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Posts Tagged ‘Babies’

Did the ‘short loop’ around the Greenway this morning with the Bride. She walks her rescue dog Maple, and I trudge alongside with my hiking sticks. Bob stayed home which meant the talk wasn’t all medical. In fact, I told her I was making the corn bread tomorrow for the corn bread stuffing and she was surprised I didn’t use a box-mix. She told me about the yummy pumpkin cake with cream cheese and caramel icing she’s going to make and then stopped on the way back to borrow my cake pans. Americans everywhere are thinking, planning, and shopping for food this Thanksgiving week.

Of course Bob and I bake the stuffed turkey every year, and I do the gravy.

What are your favorite, traditional turkey day sides? Do you continue serving the same old same old carbs and veggies your family put on the table fifty years ago? Since we had craftily avoided family gatherings in the past with our original Big Chill Friendsgiving, we stayed in our own gastronomic lanes. Each couple was responsible for one major food group on the harvest table, and like any good commune we all cleaned and cooked equitably. Bob still put the turkey in the oven, but I didn’t get to make cornbread stuffing. There were no surprises, but OTOH there were no surprises. Not even a Turducken!

Later, we were surprised by a Facetime call with our Twin Granddaughters over lunch in LA. It was hilarious! One girl has been particularly verbal, perfecting saying my name – with a mouthfull of banana pancakes and yogurt all over her sweet face – she repeated NANA, NANA, NANA! I’d like to think she recognizes me in my blue glasses on her parents’ small cell phone? Maybe she just loved the pancakes? But I can’t wait to hear her sister call my name in a day or two. They just went to the pediatrician and they are each 17 pounds!

Here are some comfort foods from my childhood Thanksgivings that have not survived the test of time: creamed onions, green bean casserole, even mashed potatoes! What with all the carbs already present, the simple white russet is no longer necessary. The Bride will however make the yummy sweet potato marshmallow casserole, the cranberry relish, and she’ll roast a bunch of vegetables. The Flapper’s crystal dish of tiny pickles has turned into a modern day charcuterie board before the main meal, filled with cheese, salami and yes, pickles.

And maybe it’s because we’re Southern now, the Bride asked me to make my mac and cheese this year! I grate Vermont cheese and make my own bechamel sauce for our family’s original comfort food.

The Grands have a half day of school today so the plan is to pick them up and head to the movies to see “WICKED for Good!” It opened this past weekend and sold $223 Million in box office seats globally. From The Hollywood Reporter: “Wicked: For Good is a needed jolt for the struggling North American box office in particular, which has suffered the worst fall in decades due to a glut of male-skewing pics and a lack of product for females and families. The movie’s better-than-expected performance more than proves the buying power of girls and women; nearly 70 percent of audience were females.”

And we can’t elect a female president because…? Happy Thanksgiving all y’all! I’m grateful to you my readers, and so grateful to be here, a year after my fall, to love on all my grandchildren. Look at these little gobblers!

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There’s a chill in the air! My neighbor Les has moved, the Bat Mitzvah is fast approaching, and the Twins have turned six months. I’m never very good with change, but the cooler temperatures are certainly welcome. I’ve packed away my swimsuits and Bob and I are ready for our Fall jabs – you know, the annual Influenza and Covid vaccines. We wanted to get them a little early since the Love Bug’s big day will be full of friends and family fresh off airplanes. But guess what?

No such luck.

The 2025 Covid booster has been approved and manufactured in the US, except for some odd reason (RFK Jr) they have NOT been distributed yet! The Covid booster is nowhere to be found. Oh well, but if you search around, you might be able to find last year’s Covid vaccine… I hear the new flu shot is available though, which is great news since the L’il Pumpkin just found out the friend he played soccer with after school yesterday has the flu. Yep, flu and Covid are ramping up in Nashville.

And then I bumped into this article: “As Trump Weighs IVF, Republicans Back ‘New Natural’ Approach to Infertility.” https://www.nytimes.com/2025/08/21/us/politics/trump-ivf-restorative-reproductive-medicine.html?unlocked_article_code=1.hE8.b_ok.-tvmuQ3oUKjI&smid=url-share

Just when you think the MAHA movement can’t get any wonkier, when you realize that the Kennedy name has lost its lustre, the GOP decides to push “restorative reproductive medicine.” After Mr T promised to make IVF available for everyone on the campaign trail, Christian Conservatives are having trouble dealing with those pesky, left-over embryos. It all started with Alabama’s Supreme Court Decision last year calling embryos “unborn children located outside of a biological uterus.” So they’ve come up with an alternative – they believe couples should look at the ‘root causes’ of infertility, like endometriosis or say environmental factors.

Hey, Catholics have been pushing a “natural” method of birth control for centuries. Why not return to the 19th Century, where charlatans in traveling caravans sold snake oil? Where polio and measles and flu killed thousands upon thousands of children each year. I’ve stopped making jokes about RFK Jr’s parasitic brain worm, but I still think that making him Secretary of the US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) was a cringe-worthy, dirty trick. Here are just a few of his baseless views:

 “Wi-Fi causes cancer and “leaky brain”; that school shootings are attributable to antidepressants; that chemicals in water can lead to children becoming transgender; and that AIDS may not be caused by HIV. He’s also long said that vaccines cause autism and fail to protect people from diseases.”

And speaking of school shootings, our Grands had a bomb threat at their school the first week back, complete with FBI agents and bomb-sniffing dogs. It turned out to be nothing, but is terrifying none-theless. I remembered waiting for the all clear from a lockdown at the Twins’ NICU in the spring. The Twins are currently loving solid food! And thanks to the miracle of IVF and our iPhones, we can watch them in happy baby pose and rolling over, trying to crawl. After their measles vaccine, they will be able to travel on a plane!

That is, if our country can manage to stay in the 21st Century.


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Last night Bob and I were just sharing some pillow talk before drifting off to sleep, when the subject somehow turned to last wishes. Bob has seen his fair share of dead and nearly-dead bodies over many decades working in an Emergency Room. I have not. Still, I’m used to his pragmatic approach to end of life discussions; I don’t however, appreciate discussing the inevitable in the cozy comfort of our bed right after turning out the light!

I may have been telling him about the memoir I’d just finished reading,

It’s a novel by one of my favorite writers Geraldine Brooks. She wrote “Horse” which I passed around to all my friends in Nashville. But “Memorial Days” is her latest work and dives into the sudden loss of her husband, Tony Horwitz, at the young age of 60. She was right in the middle of writing “Horse” in fact when he collapsed on a street alone in a Washington, DC suburb while she was at home, alone, on Martha’s Vineyard.

She writes about the resident who calls her at the end of his shift with the news – his perfunctory answers, the background noise, his rush to get off the phone. She writes about having to delay her grief in order to deal with her sons and planning two memorials – one for their friends on the Vineyard and one in DC for his family and colleagues. Tony was a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, on a book tour in his hometown. She writes honestly, with words that cut deep into my soul.

Last night, I asked Bob about our insurance coverage, leading us down the yellow brick road to who might “go” first. It seems that Brooks’ medical insurance abruptly terminated the day after her husband died… without informing her. For a month she and her children were not covered, which naturally infuriated her. Like most Aussies, Brooks cannot understand how a medical catastrophe could bankrupt a family. And I thought about meeting a new Republican family member years ago who said to our dismay, “But we have the best health-care in the world.”

I came across this article while drinking my coffee, “So Much for the Best Health Care System in the World,” in the Atlantic. The GOP has not stopped opposing universal healthcare, but they are using a different tactic.

“Republicans haven’t given up their opposition to universal coverage—far from it—but they have mostly stopped singing the praises of American health-care innovation. Indeed, they are taking a meat axe to it, slashing medical-research funding while elevating quacks and charlatans to positions of real power. The resulting synthesis is the worst of all worlds: a system that will lose its ability to develop new cures, while withholding its benefits from even more of the poor and sick.” https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2025/08/trump-republicans-health-innovation/683795/?gift=MZkyOCULmn5OA_9_ikIP-9_sqlI0wYN6ADUWpCxNFxU&utm_source=copy-link&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=share

My sweet husband sensed that our conversation was veering into dangerous territory last night, and so he quickly pivoted to the twins. From darkness to light. Those baby girls are teething, smiling and eating gourmet pureed foods. They are so eager to crawl. I wonder if they will run before they can walk. They bring me so much joy. They sustained me through my post-fall healing journey. I’m booking a flight right now.

