Not for the faint of stomach

It was a long night. For reasons known only to my lovely daughter but most probably related to her growing stomach, it was necessary to be awake from 1:30 til about 3:00 -- screaming. Just to clarify: the waking was probably due in some measure to her growing stomach. The continued screaming was due to her will of steel, which met with my will of steel and clashed loudly. Suffice it to say it all ended in the basement in her pack 'n play where Daddy couldn't hear her as well and I could turn lights on. We sat in the dimmed light of the basement -- she screaming and I surfing -- until she finally fell asleep to the drone of the dirt devil, only to wake up at 4 a.m. and demand food. Again. This time I gave in. What the heck, I thought. I haven't been asleep this whole time because I've been having an allergy attack. Why start sleeping now?

And so it went.

At 5:45, when Daddy woke up to get ready for work, I was startled out of my unintended sleep in the rocking chair where I had been nursing BC. BC was contentedly sacked out in my arms. I had a vicious crick in my neck and may or may not have been drooling. Regardless, I put her back down in her pack 'n play and went to make breakfast, intending to stay awake just long enough to pack lunch and get Matt out the door, after which I could sneak back downstairs to the couch and sleep until she woke up.

A brilliant plan, except that she woke up as he left. If she's as timely when she's an adult as she is now, she'll be any employer's dream.

We muddled through the morning, catching a brief nap before 9 a.m., at which time I blearily changed her didie and put her in the exersaucer. Literally two minutes later, I heard quite a remarkable sound from her posterior region and saw her make the "Ahhhhh" face. I thought, "Great. A two-minute diaper. I'll get to that in a minute."

Three minutes later, I looked down and saw this:



I apologize to those of you who don't seek out poo pics on the internet. I just felt that it was necessary to pass along the joy.

I can't begin to tell you the joy that followed that revelation. I won't even try.

Canadia, here we come!

The next time the Olympics rolls around we are READY. We have a trainer. We have an athlete. We have the gear. And we have a sport.

Cup stacking.

Okay, not so much stacking as knocking down. And not so much that exactly as just chewing on the ones we happen to grab and knocking down others in the process. All things considered -- what with being yet of a tender age and having minimal fine motor skills and a limited ability to sit up independently -- she's well on her way.

Now if they'd just make cup stacking an event.

It all started when my friend Michelle (memorialized in this blog during her visit in which BC took up table chewing, which is unlikely ever to take its place in the Olympic lineup) gave us a long-sleeved Canada onesie in recognition of the Vancouver Olympics. It was chilly this morning, so I suited up BC in her onesie and matching hat (or toque, if you prefer). And I put her on the chair so she could work a bit on sitting up on her own. (Not so good at that yet. That will be crucial to her cup-stacking success. We're training hard.)



I then scattered all around her the stackable cups that a nice neighbor lady gave us. And she went to town.





As you can see, it requires a great deal of concentration. It's extremely difficult to get tiny fingers around big round cups. And then it's particularly difficult to get a little (but not tiny) mouth around said cups. The stacking is secondary at this level of training. She's still becoming one with the cups. It's a process.

Fortunately, Charlie Boy volunteered to lead the coaching effort:






He started out trying to help with the cup-to-mouth skill. He quickly realized that it wasn't going well and came around to help with the more primary and basic cup-to-hand skill.




When it became apparent that the coaching requirements were much more extensive than he had bargained for, he gave up and became a victim of her finely-honed cup-to-floor skill.



And this is when things got really intense.

As you might expect, this training regimen is rigorous. It brings out the best and worst in any athlete. It also brings out a lot of grunting. And yelling. Think Monica Seles.



I quickly realized how exhausting the task was becoming when she assumed a horizontal position with her head on top of a cup. She's stacking. It just happens to be the wrong items.






And that's when it became a game of bumper stacking. The rules are pretty much the same. It's just the requirements that are reduced.





Ultimately, all of this led to milkies and then nappies. Long-deserved nappies. Hopefully we'll make new strides in training tomorrow. Please, for the good of my child, let me know if I'm becoming one of *those* Olympic-hopeful parents.

WORST. BLOGGER. EVER.

So my kid is now about a month older than she was when I last posted. In the life a five-and-a-half-month old child, that's saying something. I could try to justify the horribleness of my blogging by saying I'm looking after her so well that I just don't have time, but that would be flattering myself. I'm doing my best, and that's all I can say.

And part of my best has been to quit my job. I look at this



And this



And this




And I can't imagine being anywhere else but with her.

If I'd simply adored my job and longed for my desk every day of my life, it would probably be a sacrifice. I may in fact long for my sanity by the time she's a year old, but I will not long for my job.

So, until God makes other plans known, home I will be. With this: