Two.

So I went to return some items today only to find that the ENTIRE STORE was 40% off. As I was by myself and have zero self control I did some shopping. I tried on a million (maybe 10) things. I tried on one shirt I desperately wanted to be cute at least 5x with different things. Alas, simply not cute. I also tried on (and purchased) a pair of boyfriend jeans.

Friends. Let me confess... I have a jeans problem. I love them. Passionately and with my whole heart. I love them. I will search and search until I find the right ones. I would wear them most days if I could. Yes, even in the middle of summer in Texas. Give me a pair of jeans and I will sweat my face off in them. Other confession--I do not look amazing in skinny pants. I'm too curvy. These boyfriend jeans, though, they looked kind of cute. I walked out and a non-sales girl said "Wow! Those are cute!" Sales girl then chimed in, "They make you look tiny." Sold. I'm really easy. And a sucker. And they run really big so they were a 2. Which, lets be honest, if I can get my fat arse and thighs into anything that says it's a 2 I'm probably going to buy it. I'm just saying that my ego is that fragile. There was a girl looking for a double 0 in something--which I still hold is not a real size.

Fear not... I also bought a pair of pants that were double digits. And maybe a shirt. And maybe a pair of shorts.

I shouldn't be allowed to leave the house.

duuuuuuuuuuuude.

Why is blogger trying to make me consume a mass amount of boxed wine? It is not uploading pictures, then when it does it's not letting me move them around. What's up with that?

Seriously.

Someone fix this.

Ranting by yourself while drinking wine out of a box and eating mac n cheese (at least it's organic?) is a telltale sign of crazy.

The other most beautiful baby.

Other than mine. I loved him first. This kid is possibly the cutest kid ever (again, other than mine.)

Oh... and there's my neice in the background, too. Any day! Brooklyn is coming. any. day.

Canny Mommy. Canny! (It usually involves a head thrown back. Clenched fists. Etc. Oh, and ps. Canny, means "candy.") There may have been blue drool.

Glammy and her boys.

His first time to lick the beater from making whipped cream. Love.

First Easter!

Eggs.

Grass. My favorite.

Family at FUMC Dallas.

Dada and baby.

mama and baby.

Arg. It is again not letting me format properly. This is Glammy and G.

There are so many firsts this year. It sounds ridiculous. Of course there are. It's so moving, though. It's his only ever first Easter. His first Easter egg hunt. His first Easter service (in the nursery). The day was beautiful and spent with family. 9 Months is a big time.

Remind me again

Why I can't have a cocktail in the car? My baby hates traveling. Luckily our families live 4 hours away...

Tomorrow

Tomorrow he will be nine months old. Last night he woke up screaming multiple times. I blame the apparent mouthful of teeth he is getting. He also woke up early this morning. I pulled him into bed with me and we snuggled and went back to sleep for an hour. Nothing is better than that--a sweet baby sleeping beside you. (especially when he woke up super happy!)

And who knows, maybe once he has more than 4 teeth he will be too big for that? So I put him in a "I heart mom" shirt just incase we needed proof.

a case of the grizzlies.

We had them yesterday. He needed to be under that table. He barely fit. Those grizzlies are kind of difficult in the afternoon. I blame the zillion teeth apparently coming in. Can't he just keep the 4 he has already?

Do I say, "Thank you?"

I had a baby with this man. On purpose. Ben did the warrior dash this weekend. His ironic eyebrows make me giggle.

Just call me Emily Post. I love some rules. So I went to purchase something this weekend and my card got rejected. Weird I thought, but sometimes things get de-magnetized. Ben said he had the same problem. Odd. he called this morning. Someone has stolen our CC#. In California. They have bought new furniture, gone to a hotel, and rented a red box movie (and some other things I can't remember.) I mean, I want to go to a hotel. I want to go to California. I want new furniture. However, these are not in the cards (pun, what what? I'm so clever) for us currently. Though, thankfully, when they rented that redbox movie, they only kept it for one night.

Thank you?

Now some family pics. These are from my sisters shower (more to come). Thankfully, there WAS a tutu.

Glammy.

Poppy.

Shameful his grandparents don't love him.

coming out of hiding

So I've removed my "pre-baby" clothes from the garage--again. The first time, at 3 weeks post baby, I decided after trying on 2 pairs of pants that it wasn't a good idea and banished them outside. (At that point, I may have said they would stay there forever.) Then I've basically been wearing the same thing for the last 9 months. What's the saying 9 months on and 9 months off? Nope, 9 months on, 10 months off? maybe? I mean, some people claim pregnancy is 10 months. I'm sticking with that.

It's kind of exciting to have a "new" wardrobe. I mean, as exciting as it can be to have a new wardrobe that's made for someone else's body.... that used to be your body. Perhaps I shouldn't have had 8 slices of bread for lunch? And contemplate a glass of wine at 3. (some of those statements are exaggerations. At least one of them.)

Did anyone else's shirts become too short? Did anyone used to wear a size small and now think that size is COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS? Who wears a small I ask you? Not this nursing mom. I mean, surely my bazooms aren't THAT big that they made all of my shirts shorter (and my ass bigger.)

Can you believe he's almost 9 months? NEXT WEEK! I bought a dress for the occasion. Ok, maybe it's for Easter. Impeccable timing. I think I should probably get some highlights to celebrate, too. (That one's totally for Griffin.) The dress is a fab little number that is in my olden days size. Score. That's part of the reason I bought it. That and I can get a new necklace to rock (and maybe some shoes.)

This weekend I'm headed home to have a shower for my seestor. Baby Brooke-Brooke (as Elliott calls her) is due May 15! I can't wait to see all of the girl items! Please let there be a tutu. Please let there be a tutu.

You can't have him.

When I adopted Gizmo the lady didn't want me to have him. I followed him on petfinder. I needed that dog! She named him Danny. Seriously? He's clearly a Gizmo... Or maybe stewie. Whatevs. She didn't trust that I was 25 and in grad school so she called my dad. Ridiculous. One blood transfusion later and I'm pretty sure I passed.

Even though he stole my first trip to Italy. Which, you know, I didn't go on because two weeks in dog ICU are expensive... And the visiting hours are limited.

I think I've gone downhill. Poor dog.

I lost a few. (two to be exact.)

Followers. I think because all I do is talk about babies.

Well, my baby. I mean, if you want to get specific. But with a face like that how could you NOT want to read?

And I get to say that I bought a bag of balls. And that makes me laugh.

drowsy, but not asleep.

So I went to Target last night BY MYSELF. ALL ALONE. I know, I shouldn't be so excited, but I was. I think I have a contact high from thinking about it now. I called friends on the way there. I probably sounded intoxicated. I think I was intoxicated on the thrill of walking through the aisles without the threat of a screaming baby. Granted, my babycakes is pretty happy and there is minimal screaming when we are out. However, there is threat of screaming. There is mom entertaining while walking through the store. Making faces. Singing. Making a fool of myself. Rarely do I go without the silly face. And I know why...

When I walked in I heard it. It was permeating the store. The sounds of an over-tired screaming child. It got louder as I made my way to the baby section (after walking through the not kid section). It was a child. A child in an extreme meltdown for a pair of shoes that were too small and a mom trying to reason. SCREAMING child who is done. Granted, I judge this. I judge that instead of high tailing it out of there, she is trying to reason. I "get it" now. I mean, I get that you want to keep doing what you're doing. I get that you have hope that they will suck it up and you can enjoy your shopping. But they won't. She's tired. She was finished. And then she was interfering with my chatty chats with my friend while shopping my mecca. My sleep book calls that "over-tired." It also tells me that I should put my child down "drowsy, but not asleep" (which is kind of how I feel MY sleep is), but he passes out when I get him home in the afternoons. It's adorable. (less adorable that he's been waking up from his afternoon nap after 30 mins and talking then I go in to make sure he hasn't poo'd himself and he does the big huge open mouth silent cry. By silent I mean silent at first and then a wail. Then I judge myself for not putting him to sleep drowsy.)

But he's so cute. And it won't be cute when I'm rocking him to sleep when he's 18 and wearing a jonjon with a whale on it. I think at 15 it just turns to sad.

After the nap protest

We went to the park.And waved "hi." Or, my mom put me in a tube and hoped I wouldn't back myself out before she got a good shot. Score one for mom. It worked.

I ate leaves.
Searched for the perfect piece of something to put in my mouth. And, by perfect piece, I mean whatever I picked up.

Finally. A leaf.

Sleep ninja

So I had this posted all crafted in my head about how sweet and smart my baby is. When I picked him up today and we were saying bye to Frances and Jenny he waved. He WAVED for the first time on purpose! SO we came home, he ate and passed out as is our usual ritual. Then he slept for 20 minutes before the inconsolable screaming began.

Screaming. Screaming. Mom went and tried to rock. Screaming. Change diaper. Screaming. Singing. Rocking. Swaying. Screaming.

Now sleep. Sweet sweet occasionally elusive sleep.

Next on my plans is to video him waving. You know how that will go, though right? Me saying "bye bye" 85 times and him staring all cutely at me.

G-money and Mr. T

Mom of the year?

Probably. Someone should nominate me. How do you get nominated for that? I'm not entirely sure but I'll probably win.

My child is HARD to put a diaper on. "I have things to do, moooommmm." (all drawn out teenager style.) He's on the move. We could placate him with toys. Hey hey look at this. But, since you know he's smarty pants, he's over that. However, we still have to change his diaper at least once a day (kidding, y'all) and we need to entertain him.

New fave? Advil bottle. I want to chew on it. I want to love it. I want to shake it around.

Who lets him? Mamamamamama.

He's super funny. Great personality. I'm basically in love. Ok, I'm in love and constantly tell him how handsome he is (also tell the Giz this.) They have about the same amount of teeth. One smells dramatically better than the other.

Um, I attempted to make a wreath for my sisters shower (baby Brooklyn is due SOOOOOOOON) and lets just say... I should stick with the decoupaging. (eh loosy?) Michael's had some awesome bedazzled fake flowers (take a moment and take that in) and I assumed hobby lobby would to. Wrong. My flower choices made things look a little "country". I also found myself humming along to some elevator praise music. Then there was an emergency poo sitch. That required prayer.

And finally.... omg. I can't cut and paste pictures. It's causing some distress.

I'm in love.

Amy. I love you.

Out with the old--in with the new.

I got a new phone--lucky you! This means that I'm going to figure out how to blog via phone. And, I finally downloaded all of the pictures off of my phone--all 403 of them. These are in no particular order because it won't let me cut and paste them in a proper way. STRESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSss.