Merry Christmas from the Overlords

Christmas with the Overlords was busy but fun. They went and saw Santa (while I was home sick):

...after which Chloë told me solemnly, "If Santa Tom comes to our house in the dark, he will be surprised."

We baked cookies:

I'd suggested that we make gingerbread men and put gumdrop buttons on them, but it was Chloë's idea to make one for each person coming to Christmas dinner, with a letter to designate whose was whose (there were a lot of Ms: Maia, Mimi, Mama, Memaw, and Matt) and red-hot eyes, nose, and...um...bow tie, I think. She did the red-hots and piped some of the icing for the bow ties, and was very proud of herself. So was I.

And, of course, we opened lots of presents:

(Notice the pure joy on Maia's sweet face on seeing that they both have their own packets of what they've been calling "minties," mint M&Ms.)

(I made the sweater. Mom sewed on the buttons.)

The girls got a good haul: dolls, necklaces, sweater for Maia and mittens for Chloë, stuffed animals, books, baking stuff and a space puzzle for Chloë, a dump truck for Maia. Chloë also got a training laptop from Mom (which I helped pick out) that we upgraded tonight to a LeapPad, because the laptop we chose turned out to have some issues.

Then family came over for dinner and more presents, and the girls got into their Christmas dresses, which Chloë in particular professed to love. They liked Eric's yams and the green beans, and the apple pie, and their cousin Raegan two-fisted cookies when I made the mistake of putting the plate too low. It was a good Christmas.

The hole story

We went to the farmer's market today, the girls and me. Chloë, as usual, put on her new sneakers by herself. Maia, as usual, went to the rack and pulled down her blue shoes, the ones we originally bought for Chloë as an emergency stopgap before getting her properly fitted. "No, sweetie," I said. "I want you to wear your pink-and-white shoes this time." Chloë wanted to go to the river (actually Swan Creek), which meant Maia would be wandering around a bit, and I wanted her in her nicer, better-fitting shoes. But when I took them down, she shook her head vehemently and put them back up on the rack, and I decided it wasn't worth the fight.

The farmer's market was crowded and noisy, as usual for this time of year, and after buying our peaches and apples we headed off for the river and our favorite vantage point, a little wooden ramp with a landing and a floating dock. I parked the stroller on the landing (we don't go all the way down to the dock; the railing gets much less extensive there and as I have explained to Chloë, if they fall in the water I will absolutely jump in to get them, but I don't want to have to) and took Maia out.

"Look Mama, there's a hole," said Chloë, pointing to a small hole where the wood had rotted away. "Maia will fall through."

"She won't fall through," I said. "It's not even big enough for her foot." But just in case, I covered it with my own foot before we all turned our attention to the brown, lazy river.

But later, not remembering, I moved. And Maia, naturally, put her foot down right on top of the hole. I wasn't looking at the time, but I heard a splintery sort of sound, and Chloë screamed, "Mama!" and pointed. I looked down and found Maia with one leg a few inches shorter than the other, looking down bemusedly at where her foot had pushed through the soft wood at the edges of the hole and stuck.

"Oh, Maia," I exclaimed, envisioning me pulling her up and scraping her foot bloody against the wood. She didn't seem upset--unlike Chloë, who was wailing and jerking her body up and down in agitation--so I took a few seconds to think, then braced her with one arm and pulled away bits of rotten wood with the other. Then I pulled her foot upward. It came--but her shoe didn't; I grabbed, but it tumbled away and fell down, down, to the muddy water below us.

"I was so worried!" Chloë said as I set Maia down and leaned over to see through the hole. "Where is her other shoe?"

"Down there," I said, pointing to where I could see it floating.

"How do we get it?"

"We don't," I said. 

"People in a boat could get it for us easily," she suggested.

"Yes, but we don't know anybody in a boat." I took one last look. "Poor little shoe." Chloë continued to opine hopefully that someone would rescue the shoe for us all the way home. I was just glad I hadn't insisted on the pink-and-white shoes.