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Just in case you’re not caught up on my exploits, here’s a tiny synopsis:

Since the last election, when I broke my neck, I’ve been out of sync with my life. My hands were useless, and my head had to be constrained 24/7 in an Aspen Collar. When my neck was set free, three months later, my twin granddaughters were born prematurely. Bob and I have been living in California ever since. Now it’s time to return to Nashville, to return to normal, whatever that means.

A friend once told me I seem to have a lot of adventures! Well, I’m determined to lead a very boring life from now on; I will retreat to my snug and write, I will start swimming again, maybe I’ll venture into the kitchen and whip up a batch of muffins with the Love Bug. And my only big adventure will be to finish reading my very first fantasy novel – “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell,” by Susanna Clarke.

I’m not a Lord of the Rings type. Even Harry Potter eluded my sensibilities. I’m an occasional fan of dystopian science fiction, but more enamored of historical fiction. Still I figured, why not give this twenty year old fantasy a go?

It all started when I came upon an Insta story from Parnassus Books. Ann Patchett was raving about this book as an escape for our times, but she warned it’s rather long and it will take 200 pages of boring description before taking off. I figured I needed the distraction, so instantly I downloaded the novel to my Kindle and I was hooked immediately.

It’s about the return of English magic – practical magic as opposed to theoretical magic! It takes place during the Napoleonic wars, with ancient fairy kingdoms and talking gargoyles. It’s about love and jealousy. And then I found out that Aunt Kiki loves fantasy novels. My beautiful, kind daughter-in-love, my Irish dancer, knows all about elves and magic!

If you’d like to venture into some modern fantasy, the Atlantic reviewed a new book this month titled “The Last Unicorn.”

“And perhaps all of this is why The Last Unicorn is a fantasy for these times. The novel doesn’t take place in a believable alternate world with clear rules and boundaries, but in a messy one more akin to ours. It’s not epic fantasy, but applied fantasy—which is to say, readers aren’t supposed to get lost in its invented world. We are supposed to import its lessons to our own world. In this uncertain age, when truth and falsehood are just rapidly converging talking points on the same blurry continuum, and wishful thinking is hopelessly mixed up with reality, The Last Unicorn urges audiences to do the things that need doing anyway, muddling through as best we can.” From the Atlantic – “One of the Best Fantasy Novels Ever…” https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2018/11/last-unicorn-peter-beagle-50th-anniversary-reality-magic/575641/

When Lord Wellington asked Mr Norrell to conjure up some unicorns to ride into battle against the French, he replied there were none left. They’d become extinct. It’s good to know there’s one left!

Oh how I wish I didn’t have to return to reality. My cuddling babies and dog walking duties are done, my tiny twin granddaughters are well on the road to post-preemiehood and getting stronger every day. They’ve just about doubled their birth weight, and they immediately focus and listen when their Daddy plays the guitar. Do you remember those days of young motherhood?

I do. I remember them like they were yesterday.

Hello Spring. The roses and lilacs have bloomed outside my snug’s window.

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The more things change, the less I like it.

But I am not like my Nana, who refused to give up her “ice box” for a newfangled refrigerator. When the ice man stopped delivering, she reluctantly accepted the new contraption with a round condenser sitting like a pill box hat on top. It’s ironic that it was my sister Kay who had the Frigidaire delivered to our Nana, but later refused a microwave from me!

Today it’s more complicated. It’s not as if I’d like to return to the days when a milkman came to our little house in Victory Gardens… or my Daddy Jim had to climb up on the roof to adjust the TV antenna. But milk IS the driving force of our lives now that the twins are home! The Rocker had to install a small freezer in the garage for the overflow of breast milk Aunt Kiki is delivering. It’s actually Amazonian.

The Flapper told me very little about our lives before that Year of Living Dangerously. But I did know that her doctor took her aside one day and told her she didn’t have to sanitize my baby bottles – which meant in 1948 she didn’t need to boil them. The doctor knew my Father was dying of a brain tumor in the dining room of our home, and he figured she had enough to worry about, what with three other children in the house.

And so when the Bride was born, the Flapper helped me in many ways but she knew next to nothing about breastfeeding. Ditto for Grandma Ada. Their generation was expected to bottle feed, only poor women who couldn’t afford formula would nurse. And yet, the culture changed so dramatically by the 70s – we women read “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” we had consciousness raising groups, we had Gloria Steinem!

And the La Leche League of course. It was considered a badge of honor to nurse your baby anywhere and everywhere. And like most things, we went too far. I suffered through the flu and a mastitis and kept on going, determined to make a success of it. When in fact, training your baby to take a bottle along with nursing makes sense for your family’s sanity.

Especially with TWINS!

My son and his wife had a crash course on caring for preemies in the NICU. They had a lactation specialist and an occupational therapist! Best of all were the nurses, who each shared the tricks of their trade; including the last night nurse who hugged me and said I looked like a mystery writer!

So now I am my Mother, knowing very little about bottles. The baby girls are excellent nursers, but the bottles at first were not getting the job done in the NICU. And Kiki came up with the idea to change the bottles from one brand to another, and voila! They started meeting their “shift minimums.” So yesterday, we brought the girls home to meet Leo the Protector and his two resident cats.

Bob and I will stick around to help in any way we can. Ive learned how to defrost breastmilk and use the new bottles and their special cleaning appliance. The rest is like riding a bike, right? I hope they got some sleep last night.

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Don’t you just love it when scientists prove some theory you’ve held your whole life, contradicting years of previous recommendations? Bob’s reaction yesterday to the news about peanut allergies was mixed, but mostly he was annoyed. Here is the gist of yesterday’s news from pediatricians:

“The new guidelines say most babies can try a little peanut paste or powder — never whole peanuts — at home. High-risk infants are defined as those with severe eczema or an egg allergy. … “That’s a whole generation of children who never have to develop this allergy.”

The Love Bug still has to bring only a sunflower butter and jelly sandwich to her preschool. This news is too late for her little classmate who couldn’t eat one of her cupcakes on her birthday. I felt so sorry for that little girl, who knew Publix made their cupcakes in a factory with peanuts? I truly believe labeling is disabling. When we learned that the Bride has a severe allergy to cats, we just tried to screen which house was suitable for a playdate.

But this new study makes perfect sense. Introduce peanuts early, like mixing some powder into baby’s yogurt around four months of age, and your offspring will gradually build their immune system. It makes sense, if having a dog in your house (ostensibly bringing more dirt and germs inside) helps build a child’s immune system, why shouldn’t this work? When I kept getting poison ivy as a child, I eventually landed in a doctor’s office getting shots with guess what? Small doses of the poison ivy compound to build my own natural immunity!

Bob was naturally smug yesterday. He didn’t actually say, “I told you so,” but you could see it around his eyes. He is partial to free-range parenting. If it fell on the floor, the 5 second rule applies. The baby finds an old piece of quesadilla behind the Christmas tree while you’re dismantling it, sure go-ahead and take a bite! What’s a little dirt? Bob has felt this way his entire life, whereas I am a hand-washing maniac. The Bride’s style takes after her Dad, the Rocker leans more toward hand sanitizers. And strangely enough, my son is just fine with cats!

“Childhood peanut allergies in the U.S. have increased dramatically over the last decade: In 1997, 0.4 percent of children reported an allergy to peanuts, and by 2008 that number was 1.4 percent, or more than 3 million people.” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/guidelines-babies-peanut-allergies_us_586eab12e4b099cdb0fc3947

While in Nashville, serving apple slices dipped into peanut butter, I downloaded a little learning App on my Ipad. PopBob was trying it out with the Baby Boy, who is now a hefty two year old who eats just about anything. I could hear Bob complaining about computer programmers who don’t think like a child; I also heard them laughing and bonding. After that, we went out on a walk to collect pine cones, and rocks and bottle caps. So go ahead people, kick off your shoes, get outside and play in the dirt this year. And don’t forget to pack a PB and J!

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Last night, instead of watching the Republican Convention wrap up, Bob was working a shift for our dear friend and his colleague, Harvey. They have known each other for many years. Bob was an attending in the Berkshires when Harvey trained in Emergency Medicine, back at BMC when residents had to wear jackets and ties. And after we moved back to NJ to be closer to family, so did he and his wife Vicki. Bob ran the department at Riverview Hospital, and Harv worked at Community Medical Center in Toms River. A Philly guy, his family had a summer home in Seaside.

