Images from yesterday. Oh my goodness.
Della's cool and unusual asian-themed outfit is a gift from a beloved cousin. She looks downright smashing in it, don't you think?
And here I am, with my little one perched atop an exersize ball. We spend a lot of time in ergonomically questionable (if not downright nightmarish) positions and postures (aka me, bending forward like a "C"). I try to make up for it by stretching, often.
Della is an outfacing baby with me, in-facing with sweet Tammy, a crook of the arm baby with Doug... At 3 months she now loves the bjorn (I love that she loves it), is enjoying minutes at a time in her new bouncy seat (a cheapo that I really like-- my bouncy seat of choice when I was a little one was a jolly jumper), she loves practicing standing, being carried by anyone willing to dance and bounce (hard please), she smiles more and more and more, a delightful lopsided grin with dimples, talks (a lot) and giggles (a little), and still has fucking colicky times that I hate beyond measure. Last night, several hours of unhappiness followed by an hour of blood curdling demon baby screams and a big, big sleep. Then sometime near morning, a wonderful cuddle with me, she turned to tuck her head up under my chin and I barely dared to breathe since I did not want to accidentally dispel the magic. She is feisty and smart, curious, impatient, easily frustrated,wiggly, charming, and insanely cute. She has a glint in her gray eyes that hints strongly of a future of mischievousness. We are doomed.