Shoe-in

Maia got her first pair of shoes today. Her feet were much too small for the smallest shoes we had for Chloë, toddler 6s, so when we went to Stride Rite today to get Chloë some sandals Maia got sized too. She's in 4.5s wides. The first shoes we tried on, white with little flowers on top, were mediums by mistake, so the salesperson went to the back to get the correct size and I removed the shoes from Maia's feet. She wailed. I could just see her thinking: Finally, after weeks of vainly yearning after my sister's shoes, I have my very own! and then, when they were gone: Nooooooo!

But the salesperson came back quickly--with a different style because the other ones didn't come in wide; these were plain white with flower holes cut out, still very cute--and she was reshod. I helped her up and she extended her foot tentatively, a curious look on her face. She took a few steps and tumbled, but she was happy to try again. She wore the shoes out of the store (though she didn't walk across the street in them); I didn't see any need to trifle with her happiness by taking them off her.

In the meantime Chloë got some Teva sandals in size 10. She says her beloved size 8 sparkly shoes (Skechers Twinkle Toes) fit fine, and they seem to, and even her size 7.5 sneakers go on fine...but she measured at 9.5 and these sandals don't seem as huge as all that. Whew. She had Teva sandals last year, broad and sturdy and waterproof, and they were great, so we got the same style this year but blue with green flowers. (Last year's were pink.) The choice was between these and a hot-pink, narrower style with thinner straps. At first Chloë voted for the pink ones, but I gently steered her toward the blue ones. These are her first pair of non-pink shoes. We looked for green but as far as I can tell, kid shoes don't come in that color. (Except for Crocs, but I wanted real shoes for her since she'll be running around all summer in these.)

With two kids in shoes we need to add another level to the back-door shoe rack. Also I'm so glad that Maia will be able to step into Chloë's old shoes in a size and a half because man, those tiny shoes were expensive. Darn Eric's family's wide feet.

Baby you can drive my car

I miss my car.

Maia is now officially in her big-girl convertible carseat, the Chicco infant carrier a fond but rapidly receding memory as of Sunday. She's 21 pounds and change, and the Chicco only goes up to 22, at least the model we have. Later models go up to 30, and I wish we'd gotten one of those. Also that reminds me that I need to write a letter to Chicco to inform them of my sadness that they don't sell convertible carseats in the US, as if they did, we'd have bought one. The price would make the move we've made--which I'm going to get to in a minute when I'm done with my consumerist rhapsody--even more desirable, but we'd have done it. Heck, we would have bought two when Chloë first graduated. Have I mentioned how much I love our Chicco travel system?

Ahem. So the time has come for both girls to be in big-girl carseats. When this happened with Chloë, we bought one and transferred it back and forth at daycare for about two days and decided this was too much of a pain in the ass and bought a second so we could each have one in our cars. With Maia, of course we're going to have to have two girls in carseats sometimes, but buying another one for each car would effectively remove any spare seating for another passenger, ever, and of course would cost an extra $160 or so. So we decided that we'd get one carseat (same as Chloë's, a Graco My Ride 65; huge, but easy to use and seems comfortable) and install it in my car, as it's the de facto family car and is bigger and nicer than Eric's. That car would then remain with Eric and the girls at home and be used whenever necessary to transport either both girls or just Maia (at least until she's forward-facing). Eric's car would then become the work car: I take it to work every day, and Eric takes it to his work and to gaming. And when we split up with the girls, we revert to our own cars (we did not actually discuss this but I assume Eric knows this and if not he'll find out the first time we do it). So over the weekend we bought a carseat, installed it, and sadly took the carrier bases down to the basement. And yesterday I drove Eric's car to work.

I had a terrible day and I swear it was mostly due to the car. Not that it's a bad car. The driver's side mirror is having some weird feedback with my glasses and the brakes are too sensitive (which I know actually means that my car's brakes are not sensitive), but it's a fine car, drives well, better turn radius. But it's someone else's car, and more, I feel cut off from my own car. I've had that car for nine years. It's one of my last this-is-mine personal spaces. I know it. I love it. I talk to it. On the way to work and back I had this gnawing mostly nonverbal running commentary in my head: this is not my car I want my car this doesn't feel right my car would not do that I want my car dammit where is my car. I talked to Eric's car, but it wasn't the same.

I had no idea I was going to feel this way. I don't consider myself territorial about the car--I don't mind when other people drive it or borrow it. And it doesn't bother me when we go on a vacation and I don't have it around. But apparently part of being at home, for me, is driving my car; and I'm feeling its loss, even though it's in the garage right now, wondering where I've been. (Only it's not, because I told it what was happening the last time I drove it.) (Yes, I know the car wouldn't wonder anyway, because it's a car.) (Anyway, don't think about me like that. Cars that are anthropomorphized last longer than cars that aren't. Fact.) (When parentheses attack!)

Eric goes to work Wednesday and will drive his car. I think I'd better take the girls somewhere that night. Because I don't want them to be bored, you know. And because I miss my car.

Baby mysteries

Maia got a "My Pal Violet" for Christmas. It's similar to, but much less creepy than, another talking puppy that Chloë has. (Had. Is it still around? I haven't seen it in quite some time. Oh dear, I suppose it's possible we may have accidentally mislaid it.) It says some pretty cute things, and has a bedtime-music function and an assorted-songs function, and by "function" I mean "touch-sensitive paw." It's been programmed with her name, favorite animal, favorite color, and favorite food. She doesn't have any of the latter, except maybe breastmilk, but apparently that wasn't a choice because Eric selected bananas. He also selected blue as her favorite color, on the basis that it is not likely to be her favorite color and he wants to see if she can be, well, programmed to prefer it.

This morning Chloë brought it into her room to play with. Chloë likes the thing more than Maia does; it's a good thing Chloë also received a gift that calls her by name (Tag Junior, also by Leapfrog). She pushed buttons and so on, and Maia didn't really notice until "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" came on. Suddenly she snapped to attention, listening and bopping her body to the music, as babies do. It was adorable. The only thing is: I've never sung her that song. Her bedtime song is "I Gave My Love a Cherry," with "Lavender's Blue" for variety. Possibly she's been present when I sang it to Chloë a few times, but she's only been exposed to it in toys, her stroller lion and her aquarium and so on. So where did she learn this preference for it? That'll teach me to think that babies have no secrets.

Merry Chwitmat!

We hope your Christmas (or other winter holiday) was as happy as ours. We spent Christmas Eve with some friends (and some excellent pasta sauce) and drove home the long way, looking at the Christmas lights. Chloë picked a place to hang her stocking, and in the morning we went down to see if it had been filled. It had.

She worked hard that morning: she opened her presents, plus Maia's, plus Eric's and mine. After every one she said, "I want to open more presents!"

But she was happy to play when we told her there were no more. Maia enjoyed it too. We went to the girls' cousins' grandmother's for Christmas dinner, and had more family over for cider and cookies that night. "Chwitmat id not quite ober yet," Chloë said that night, and she was right: we finished up with Christmas at the mothers' this evening, with dinner and presents and pie.

She and Maia both got quite a haul this Christmas: books, toys, stuffed animals, clothes, a rocking horse, Duplos, several electronic gadgets (a tablet for Chlo--presumably, as Eric said, the Speak & Spell of 2011. I don't even have a tablet), and the best prize of all, a Play Hut. She and Maia have been crawling in and out of it ever since we opened it up, sometimes with their other toys, sometimes not. Chloë's asked me to go in, but only my front half fits. But it's just the right size for the girls.

We had a really lovely Christmas this year, so lovely it surprised me, somehow. We worked hard for it, but it was worth it. We've seen friends and family, and shared treats and gifts with loved ones, and enjoyed spending time together. And with our toys. As Chloë's been saying to everyone, Merry Chwitmat!

The menagerie

(Today when we went left Target, Chloë noticed the crescent moon up above. We named it for her, and she gazed on it. Then we tried to put her in the car and she pitched a fit because she couldn't see the it anymore. It was annoying, but I kind of love that I have a child who had a mini-tantrum about the moon.)

