Today I made my first real attempt to fix Gabby’s hair all pretty. As you can see, it didn’t turn out very pretty at all.
The reason?
My boobs.
She was standing in her crib, I was standing facing her, with no shirt on, just a bra. A nursing bra. A nursing bra with snaps in the front.
As I attempted to put the baretts in her hair, she was attempting a little experiment of her own. The girl was trying to figure out how to how to unsnap the bra.
She grabbed. She grunted. She pulled. She grunted some more. And then, finally… “POP!” And out came the boob.
She let out the loudest “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” I’ve ever heard and did a little victory dance. (Which I have to admit, was totally precious)
She got lucky, I thought.
Yeah, right. As soon as I snapped it back up and resumed combing her hair, she unsnapped it again.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” She squeeled, again.
“I’m trying to make you look pretty, you big stinky! Leave my boobs alone! PLEASE! Stop the insanity!”
Psh. As if. “POP”.
That was it. The girl had figured out “the system” and she wasn’t going to stop. I went and put a shirt on.
Gabby didnt’ like that. At all.

“You won’t leave my boobs alone, I’m not going to fix your hair pretty. You get to go to the doctors with jacked up hair!”
SO TAKE THAT, LITTLE BRA UNSNAPPER!
I had a revelation as she was ripping my bra off. Infact my inner voice spoke to me. “I think it’s time you wean the girl, because, it’s only a matter of time before she starts ripping your shirt off in public whilst screaming ‘I WANT BOOBIE NOW!!'”
Gabby’s pediatrician told me it might be time to start weaning her and start introducing her to whole milk (and I didn’t even tell her about the bra incident!) She’s not gained much weight since the last visit and she said that it could be because my milk supply is dwindling.
I think she might be right, but I’m not sure about the whole milk thing before a year. She said it’s ok, as long as I introduce it slowly. I want to believe her, but I noticed she doesn’t wash her hands for 30 seconds, which leads me to believe she doesn’t watch Oprah.
And really, what kind of a mother would I be if I trusted the opinion of someone who doesn’t watch Oprah?

It’s an absolutely beautifully perfect day today. It reminds me why we choose to live here, and Lord knows I need remindin’ sometimes. The traffic. The high cost of living. The unaffordable homes. At times I want to pack up and move to Texas, but then a day like this comes along and I’m all “hell no! I won’t go!”

I took Gabriella to the park so we could enjoy the beautiful sunshine .

I couldn’t justify staying in this dark, dusty house when there was sunshine, green grass and pretty little birdies singing outside. (It’s been a LONG time since I hit you with The Cheese. You will take The Cheese and you will LIKE IT!)

She loved laying on the grass. But not as much as I loved watching her.
And taking pictures of her. Lots and lots of pictures of her. My God, she is a beautiful baby.
After we were through playing in the wet, cool grass, we walked over to the playground. I wanted to put her in the baby swing and see if she’d enjoy it or if she’d freak out.

She loved it.
She laughed. She squeeled. She kicked her feet. It was incredible to watch.

And yes, I totally cried. Right there at the park while pushing her swing. I couldn’t get over how precious my daughter is.

After much swinging and laughter and quite a bit of farting, we went on a little walk so I could get some exercise in. It wasn’t long before the excitement of the day got to Gabby and she was ready for a nap.
We came home, I kissed her on her cheek and thanked her for a glorious day, then I went to my room, got on my knees and thanked God for knowing I needed her and giving her to me.

You are looking at the greatest joy in my life right now.

My husband holding our daughter.
The way she smiles at him. The way she grabs his neck and pulls herself close to him. The way she giggles when he looks at her. The way she just loves him and the way he loves her right back times 1000.
There are no words to describe the happiness and fufillment I feel when I watch them together.
We’ll see how true that is when she’s 15 and I tell her “No!” and she’s all “DADDY SAID I COULD… SO SCREW YOU!”
But until that fine day, I will enjoy watching the two of them together, her totally owning him and him loving every minute of it.

Today, my daughter is 6 months old.
Where did the time go? And why is it passing so quickly?
I wish it would slow down. I look at my boys, and I am painfully aware that I’ll blink my eyes and that beautiful baby girl you see there, resting her head on her favorite “pillow”, will be growing “pillows” of her own, and talking about boys she likes and going to the mall with her friends and how she wants to dye her hair and pierce her nose.

I remember when I found out that the baby I was carrying inside of me was a little girl. I was scared. I honestly did not believe I could bond with a girl. I feared I wouldn’t connect with her the same way I did with my sons. I didn’t think she’d like me very much, Silly as that sounds. I’d have nightmares of her fussing when I’d hold her and screaming for daddy to rescue her from me.
I was so wrong. She adores me. And I adore her.
There is a powerful love between the two of us and I look forward to watching it grow and develop over the coming years.
Six months have already passed, and the love and pride I feel towards her is so heart-stirring, I can only imagine what the future holds.
(p.s. I resisted the very great urge inside of my soul to turn this post into one big fart joke, because, me and my daughter have become quite the farters in crime. However, I resisted and went with pure cheese instead. You should be proud)

It’s obvious, she’s still sick. (Look at that FACE!)
Even still, she continues to be the happiest little baby. I love that about her. No matter how shitty she feels, I can always make her laugh, I can always make her smile.


(p.s. How did two dorks like us make such a beautiful girl?!? Seriously?)

2004. The year my life was graced with the 8lb 5oz baby girl, whom I named Gabriella Mercedes.

The daughter I never dreamed I’d have (even though Melly predicted it a long time ago, even though I told her “Oh HELL NO, I aint having any more kids, woman!)

The daughter who has filled my soul with a love I couldn’t have imagine and who, obviously, acquired my Multiple Chin Syndrome.

The daugher who totally loves me right back, even if she’s always all “Mom, why you gotta be all up in my grill? Can a baby get some room to rip a fart?”

The daughter whom, no matter how hard I TRY, I can’t seem to stop smothering with kisses.
There you have it, MY version of greatest thing about the year 2004.
(Well that AND the fact that the whole “being pregnant” thing gave me the freedom, the right, and the DUTY to talk about vaginas all the time, but we won’t go there again. We’ve moved on, people. Now? It’s ALL tittymilk ALL the time.