Have a Gourd Halloween!

Although I had several good ideas for Avery's Halloween costume this year, I really wanted to coordinate her costume with Marti's. I originally bought Marti a pirate costume, and surprisingly found one for Avery as well, but decided that a pirate was maybe a little too hardcore for Baby's First Halloween.

So I decided to go with the quintessential Halloween costume for both girls: The jack-o'-lantern.


Marti, patient as always.


Avery, not as patient.



Avery mounts her trusty Marti steed.


Marti: I gonna kill you in your sleep.


Our little pumpkin patch.


Patience runs thin.



Happy Halloween, everyone!

For past Halloween fun:
Marti the Moose
Marti the Bee
Marti the Rooster

So Many Possibilities

With Halloween just days away, we're exploring costume ideas. Although Avery's hair isn't as plentiful as it was when she was born (or maybe her head's just bigger), it still gives us a lot of options.

Mad Scientist/One Who Stuck Her Finger in a Light Socket



Punk Rocker with a Mohawk



Justin Timberlake



Old Man/Super Sleek Posh Spice


Donald Trump


Kate Gosselin


Avery slept through our entire photo session. But Marti didn't, and she was ready to take over the comfy photo spot after we were done. I think she wanted to remind me not to forget about her Halloween costume this year. Don't worry, Marti. I won't.

The Baby Ate My Brain

I read that during pregnancy, your brain cells actually shrink. They're reportedly supposed to plump back up a few months after delivery. Mine apparently are taking their time with the plumping. So while my pregnancy-induced clumsiness has improved immensely, I'm sometimes a raging moron. Add the non-plumped-back-up brain cells to a lack of sleep and I am what you get. A few highlights.

Example 1. I mailed a check with one amount in numerals and another amount written out. The written part of the check is the legal part (who knew?), so I had to write a separate check to finish the transaction.

Example 2. I mailed our trash bill without a check at all. They returned it and kindly asked for their money.

Example 3. Jenn and I were going back and forth via email. We're always making acronyms and explaining them, thus not actually saving any time at all until they catch on. One of our favorites is SLAP for "Sounds like a plan!" The other day I created a clever new one, EARTO, which was supposed to mean "Edited and ready to go!" Except for the whole part where I substituted an O for what should have been a G.

So these are the minor goofs I've been doing on a daily basis. But this one takes the cake:

Alan came down to the living room after changing out of a sour-milky spit-up shirt to join me on the couch.

"Where's the baby?" I asked.

Cue Alan's blank stare. "The baby?" he said.

"WHERE IS AVERY?"

Alan looks at me like the moron that I am. I look down. Oh yeah. She's on my lap. Eating. From my breast.

Seriously. The baby ate my brain.

But isn't she cute as the freaking dickens?

That Was Fast

It's hard to believe that five years ago, I was in a pretty dress, in a pretty chapel, about to get married. How is it possible that it's been five years? And how is it possible that it's been so easy?






I won't embarrass Alan by getting too sentimental here, but I just want to say that I'm a lucky girl. I've had a great five years and look forward to 60 more.

And an update on the little girl. She had her two-month appointment today. She's shot from the 10th percentile for her birth weight to the 75th, weighing in at 11 pounds, 7 ounces! She took her shots like a champ. And she's super cute, adorable, hilarious. Obvs!

Learning Curve

I like to think I have a brain cell or two floating around in my head. But Avery has proven that this may not be the case as she puts me through my first semester of Parenting School. My test this week in my Bodily Fluids 101 class is entitled "Be Prepared, Fool." And I failed miserably.

So for the first month of Avery's life, there was little to no spit up. She'd give a good burp after eating, but she'd happily keep all of her food down. But then to keep us on our toes, she decided to start spitting up. Of course, it's taken me awhile to adjust to this new phenomenon, so remembering to have a burp cloth on hand has proven difficult for my pea-sized brain. Alan has grown used to my urgent calls to "Get me something!" to clean up the mess. The other night when she spit up while I was holding her, he preemptively jumped up to come to my rescue.

I told him not to bother because she'd spit up straight down my shirt.

So we headed upstairs to clean up. She needed a bath anyway and I now needed a shower. So I take her diaper off and gamble on getting to the bathroom with her butt bare.

Remind me not to go to Las Vegas.

We get to the bathroom and it must have been the running water, because the little girl could hold it no longer. She had to go...and peed right on my hip and down my leg. What's another pair of jeans in the wash at this point?

So to make her trifecta complete, we wake up after a snuggle the next morning to her having blown through her pajamas and her blanket to get poop on our sheets. Add sheets and our mattress cover to the wash.

Little did I know that she was preparing me for the coup de grace, what I shall call Poop-o-Mania 2010.

We're in the glider, she's chowing down. I don't know if I heard it first, felt it or just had a weird sense, but all of a sudden I knew there was poop everywhere. I knocked Marti off my lap, stood up and well, Poop-o-Mania 2010 had commenced. There was poop on my shirt. Poop on my jeans. Poop through to my underwear. Poop on the glider cushions. Poop on the carpet.

The most impressive part? It's like she had direct aim. How it made it through her clothes (she was fully clothed at the time, long pants and everything) through the cushions and out the back of the glider and still had this sort of distance...well, that's talent.


I've also yet to learn that during diaper changes the girl will pee almost every time she feels the open air. I'm keeping Pampers in business wasting diapers. Also Dreft, washing clothes and changing table covers.

Don't let her innocent, sleeping face fool you. She's about to poop on me.*


*As I edit this I just got my first real smile. I will deal with mountains of poop for that.

Note: The moment I hit "Publish" she spit up on my sleeve. She's already cultivating a comedic sense of timing.

The Wee Hours

Sleep deprivation has taken on a whole new meaning. Avery woke me up last night after a couple of hours of sleep and we partied until dawn. Later than dawn, actually. She ate, peed, cried a little, and ate a little more from about 3:30 to 7 this morning.

In my sleep-deprived state I considered ordering a Magic Bullet. That infomercial just makes it look so appealing. But I finally had to turn off the television when the infomercial for a "man problem" pump came on at 6. Too much information for tiny ears.

But we prevailed. Avery finally conked out. And we got a few hours of sleep. I'm still exhausted, but this little grunter makes it all worth it. If you can stomach the baby talk until the end, Marti makes a grand appearance.

Happy Birthday, Martikins!

Little Marti is 5 years old today.* I think this means that I can no longer blame bad behavior on her youth.

As bad as she can be sometimes, she makes up for it by having the biggest heart and the most love for her humans as pugly possible. As I write this, she sits on my lap, resting her head on my arm. Yes, it makes typing take twice as long, but I can't bear to make her move.


We may have a new member of the family, but Marti says the more the merrier. And Marti will squirrel her way into any situation. No really—any situation. This is my view when I'm feeding Avery.

We took advantage of the beautiful weather today and went for a walk. I've got my hands full. Especially when I have to pick up poo.


Here she is, hitting the books. I hope one of these covers pug obedience.


Self Portrait: The Pug and Baby Wrangler.


*I had joked that if Avery went past her due date, she and Marti could share a birthday. As it is, they don't even share a birth month.