Hi, everyone; Katelyn here. I really meant to do this MONTHS ago, but you know... it's hard, busy times, growing up and everything. Plus, sleep is super time-consuming. So there's that. Anyway, here's a slice of life for you. It's not really a typical day, but it's a glimpse. That's what these things are, right? Take it as that. So here it is:
I squirm. Nobody comes running. I reach out for help. All I get - the only one coming to my aid (who ends up being absolutely no help at all, try as he might) - is CPSM. I continue squirming, but increase the whimpering and squeaking.
Finally, an eternity later, Momma to the rescue... just in time to find me passed out in a small puddle of my own drool. She picks me up, and comments that I feel warm. Whatever, Mom - just get me downstairs, out of my crib.
Downstairs on the changing table, she does what she does every day: off with the sleeper, off with the diaper... but then things take a turn for the worse when I hear a beep and feel a little something being shoved in THERE. She tells Daddy, "99.7," and they agree it's nothing to worry about. I'm lost in all of this conversation. My butt is okay? Weird.
Eventually, I wind up in the onesie they bought in Tahoe after I had three explosive poops that one day. The onesie has a drawing of snow-capped mountains with the caption, "I love big dumps." Cute, guys. Very funny. Poop jokes.
Momma opens the fridge and says, "Oh crap. No bottles." I like my bottles chilled, and shaken, not stirred. Just like the guy in a movie I saw last week. Or was it the week before that? No matter - I saw it.
She did it - she made a bottle all by herself. Way to go. Now gimme. She's says it's warm, but I don't care - I have to at least try it. Sure enough, just one sip, and I'm head over heels. I need more, but after just two sips, Momma takes it away, saying something about a bib.
Now, I'm okay with these outfits they doll me up in and all that, but you know? I don't understand the bib. It covers up the cuteness. What's the point of that? Whatever; I'm not in a position to ask. I JUST WANT MY MILK!!
Practically an eternity later, she returns with the outfit killer. I finish in 13 minutes. Not a record by any means, but I was hungry, and the warmth kinda felt good. I might have to try the warm thing again.
I'm in the mood to talk! I love talking. I can go for twenty or thirty minutes at a time. I love to hear myself. It's amazing! I can't wait until these people can understand me - it's so frustrating.
Momma had what she called a "great idea," but honestly I don't think it's so great. She wants to go for a run, and take me with her. To lure her away from this plan, I snuggle her.
...which of course she took a picture of. She's got this thing about that. Always whipping out the little thing in her pocket. The thing with the screen that takes pictures (I'm pretty sure that's all it does - that, plus look at other pictures). I don't know why she does it - I just know she does it, and doesn't give me the option of saying no.
"Lucy" comes downstairs... Something about Lucy: I love her (I think I'm supposed to, anyway... it's just that I don't know her very well). I think she just came down for the coffee.
I'm feeling a little funky today, so I let Momma cuddle me on Daddy's cuddly rocking chair. It feels good, and I snuggle closer. I hope she enjoys it, because it probably won't happen again for a WHILE! I'm really careful about letting her get too used to snuggling, because then she won't expect it too often. Honestly, I'm more of a mover... usually.
I'm vaguely aware that "Jeff" has come downstairs. Right now, I do not care. I'm snuggling. The lights keep going on and off, but nobody else seems to notice. Could it be just me? They keep talking in muddled, garbled, Charlie Brown voices (who's Charlie Brown?). Whatever - like I said, I don't care. I don't care about much right now. And then, the lights go out for a long time.
Holy crap - what am I doing in the office, in my car seat? Where's Momma? Where's Daddy? WHERE'S CPSM? I start to cry, but then I remember that I kinda like doing my own thing for a while, plus I get this weird feeling that I'm on camera.
I like the attention, but honestly, sometimes I'm okay with being alone. Frequently, I'll use my alone time to talk to myself or play with a stray toy (or, best of all, CPSM), but not today. Today, I just sit there, staring at the walls... and the little black bubbly thing.
Momma came in to get me. And promptly put me on the changing table to change my diaper and suck out my boogers. I'm probably the chillest baby around, because I really like it when she gets the boogers. I'm not the hugest fan of the process of getting it/them out, but when they're gone, I can breathe, and that's a really good thing. I like breathing.
Yay! No more boogers. For now.
So I'm not exactly sure what happened while the lights were out, but when I came back into the entertainment room (the room where they entertain me - I'm pretty sure that's why they call it that), ALL of the furniture was GONE. No couch. No squishy Daddy rocker/recliner. No white recliner. NOTHING. It was gone, I tell you - GONE! And just like there was nothing wrong, Daddy was vacuuming, all calm and everything.
What was I supposed to do? Dad's calm. Mom's calm. Lucy and Jeff were calm. So I sat there. On my own. Then Momma with the camera, and squealing to Daddy, "LOOK! SHE'S SITTING UP ON HER OWN!" I ask you: what was I supposed to do? So I fell over, like babies do. Momma didn't want to freak me out (I guess), so she tried to convince me that I was okay, but I cried anyway, just so she would pick me up. And it worked. As fast as I started crying, I stopped. I'm not a big cry-er. #wasteoftime
Back into the world of baby, I pooped. This is big news that requires announcing, according to Mom. Crazy lady. It's okay, though: I kinda like her.
Aaaaand... once again, I feel a little something THERE yet again, and Momma announce to Daddy, "100.5." Dude, seriously? Oh well, at least I got to have more of that grape-flavored miracle elixir. YUM! Honestly, if they want to put something THERE every day, I'm okay with that, as long as I get more and more grape stuff.
The doorbell rings. It seems to be something that Momma and especially Daddy are excited about. I don't get it, though. I hang out with Momma, Jeff and Lucy in the front room, then Daddy and Momma and a weird guy in the entertainment room. Weird guy is working on something. I still don't get it. But then... it all comes together. Daddy starts dancing a jig. Or he would, if he knew how. He's happy. Now THAT, I understand. He's over the moon for this:
Truth be told, I kinda like it, too. I like that there's a spot that's pretty much made for me. Because I'm special like that. I bet this is the part Daddy was most excited about.
Oh, look: Daddy has a place that fits him, too. It's a good thing. I'll never be sure, but I think he likes it.
If I was a boy, this next part would be called "the bachelor's afternoon" or something equally dumb and demeaning. But whatever you call it, Daddy and I had the house - and the new couch - to ourselves. What did we decide to do? How did we choose to have fun? (I use the word "we" here to give Daddy the benefit of the doubt, as if what WE did was in any part MY decision. It wasn't.) I got food, but it wasn't my favorite (frosting). It was veggies, with a few scoops of rice cereal mixed in. "Yummy!" said Daddy. I kept saying he could have it if he liked it that much, but no - he didn't even try it. Party pooper.
And then the lights went out again. Daddy didn't even notice.
The next thing I knew, I was in my car seat in a restaurant, with Sophie the giraffe on my chest (I like Sophie and all, but it's just weird waking up in strange locations with random squeaking toys on my chest). It was just weird. Anyway, I got to try Momma's pizza sauce (don't tell my pediatrician), and I really liked it! I kept licking my lips and opening my mouth, but she only let me try it a few times. Party. Pooper. Geez, my parents are NO FUN!
Out of the restaurant and walking down the street, we stopped to say goodbye to Lucy and Jeff. Naturally (as everyone else does), they both said I'm the cutest, calmest, easiest baby EVER, and threatened to kidnap me. Whatever. It's an almost-daily thing now.
I think we got back to the car, but I can't be sure. If Scotty built the beamer, I'd say that's what happened. All I know is that the lights went out yet again. Usually, they don't go off for extended periods this many times a day. But whatever. Without control, I just go with it. Whatever happens, happens.
Oookay, I guess we're shopping now. Whatever. Sophie's still there, but no pizza this time. Just ties, dresses, shirts... where am I now? Baby life might have some striking similarities to drunk life: you wake up in random places, with random people, and also there's a squeaky giraffe on your chest. And you puke every so often. Or wake up in a pile of your own drool. Tell me I'm wrong. Just try.
Oh my gosh. I started to fuss, and Momma whipped out a bottle. I was soooo hungry, I couldn't even think straight! I was SO hungry. I can't even describe it, except... #bestbottleever
In a new store, and I was just trying to chew off Sophie's feet, when all of a sudden, I wanted to scream from the pain! Then I farted, and everything was okay. Note to self: I might need a second Sophie before all is said and done. Eventually, I WILL chew her feet off. It's going to happen.
Yay - we're going home, and it's one of the happier times of my day.
It's not exactly what I would call a "long way" home, but somehow the lights went out on our way there. Seriously don't know how or why that happened.
Momma and Daddy can be so mean sometimes, like when they wake me up and it wasn't even my fault that I was sleeping, because they put me in the car, and after a day of much less sleep than I'm used to getting, can you even blame me? Honestly - RUDE!
Finally, I get to eat baby food (and not just milk) again. Night time is when I get some sort of fruit, mixed with apple peach oatmeal. It's the best. I've always loved my fruit.
Oh, good. Today's one of my favorite types of days: BATH DAY! Today, Daddy filled my tub (the first time without the tiny baby hammock thing) while Momma undressed me and carried me in to the bathroom. Oh, I love my bath time. Warm water all around me, then Daddy pours a blue bowl of it over my chest and tummy and legs and arms. I never want to outgrow this, because bath time is absolute heaven.
So there's this stuff. It's in a purple bottle, and it smells SO good - I can't even describe. It's like flowers and sunset and spring air and love and frosting all mixed together, and believe me - the finished product is more than the sum of its parts. It's amazing. Anyway, Momma and Daddy rub it all over me (except where my diaper covers, even though I think that area might benefit, too - like I said, I'm not yet in a position to argue, but once I can, I will). It makes me feel happy all over, and like there's no such thing as 'sad' ever.
My parents are so silly, the way they fight over me all the time.
Momma: It's MY turn to put her to bed, right?
Daddy: No way - it's MY turn! You put her to bed last night!
Momma: Aww, man! Total bummer.
Every night, one of them reads me a book and then rocks me to sleep in the glider next to my crib. It's so wonderful, but if they try to talk or sing, it really ticks me off, and I can't go to sleep. Also, I always have to have something covering my eyes so I can't see ANY light. Then, when the lights finally go all the way out, they put me on my side in my crib, and - this is a new trick - I flip right onto my tummy. I can't help it, and nobody can stop me, so whatcha gonna do?
I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my life as a five-month-old. Life is pretty good, I think. I love daycare (four days a week, so I get three days alone with Daddy and Momma - SCORE). My parents are super cool, too... even if they are total dorks. I kinda like 'em, and I'm pretty sure they kinda like me.