Chloë continues to be obsessed with water and with her Baby Neptune show. On the weekends we go downstairs after getting dressed and watch it twice. We'd watch it more if I let her, I'm sure. We've now moved to daily baths, every other day a "splash bath," which we got from our friends Nancy and Don, wherein she just gets in the tub and plays rather than being scrubbed. Recently she's gotten especially interested in her rubber bath toys, particularly the octopus and the turtle, because the three main characters on Baby Neptune are a duck, an octopus, and a turtle. So we taught her "octopus," which she pronounces "Oppy," and "turtle," which comes out "tuhtuh." They squirt, and she's been having a fabulous time squirting them--mostly at herself. She gets this surprised look whenever she squirts herself in the face, though she does it all the time.

She also has a stuffed octopus, also from Baby Einstein, so presumably it's the very same one as the one in the show. Its eight legs have different colors and it says the colors when pressed, or plays music when its head is pressed, but it's gotten kind of epileptic the past several days so we've turned it off. Chloë loves it anyway, and has added it to her bedtime menagerie. This has grown from a single stuffed dog we gave her some time ago to five: the dog, which she still identifies by panting, the doll I made her, the sock monkey her (well, my) Aunt Karolyn and Uncle Mike gave her, the Seattle bear she spied on my dresser and adopted as her own, and the octopus. When we put her down for sleep she names them all: "[pant pant pant], Baby, Eee eee eee, Beh, Oppy." She pulls one or two in her arms and hugs them tight, then snuggles down, content in the midst of all her toy friends.

Getting in the Christmas spirit

It's a good thing we never vowed not to let Chloë watch television. It's all she wants to do now. She wakes up, has her bottle, and says, "Baby?" and "Babul?" which currently mean "The Baby Da Vinci show with all the kids in it" and "The Baby Santa show with all the pretty ornaments in it" respectively. She wasn't sure what to make of the trains and the reindeer puppet (it is the ugliest attempt at a reindeer I ever hope to see), but she loves the shiny ornaments and the children spinning in their velvet dresses.

She's also taken to kissing her laughing doll. It's extremely cute, though it's also extremely difficult to focus on trying to make dinner when I'm hearing loud sucking noises from my seventeen-month-old french-kissing her doll.

In other news, it has now been three months since I took my last antidepressant for PPD. I haven't noticed any lapse, other than what could be expected from first-trimester blahs and pregnancy hormones, and neither has Eric. This is especially good since I tried calling up my counselor to get essentially a mental health check-up a couple of months ago. After going back and forth with her answering service a few times, she left me a message: "According to our records, you've never been to this office. So we can schedule you for an appointment, but I'm going to need more information first." So I decided to forget it--or at least her. Either they had a fire they're not telling me about or they have even worse administrative support than my old OB/GYN. I'm not filling out her novel-requiring questionnaire again. I went there several times and paid several copays. She held my baby when I brought her along because I couldn't get a babysitter, for heaven's sake. And now she has no record of me?

Ahem. As I was saying, I haven't noticed any problems since I went off Zoloft other than what can reasonably be attributed to (a) feeling sick/dizzy/exhausted or (b) random bouts of sadness unconnected to daily events that evaporate equally randomly, or in other words, hormonal shifts. I think I'm a little sadder overall than I was when I was pregnant with Chloë, but I also have more stressors now. I was a bit worried about going off the medication, since I responded so well to it; but it looks like PPD really was temporary for me, which relieves me quite a bit. If I get it again, with luck I'll have the same kind of response.

I've been enjoying the Christmas season a lot more than I did last year, even though there have been all sorts of plans and parties and projects going on. We're nearly ready for Christmas, except for one gift Eric is intent on getting Chloë and one Amazon shipment that's still in the mail. Chloë has been very well-behaved about the tree; she helped put up ornaments (all on the same branch) and has, after a few warnings, been good about not taking them off again. She say, "Gdhree," when asked what that hulking new thing in our living room is. She likes to poke at a gift box a friend of ours gave us, two mugs with candy and cocoa (packaged in plastic), but has been leaving the other boxes alone except for rearranging a few bows. She's going to have fun Christmas morning, though, and I suspect we'll need to pack up the presents that aren't for her before we start opening things. Christmas is more fun with a little one, I think. I'm probably a little more scatter-brained than when I was pregnant with Chloë, too, but Christmas will be well, and I think we're doing all right.

Baby's First Spaceship

I have, finally, finished Chloë's quilt:


I started this considerably before she was born. Ahem. (I realize I haven't posted the last of her birth story either. I do intend to. Eventually. Maybe when work stops being quite so insane.) It is, as I hope you can tell, the pilot's-eye view of a spaceship. Above, the status of the various parts of the ship; in the middle, a viewscreen; below, various buttons and switches and panels, plus a targeting screen. In my defense, there was a lot of hand work involved on this thing. Here's hoping it lasts a few years of stains and drool.


Chloë inspected it and, despite its lateness, accepted the offering.

Growing so big

Chloë weighed 19 lb, 2 oz. at her checkup Friday. This is 95th percentile. She was also 26 inches. This is 50th percentile. "Is this a problem?" I asked the pediatrician.

"Not really," she said. "Once she starts crawling, it'll all even out."

It's a bit surprising that she hasn't rolled from back to front, and that she doesn't laugh much, but otherwise she's doing well. They gave her four shots (three six-months shots plus flu) and pronounced her fit to go on living. (Chloë wasn't too sure about this in the first couple of minutes after her shots. She recovered surprisingly quickly, though, and smiled at the nurse before she left the room.) Since the appointment was at two and it was only three when we got out, and I had left work with a huge to-do list, I took her to work with me.

"Does she sleep well for you?" was the number-one question, which kind of surprised me. But then I went to a Tupperware party recently and two of the women there had had children who didn't sleep through the night until they were two and three years old. These children are still alive, which also kind of surprised me.

"She looks exactly like you!" one of my coworkers exclaimed, then went on to gush about how cute she was, which made me feel good (since everyone likes to hear they're cute). Chloë was her usual smiley self. "Is she always this happy/well-behaved?" was the number-two question, which also made me feel good. I gave her the tour, taking her to see all the people I'd promised to show the baby one day and a few others besides. We ran into my boss on the other side of the building, where I was obviously doing no work, but I think he understood. He's got a daughter of his own. Anyway, after that we went back to my desk and I did a few things (though I couldn't go into the lab with Chloë because no one can go in without a lab coat, and I didn't think I'd be able to find one small enough) until she started to get bored, and then we headed home.

Today we left her at the grandmothers' for a few hours while we went shopping. For a new carseat for her, among other things. Her current one is good up to 22 lb., which means we've got until maybe the end of April at the absolute latest, but we had a good coupon and some money in the budget, so we got a nice convertible one good up to 65 lb. today. Theoretically two would be ideal, so we wouldn't have to transfer it between cars at daycare, but we're not sure the convenience is worth the extra money. At any rate, unless we opt for the convenience we shouldn't have to buy another for quite a while.

Chloë's first Christmas

We spent Chloë's first Christmas in Seattle with my parents. She turns out to be an excellent traveler. She had no problems with her ears, even on the flights back when she had a cold (which is better than I did); she loved walking through the airport, riding in the carrier and watching the lights and the people; she was able to sleep most of the way out and part of the way back. We connected through Dallas on the way out, and through Chicago on the way back, and got caught in the Chicago traffic jam--we left Seattle three hours late and arrived to a canceled flight, couldn’t get on standby or another flight until the next day, and ended up spending the night in a hotel without our luggage. Except for kicking off her socks in protest when we tried to get her to sleep (at nearly midnight, Central time) in the hotel crib, she even adapted well to that.

