Fatterer still.

Did I mention that she has crested the 10 lb hill? My ittle beast, so fat now.

We long ago bid farewell to the ducky jimjams, which I loved so much.

out with them! They pinch my neck-rolls

And now we say goodbye to the lovely owls as well. She has also grown three inches, and is TOO LONG FOR EVERYTHING.

I still love her in sleepers best because everyone is snugglier in pajamas. But she is 22 inches long and a Proper Human now, so I feel like I should dress her accordingly. (Also, now that I am back in my own Proper Human Clothes, I feel like *I* should probably be getting out of my jimjams on the daily.)

So on Friday night, when we went out for dinner with friends (like Proper Human Grown-Ups!) I dressed her in a skirt, like a people. 

We tried to dress her up in aforementioned skirt again last night for the Oscar party, since everyone else was fancying up

evidence of fancying

but she spit up copiously on herself an hour before and we were already out of the house, so she had to wear jimjams to the party instead.

It was a solid effort.

There are pros to her getting bigger, and pros to her still being very little.

Part of the delight when your baby learns a New Things is because THE CHILD, IT DEVELOPS and part of it is because you're so bored you could cry, so a new thing is a New! Thing! and part of it is because, so, after all that work learning to get the hand to the mouth, this morning Eleanor was fussing and squawking and when I went to go peep on her she had gotten two fingers far enough into her mouth to suck on and PUT. HERSELF. BACK. TO. SLEEP.

That is the real reward, even if it only lasted five minutes. And then when I went to get her, she stopped screeching and smiled up at me out of the crib like, Hullo, this is rather embarrassing but I seem to have fallen into a pit? Would you fetch me out? And I was like, Ha ha, little goldfish, I PUT YOU THERE, but you are not far enough developed to remember.

Everything old is new again.

So I've been wearing my maternity clothes, both because SO COMFORTABLE and because they're mostly super-easy to nurse in. But I hate them. so. much. Remember this shirt?

I have it in three colors, and they were the only shirts that fit me near the end and I wanted to burn them, I was so sick of them. But I got un-pregnant and nothing else really fit me except these three shirts and then that batch of v-necks I bought that one time because I am a thinker-aheader.

And sometimes I leave the house and have to wear clothes. And I was all, Booo, to get out of these shirts I'm going to have to go BUY some new shirts and I have ZERO MONEYS, but first let me go see what I have in a box in the garage marked 'Does Not Fit Any More.' I bet it's just a few sweaters.

You guys. I have SO! MANY! SWEATERS! And other shirts too! And JEANS! I put on proper jeans the other day and MERCY ME they were tight, but I did them UP and then WORE THEM. Plus I have at least two pairs of jeans I kept meaning to take in and never did, thank goodness for lazy.

But so when you haul all of your old clothes out and wash them all at once because they smell like garage, you quickly run out of places to hang them.

But then all day you are bustling about the house doing stuff, and running into that shirt and those jeans and being like WHEEE I AM GOING TO GO SHOPPING IN MY OWN CLOSEST. I need to figure out an errand to run, you guys.

Television and I have become great friends.

We started watching the BBC Sherlock and it. is. excellent. The dialogue is sharp and witty and kind of mean. I dig.

But there are only three episodes in the first season and three in the second. It's going to be Downton Abbey all over again, where we whiz through all the available material and then sit around looking at each other like, NOW WHAT.

Also, Benedict Cumberbatch. Most made-up-sounding British name, most elongated Tim-Burton-esque-looking British person.

Spoiler me and I will cut you. We only just finished the cliff-hangery final episode of Season One, and HOLY SHIT.

It isn't rocket surgery.

I am so stoked for when Eleanor can suck on her own hand because THAT is a pacifier I won't have to keep plunking back in. And you guys, we are so. close.


Here?

Here?

How about over here?

Up in here?

Here we...nope. Almost caught it that time, you guys.

Oh no wait, here we...

Just...

Yes.

Up next: keeping it there.

I am an easy mark.

Eleanor has found her smiles and she is WORKING them. I present to you, Eleanor One Week Ago, Being Kissed By Her Aunties. She Is Like, Ugh.

And then Eleanor Last Night, Making Sweet With The Face.

I can't quite put my finger on why, but I like her so much more now.

Please to pass the kleenex

Forgive me. We have had colds. 'We' as in Eleanor and I, not 'we' like the royal we (meaning me) or 'we' like 'Do we have a poopy diaper?' because usually that just refers to Eleanor.

We've been napping in front of the tv a lot.

Like, a lot.

It's super adurrrable but also kind of miserable because neither of us can breathe.

The many faces of Eleanor

Skeptical.

Skeptical, in profile.

Sleepily skeptical.

Disgustedly skeptical.

Skeptical outdoors.

Skeptical while asleep.

All this skepticism is giving her a headache.

Watch this space.

Ok so remember how Eleanor was born with all that hair?

And then a bunch of it fell out, leaving her with a pretty sweet skullet?

Her hair is growing back.

Stay tuned. It'll be like watching grass grow, but with way more dewey brown eyes.

In which I leave the house like a singular human.

Joel and I went to see Mission: Impossible: The One Where The Whole MI Division Is Disavowed And Not Just Ethan Hunt. We left Eleanor with her Gigi and Pop Pop, not just in a crate with some snacky crackers. We are responsible adults.

ANYWAY, that movie is badass. I will accept Jeremy Renner as the new non-Matt-Damon Bourne because of how badass he was. Simon Pegg is lollarious ALL of the times. Tom Cruise made me forget what a loon he is in real life, which is an acting FEAT.

Also, there was a lady-actor whose name I do not know, but about whose part I appreciated several things. Firstamente, she kicks off her heels (which were necessary for Disguise Purposes and not just for Making The Lady-Actor Look Hot) before chasing down the Lady-Baddie.

Secondamente, when she and the Lady-Baddie are duking there is tearing of clothing, AS THERE IS WONT TO BE DURING FISTICUFFS, but it isn't sexy-making. I think, like, a sleeve or something gets torn off, and at the SEAM where sleeves actually TEAR, not across the bosom to expose the...er...bosom.

Thirdamente, when she is in a sexy ballgown (for seduction purposes) and then they leave to go do something stealthy, she CHANGES into something STEALTHY rather than being left ridiculously hanging out in this ballgown until it is dirty and shredded. OTHER MOVIES, TAKE NOTE.

And there are explosions and gadgets and MALFUNCTIONING GADGETS and Jeremy Renner. It is very excellent and you should go.

Not without just cause.

Who's that pretty baby there?

Vain little monkey.

Walk of shame.

Why Miss Eleanor! What are you doing wearing your boyfriend Felix's pajamas?

Did you poop up your back while you were out of the house and forget to bring yourself a change of clothes?

For shame.

February Photo-a-day Challenge

Did I mention I'm doing this?

I am terrible at Doing Things Consistently, but here goes. You can follow me on Instagram (raychraychraych, obviously) and I'll wrap them up here on the 29th if I manage to continue past, like, the 3rd. It is going to be, I confess, very Eleanor-centric.

So far, Day One: Your View Today (And, Let's Face It, Every Day. All Day)

And Day Two: Words (How 9th-Grade-Art-Prompt of them)

Learn to read, bebe. You will like it.

I am ok with this arrangement.

Joel went to the States about a week ago and brought me back a couple of gas station hand pies, because I love them so much. SO MUCH.

And then he went to New York between residency interviews last weekend and brought me back some macarons, because they are on my life list.

I am surrounded by deliciousness.