Zoe's three months old today, and she's fighting through her ear infection with smiles. She laughed out loud yesterday for the first time. We were dancing together, listening to All the Single Ladies, and she just cracked up. Beyonce, you will forever have a special place in my heart for that one. Tonight, when I was getting ready to put her in the bath (Zoe, not Beyonce; we're not that close), she laughed at Daddy, too, so at least she's not playing favourites.
She still doesn't nap longer than thirty minutes unless she's next to my heart, which I guess is okay at this point, because her wrap naps are the only time I can get out of the cabin anyway. She can roll from front to back and has started turning herself in circles and scooting herself forwards when I put her on her tummy. It's nothing like real crawling; more like serial faceplants out of frustration at having to lie down on the hard floor, but it's still pretty fun to turn back around and find her several feet from where she started.
She gets a little more control over her hands every day. A little while ago the HoJ and I watched her as she very deliberately tried out several different methods for getting ahold of the handle on a musical toy until she figured out what worked best. She'll hold onto a toy for a few seconds, but usually drops it after she smacks herself with it a few times. (I said more control, not total.)
Every night after bath she has what we call pterodactyl time. It's not the calmest of bedtime routines, but the loud shrieking and squawking that she does while getting her jammies on seem to get her in the mood for bed anyway. Most nights Daddy gives her a bottle before bed, and they snuggle on the couch together while she hums and drinks and falls asleep in his arms. I should probably do something productive during that time, but I usually just find myself staring, finding it hard to believe that they're both mine.
I swaddle her and put her to bed, and every night before I lay her down I whisper in her ear the same words my own mama used to say to me.
Mummy loves you.
And Daddy loves you.
And Jesus loves you.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
She still doesn't nap longer than thirty minutes unless she's next to my heart, which I guess is okay at this point, because her wrap naps are the only time I can get out of the cabin anyway. She can roll from front to back and has started turning herself in circles and scooting herself forwards when I put her on her tummy. It's nothing like real crawling; more like serial faceplants out of frustration at having to lie down on the hard floor, but it's still pretty fun to turn back around and find her several feet from where she started.
She gets a little more control over her hands every day. A little while ago the HoJ and I watched her as she very deliberately tried out several different methods for getting ahold of the handle on a musical toy until she figured out what worked best. She'll hold onto a toy for a few seconds, but usually drops it after she smacks herself with it a few times. (I said more control, not total.)
Every night after bath she has what we call pterodactyl time. It's not the calmest of bedtime routines, but the loud shrieking and squawking that she does while getting her jammies on seem to get her in the mood for bed anyway. Most nights Daddy gives her a bottle before bed, and they snuggle on the couch together while she hums and drinks and falls asleep in his arms. I should probably do something productive during that time, but I usually just find myself staring, finding it hard to believe that they're both mine.
I swaddle her and put her to bed, and every night before I lay her down I whisper in her ear the same words my own mama used to say to me.
Mummy loves you.
And Daddy loves you.
And Jesus loves you.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
