleep
4:00 Return to bed
4:15 Wake up to discover pacifier in nose. Ponder briefly how baby carried pacifier from crib to nursing chair to bed. Decide it does not matter, give pacifier back to baby
4:18 Baby throws pacifier to points unknown
5:00 Baby cries, nurse
6:00 Baby cries, try to nurse, boob denied
6:01-6:10 Try to trick baby into going back to sleep for an hour
6:11 Baby poops
6:11:01 Baby wins, get up for the day
6:13 Discover pacifier 20 feet from bed. Consider contacting baseball scout
6:15 Change diaper
6:20 Pour orange juice over cereal. Not as bad as you might think
6:21 Start counting the minutes until naptime

Brace yourselves.

I fucking hate firemen.

Sure sure, something is on fire. Whatever. That is no excuse to drive past my house with your big stupid truck and loud stupid sirens and wake up my baby.

Assholes. I will never forgive you. Not even if you show up at my house wearing the boots and the pants and the suspenders and the hat but no shirt.

Well ok, maybe then.

Mia always roots for the Nats.

Quick y'all - what do you stay-at-home mommies put on your tax returns for Occupation?

I was thinking of "Domestic (and Sex) Goddess," but the IRS is not known for its appreciation of pithy humor, so am thinking I should go with something else instead.

I sing the same things to Mia over and over. (Parentheticals are the actual song titles.)

"Blackbird": Not so much anymore, but the first couple of weeks I spent all night every night singing this to her and still pull it out when I am trying to get her to bed and having a hard time calming her down.

"Mia the Bean" ("Winnie the Pooh"): Mia's mobile, home of her beloved Eeryore, plays the Winnie the Pooh song. My version goes like this:

Mia the Bean
Mia the Bean
Chubby little tummy all stuffed with milk
She's Mia the Bean
Mia the Bean
Clever little happy (or sleepy, as the case may be) little girl

"Someone's in the Kitchen with Mia" ("Someone's in the Kitchen with Dinah"): Dear god, does this song have any more verses? It can take Mia from a full-on screaming meltdown to a giggly little girl in seconds, but after months of singing it I'm about ready to slit my own throat every time.

"Amelia" ("Cecilia"): Edited version of course; we are "playing games" in the afternoon, not "making love."

"Makin' Poopy" ("Feelin' Groovy"): Let's just say that there's no missing a baby poop around here.

"Me and Bobby McGee": Gotta love Janis

Anything from my vast Simon & Garfunkel repertoire, especially "Kathy's Song" and "American Tune."

Ditto my vast Billy Joel repertoire.

Random songs I remember from high school chorus in German, Italian and French. I consider it broadening her horizons.

"Bumba-Doodle": What my mom sang to me.

"The First Day of My Life": Bright Eyes, great song. "Yours is the first face that I saw/Think I was blind before I met you." Also, "this is the first day of my life/glad I didn't die before I met you." Seems appropriate to me.

There are more, but it has been a long couple days and I can't think of them. So tell me, what do/did/will you sing to your little one?

So, I now have ads. What, you didn't notice? Check out the new Fishmarket (ha! so clever!) section in my sidebar. Those are my ads. No, really! Not bad, right? Don't worry, nothing is going to pop up or flash or hijack your browser.

Anyway, you are free to ignore them or click them as you see fit. (But, you know, if you want to click them that would be cool with me because I really want to do some shopping for Mia. Can you believe she's over six months old and doesn't own a single purse? What kind of terrible mother am I?)

Have I mentioned how much I love my life right now? Have I mentioned that spending every waking moment (oh yeah, and every non-waking moment too) with Mia is the greatest thing I have ever experienced? Did I remember to tell you that I am thankful every single minute that I am able to do this, to be here, to spend all my time just being a mommy?

But the best part, my favorite part of my day every day is when Chris gets home from work and I get to watch him and Mia light up at the sight of each other. There's something about the people you love the most loving each other than is even better than those people loving you. When Mia starts to wiggle and giggle and reach for her daddy, and when Chris drops his laptop and with it his stress and worry over supporting us and I can see how truly madly in love they are, well that - that is when I stand in awe of my life.