The funny thing is, they moved further south when their children began attending VA colleges. And before you knew it, Harvey was the Assistant Director in Bob’s ER.

In yet another example of this one degree of separation, Harvey’s daughter graduated from medical school and decided to follow in her Dad’s footsteps. Ashley is currently an EM resident at UVA Medical Center…and last night she delivered a grand daughter to our friends! Brighton Grace is 7lbs 6oz and doing well along with the whole family.

Congratulations Harvey and Vicki, your heart will expand every day from now on. Your lungs will exhale love with every breath. Your arms will ache to hold her whenever she comes into view. Get used to it. This job of grandparenting is the easiest one in the books. Discipline isn’t our job, spoiling and loving unconditionally is; be prepared to redesign your home. You will want it to be a grandparent magnet, drawing this little one and those who will follow, closer and closer.

You will create a Frozen bedroom – or whatever the pop icon of 3 year olds will be in 2019

You will stockpile her favorite Mac n Cheese

You will put baby locks on your cabinets and gates on your stairs

You will purchase infant car seats; and look at Craig’s List for cribs

You will tell your daughter that nobody ever dies from lack of sleep

You will tell your son-in-law to try a ride in the car with loud rock music

You will be there when she first puts her toes in Jersey sand

You will be there when she can’t talk to her parents anymore

When a child is born, so is a grandparent. Many many mazels from us to you Vicki and Harvey. Cousin Anita gave me a picture frame that sits above the kitchen sink when the Love Bug was born, it made me actually print a picture off the computer. And if you need a high chair, Anita says you can have the one I borrowed!

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It’s been a whirlwind week. On Thursday, we cooked up a storm of scrumptious sides for Thanksgiving in Richmond. On Friday, the Great Grandparents boarded their Amtrak chariot and arrived home safely; for the first time ever, because of a Bar Mitzvah, Ada stayed with us more than three days! This had always been the rule when visiting us in MA, she would stay no more than three days, and I’m happy she broke it.

Later we managed to stop at friend’s farm so the Grandbabies could see her miniature horses. Then off we drove to Culpeper for a double duty day of two sets of Grandparents. The Groom’s parents and his brother and sister live in Northern VA, so a meeting for brunch midway between Cville and our nation’s Capital was on the docket. It was wonderful to spend time with Grandma Shavaun and Grandpa Mike, and fantastic to see the love for these miniature miracles spread around town.

Against my better judgement, I even slipped into a small toy store while walking around town. Christmas spirit was evident in Master Card swipes and helpful elves.

But when we got home, ahead of the Bride’s family, I heard the news about another shooting in Colorado. About Planned Parenthood. It was the same newscasters, the same nouns, the same verbs, the same phrases were used to describe an unbearable and all too common event in our culture.

“A LIVE SHOOTING!”

Come one, come all and gather round your TV to watch the event unfold – like a modern day scene from a Civil War battle with people picnicking on a hillside overlooking the battle. And I just couldn’t. I can no longer listen to the slaughter or onslaught of talking heads trying to find rhyme and reason. I’ve said it before, it’s the guns. Period. And I fear our homegrown/nutjob/terrorists much more than a refugee with a different religion.

Today is a free day. There will be no more news on any device. We will visit with old friends and play with Grandbabies. No more cooking. We will dine at a kid-friendly place tonight. And later, when it’s time for bed, I will try and explain to my Love Bug that monsters are just pretend. That the noises she hears are just our house creaking and pipes carrying water. Or maybe there’s a fox in the woods? I will fib when I tell her that the gunshots we hear from hunters in the valley are just cars backfiring.

I could not bear to tell her the truth. We have accepted active shooter drills in our schools, what is next?    IMG_3548.jpg

 

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“What’s that term honey, the one you use when somebody tries to sue a doctor for no good reason and it gets thrown out of court?”

I was reading a local news article about a woman in the next county who was suing her ObGyn doctor for “coercing and threatening” her if she didn’t deliver her baby by Csection. The Mother had diabetes, and for one reason or another her doctor actually had her sign the consent form five years ago, and now she’s crying foul. Bad doctor, oh and BTW good baby and mommy were just fine after the surgery, so I wasn’t quite sure what this was all about, besides the 2 Million dollars.

“Frivolous, are you talking about a frivolous law suit?” Bob said. Indeed I was.

I usually never jump into the fray of a public forum, since I neither have the time or the energy to fight with true believers. But I was home sick, teetering on the edge of adding a snarky comment to the long list of online comments either praising said doctor or lambasting our entire health system by internet thugs who use pseudonyms for names so they can’t be traced. The lurid underbelly of social media, trolls living under an online bridge of anonymity. I wrote, I deleted,, I worried. Finally, I said:

“We live in litigious times. Certainly we deliver more babies by Csection than any other country in the world, but at the end of the day I believe most docs are recommending what is best for their patient.”

I only hooked one smirky, smiley comment.

“So American women just generally need Csections more than the rest of the population?”

I smiled. Should I tell her about Brazil? But before I had time to pick up the bait, the news posted that the jury had decided in the doctors favor, Not Guilty, after 20 minutes of deliberation. My faith in our justice system was temporarily restored as I put fingers to keyboard:

No we need to train American Doctors differently, transfer well patients to nurse midwives, and institute a board of docs and citizens to review lawsuits and throw out frivolous ones like they do in MA

Ps, my daughter was breech and a section was MY decision – as much as I wanted a natural birth, I didn’t want to risk the health of my baby

This lawsuit disturbed me because it assumed the woman could be coerced, was not in her right mind because she was in labor or something and all of MY feminist peeps, the type of women who believe we have the right to make our our own decisions about our own bodies were lining up behind her defense. Like HE MADE HER DO IT…She was of sound mind and maybe her body was trying to expel an alien at the time, still she could have put on the brakes and said, “NO, WAIT, I want another opinion.”

Childbirth is messy, it is a risk/benefit analysis. Some women go through days of labor only to have an emergency section to save their child, or even their own life. This was the Bride’s biggest nightmare last year, she was determined to have her baby boy VBAC, and she knew everything that could go wrong. My husband has seen women come into his hospital’s ER with a dead baby from a homebirth with a midwife who didn’t transfer them fast enough.

When you hire a dola, a midwife, or a doctor to assist you in delivering your child, you are entering into a sacred trust. When we won the right to vote in the early 20th Century, when science gave us birth control in the later part of that century, we women willingly gave up our status as arm candy and fertility goddess. We got tired standing up there on that pedestal for so long, all those corsets binding us into place. And now we have a woman in a pantsuit running for President. We should never be willing to be coerced or threatened by a man, boyfriend, husband, doctor, or lawyer ever again.

And the mom/plaintiff reduced her amount from 2M to $200,000 yesterday afternoon before having her case dismissed. Ask me again why our health system is so crazy. http://www.nbc29.com/story/30455784/update-augusta-co-jury-rules-in-favor-of-doctor-in-c-section-case

Here is our friendly little ghost, delivered by section three years ago because she was breech, just like her Mama!

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Three years ago today we were in Nashville. We had noted, not quite celebrated, Bob’s birthday and were awaiting our first grandchild’s birth. The baby was breech, like her Mama was, and so the Bride was wheeled into the OR in the hospital where both she and her husband had trained. Suddenly, the Groom appeared with the Love Bug in his arms and I could feel a cosmic shift in the universe. Love was expanding.

Over the years she has proven to be very much her Mother’s child

  • She can stand with her hands on her hips and insist on macaroni and cheese.
  • She can be a tiny empath and wrap her little arms around anyone in need of a hug.
  • She can direct her dog, her dolls, her baby brother, and her friends in the nicest way possible.
  • She can organize her toys and plan ahead in a monologue that lasts through a long car ride to preschool.
  • She can swim like a fish, as if the ocean were only blocks away.
  • She can and will choose her outfits with an eye for design and color.
  • She is a tiny dancer and a mixed media artist of the highest caliber!
  • And watch out world, she is starting to sing! “A Bushel and a Peck” is our theme song.

Her party was Sunday, but she was born on this day, one day after PopBob’s birthday, three years ago, and she was exactly herself. Happy late summer Birthday to our Love Bug. You make my heart fill with joy each time I hold you. Sleeping Baby 20120828

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