She had a great week with her grandparents. I hardly saw her at all except to feed her and put her to bed, but she was happy to introduce them to her ways and accept their adoration. She was introduced to aunts, uncles, cousins, great-aunts, great-uncles, and carrots, and loved them all. She got so much stuff Mom and Dad are having to ship most of it back to us (plus Aunt Kris packed her present in a mailer box, which was pretty awesome). A year ago we had no baby stuff. Now we've got more baby stuff than almost anything else. There are teethers, balls, rattles dolls, toys that sing, squishy books for the bathtub, soft books for chewing, hard books for reading.

We had Snyder family Christmas the day we got back, and except for sleeping through most of it (due to having gotten only about six hours' sleep that night and another couple on the plane and in the car, which wasn’t nearly enough) she did well there, too. She certainly got plenty of loot, including an exersaucer, which is good because she's almost outgrown her swing.

Yesterday we finally had our nuclear-family Christmas. Her gifts from us were a stuffed dog which she opened herself (with help), a pendant with her birthstone, and a Christmas ornament. She got four other ornaments so this last wasn't exactly necessary, but it was important to me--my parents gave my brother and me an ornament every year to help out with our trees when we moved out, and I want to do the same for my children.

So Christmas number one was a success. Now we've got to teach her certain pieces of etiquette, such as thank-you letters, but her penmanship isn't the best so those probably won't go out very promptly.

Focus

Childbirth class was canceled this week, rescheduled for next. This is annoying because Eric will be out of town that day. I guess I'll have to take notes and breathe by myself. I wonder whether the girl who was thirty-eight weeks pregnant at our last class will be there.

In the meantime, this is what the crib looks like in the nursery:


The blankets hide all the clothes and towels and sheets inside. We're figuring on waiting a couple of weeks before we wash and put everything away. (Also, it's nice to have it all out while we're writing thank-you notes.) We'll also start thinking about packing a hospital bag then. I went through a few websites during lunch at work yesterday and compiled a list of everything (reasonable) they suggested. It's a long, long list, and that's without including things like a video recorder or a "focus" (a meaningful or desirable object for concentrating on during labor). My friend Courtney decided her two top options for a focus were a huge ice cream sundae or Johnny Depp doing a striptease. Sadly, neither would be very easy to procure or keep around for as long as she'd need them. For me, I don't think "sleeping on my back" would be an easy thing to represent as a tangible object.

I'm not definitely tired of being pregnant yet--though the back pain is getting old, fast--but I do think I'm starting to get to the point where I'm letting go of the old life and anticipating the new. I'm not really feeling like I need more time to myself before the baby comes, which was not the case a month ago. I'm glad to be in this state--though of course it makes the next several weeks seem longer. But that's probably okay, since while I may not need the alone time, I do need time to wash clothes and put things away and make the bumper (which Eric keeps making suggestions for which make it more complicated) and the quilt and finish this baby jacket that may or may not be any use...

Covered

Our second baby shower was Sunday, out at Side Cut Metropark, which must be a great place to go to be alone because it's so hard to find hardly anyone ever makes it there. Several of our guests almost didn't. But everyone showed up eventually, and the site and the party were lovely. We got lots of very nice gifts and cards, including one reading "A humble offering to the most exalted little Evil Overlord. May your conquest be swift and absolute. --Your Most Loyal Minions." I think L.E.O. will be pleased.

She will also be very warm. She now owns twelve blankets, not including, you know, my uterus. It's really making me reconsider the quilt I'm making for her, or any quilt I plan to make in the future for other babies.

Yesterday we went to Babies R Us to spend our gift cards and store money and get the things that I was going to feel slightly insecure until we got: a crib mattress, a changing pad, a diaper pail, and so on. (We also got things like a Boppy cover and car mirrors and a Pack 'N Play, which are not as essential to my mental well-being but are still quite nice.) If we get a box of size 1 diapers, and maybe the diaper bag that Mom keeps saying she'll get us, I think we're pretty much set.

And I went for another checkup today and everything is still looking good, which made me especially happy since I've been a bit stressed out about other things and presumably my stress isn't affecting L.E.O. all that much. After getting it straight with the midwife that Yasmin was the name of my old birth control, not my baby (apparently the student midwife I talked to last time wrote cryptic notes), I asked her something I'd been meaning to ask in childbirth class: what determines whether they'll let me stay at the hospital when labor comes.

"Labor is actually defined by change in the cervix," she explained. "If you're at three centimeters but you're not really progressing and you're having irregular contractions, they're probably going to send you home. If you're at three centimeters but things are really changing, they'll want you to stay." She looked down at my chart. "However," she added, sounding almost reproachful, "you've been doing everything else perfectly, so you probably won't have a problem with that either." Maybe I'm too boring a patient.

Getting in gear

There is a baby swing in our office. This is freaking us out.

I got back from my Seattle trip yesterday, bringing a big suitcase full of awesome baby stuff that my family gave us. (And gift cards, for ease of packing, which I appreciated.) I would describe them but talking about how extremely adorable every outfit and blanket was and how many neat little things were on the diaper cake (a phrase I never understood before) will probably get very boring very quickly. Suffice to say, we are very grateful and very pleased and very, very alarmed at the ever-growing realization that we're going to need all this stuff for an actual tiny human.

Angie and Matt gave us a Papasan baby swing a few weeks ago and while I was gone, Eric brought it to our house (it had been left at the mothers' for a while). We decided today that it made no sense to wash and put away the new outfits and blankets and washcloths now, since ideally we should wash them just before L.E.O. is born, which is (if all goes well) still thirteen weeks away. But I was itching to do baby prep/nesting-type activities, and I able to be annoying about it because I was home for the day (I took a sick day because I had a doctor appointment and was figuring I'd have jet lag; all is well, though my previous doctor's office apparently never did the state-mandated gonorrhea/chlamydia screen they were supposed to, so we had to do it today--I'm glad I left them), so we decided to assemble the swing instead.

It went together pretty quickly and smoothly, and we decided to bring it into the office to see whether it would fit. It does, and it's sitting by the window now, with a stuffed rabbit sitting inside it. There's a baby swing in our office. In a few months it will be rocking a baby. Unreal.

Project L.E.O., the greed edition

As previously hinted, we are now registered for all the normal baby stuff, at Target and at Babies R Us, mostly at Bev's insistence because there's a shower coming up in a couple of weeks. There are a few non-normal baby things that we were unable to register for, however. These include, but are not limited to:

-home chemistry lab
-supercomputer with encrypter
-anything from here except the ABCs poster (because she has it)
-uranium
-Zeppelin of Death
-alternate transportation
-a tiara
-small hadron collider
-songwriters

We are weak, weak.

Wait a minute. Why did we register for baby washcloths? We have a stack of perfectly good washcloths right there in the closet. Marketing sucked us in after all! I feel so dirty!

Schrodinger's first appearance

L.E.O.'s followers are already gathering. Preparations for her appearance are underway, and we have gained a valuable assistant in the work:

R.I.N.D.S.

We don't have much baby gear at this stage (I can count what we have on one hand, in fact: sample formula from the doctor, sample pacifier from same, a poster, and a baby blanket Courtney made me about a year ago) but we are--or rather, I am--already equipped with what will probably be L.E.O.'s most beloved gadget. This is the R.I.N.D.S.: The Redundant Infant Nutrition Delivery System.

I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

The R.I.N.D.S. was concerning me up until recently, since it's supposed to have started internal reconfigurations which should have resulted in some outward changes, and it didn't seem to have done so. (Except for the promised color changes. It's really very interesting, since it doesn't look like a color change so much as like someone just kind of splashed some excess pigment over the top of the existing paint job.) However, Eric pointed out a few days ago that the R.I.N.D.S. was indeed increasing its capacity, if slowly. Which was reassuring, except that now I have to think about buying new, er, support rigs. And I hate buying support rigs. And I suppose I'll have to keep doing it as the R.I.N.D.S. continues to grow. I guess it'll get me in training for those endless rounds of ever-bigger Evil Overlord armor that L.E.O. will inevitably need us to buy.