Here's To Silly!

Bean has grown enough to fit and fill her Bean Ts that my sister made.  It's a pretty adorable combination, if I do say so myself.
















I had to post so many pictures for two reasons.  1 - They're too adorable to choose just one.  2 - These are the last pictures that got taken before my camera broke and so may be the last pictures of Bean or of anything for quite a while.  Sigh.  So, now my posts will just be silly rants and descriptions and no cute pictures.  Like, I have more to say about cloth diapers.  I'll say it soon, but when it's not accompanied by a photo of a sweet baby with cloth on her bum it's not nearly as appealing.  Alas, it is all I can do.

The end.

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Have I ever told you how . . . um . . . active Bean is?  She is always moving.  The bigger she gets, the harder she is to hold on to.  Especially since with bigger comes stronger.  Bath time wrangling has become a serious sport.
Strangely, so has nursing.  Sometimes she is calm and it is the sweet, quiet, relaxing time that you read about, well, I don't know where.  I've read about it on a whole variety of blogs.  There's probably books and stuff that talk about it, too.  Maybe reading about breastfeeding isn't really all that common.  It has become so for me.  Anyway, sometimes it's all sweet like that.  Other times it's an adventure.  She talks and growls while she eats.  She flaps her available arm and leg about (This is one reason that covers and I are not friends.  The waving material acts like a flag and actually draws more attention to us.  Bean has yet to comprehend modesty and discretion).  Often it's not her flapping limbs about, but using them to try to climb up me.  She's even hit my collarbone with such force that's she's bruised me (just barely and just once, but still)! 
Also, notice the gripping of the shirt.  That is the hand Wonderman and I used to call "The Modesty Hand" because she would put it up over her face while she ate, which also covered up any part of me that could possibly be showing.  Now it gets called "The Immodesty Hand" because she uses it to grab my shirt and pull it as far out and down as she can. 

Not related to wrangling of any kind, I would just like to make sure you notice the awesome difference in skin color between the two of us.  I know she's mine because I was there when I birthed her, but she isn't quite as obviously (to the untrained eye) mine as she is her father's.  When I had my hair in braids, a friend of mine described my appearance as "ethnically vague."  As much as I identify myself as "white," Bean and I definitely appear to be of not entirely the same ethnicity.  Weird. 

Conclusion:  True love is much more than skin deep.

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Remember how I told you I wasn't really into the whole resolution thing?  Yeah, still not.  Let's be honest, I'm not even great with setting goals for myself (which may be a reason for my general appearance of laziness and undisciplined nature).  However, I have set a goal which I thought was going to be a breeze, but is turning out to be a tad challenging.  It has to do with hair.

Hair?  Really?  I can hear you now.  Don't judge me.  Hair is a big deal in my world.  First off, let's just say that for someone who has lost all of her hair - twice - and who understood, at least intellectually, that she would lose some hair postpartum, I had no idea how hard it would be to see my lovely locks abandoning ship.  Seriously, there is hair everywhere.  Bean has at least one hair on her onesie somewhere or in her fist pretty much all the time.  I try to get them off her and keep them all in one place, namely the round file, but those hairs, they are tricksy.  Anyway, the losing of my hair has caused me some minor trauma. 

Still, before the trauma really hit, I was already making a hair plan.  It's been a delight to have hair again, really it has.  This minor trauma has been nothing compared to the complete baldness I experienced not-really-all-that-long-ago.  So, I certainly revel in my ponytails.  However, I also have not had a specific style since, um, I'm not sure.  I think when we got married it was in a specific-ish style.  That's almost three years.  Right now, it's just been growing for two years.  It's lovely, but untamed to say the least.  While I live in paradise, that is no matter.  It is in a ponytailer of some kind essentially all the time.  I have been planning a post-island trip to the salon almost since we got to the island.  Originally I was going to make it a postpartum trip (don't all new mommies need new hair?). 

Since I got the chance to come back to the island I decided to postpone.  With the postponing came a plan.  I want to donate it.  This may be the only time I have such long hair that is completely untouched by chemicals of any kind.  My sister donated her hair, and I've tried to do everything she's done pretty much since I was born.  It's the curse and the blessing of the little sister, I suppose. 

Here's the thing.  It's not long enough yet.  I don't know how long it will take to get long enough.  I already have started having visions of cutting my own hair into a cute, tousled short style.  I actually think I could do a decent job of it (I've cut my own hair before, you know).  There's a chance we'll leave the island in five weeks.  There's a chance we'll leave in five months (cross your fingers for the months option, really, hair aside it will be SO MUCH better for us). 

Here's how long it was just over a year ago, right after I found out Bean was coming:
Here's how long it is now:
Can I survive the wait?  Did it grow extra fast with Bean brewing, or did it just seem thicker since it wasn't falling out?  Will it actually grow faster now since I'm not supporting another life form, or slower since technically I guess I still am with breastfeeding and all. 

Update:  I thought I had to have 14 inches to donate.  Turns out I just need 10.  That makes it seem a little more do-able.  Still, if I'm within walking distance of an American salon in the next month or two, heaven only knows how strong I will be. 

Conclusion:  I've been right all along.  Goals are lame.

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Wonderman thinks I am brave.  I suppose I am.  See, Bean developed a very strong grip quite some time ago.  Often, when I am holding her, she grips my hair and pulls down on it.  I think it gives her a sense of security.  Here in Dominica, my hair is not nearly so available, as it is almost always pulled up and back.   You would think that would leave Bean with no security.  This is not true.  She is content to grip my earring and pull down to gain her sense of well-being.  An easy solution would be to forgo grip-able earrings, but they're not nearly as cute or fun.  Beyond cute and fun, big earring have sort of defined me for most of my pierced life.  If I'm not quite ready to give that up, does that mean I have not fully transitioned to "Mommy" yet?  If I give up earrings, do I give up on me?  Heh.  What started as a light-hearted post now seems all tortured and angst-ridden.  Meh.  I just like me some bling.  Is that so wrong?
(Is it mind-boggling to anyone else how such a gorgeous child can have such a silly picture taken of her?)


Conclusion: Some things are worth risk, and only the risk-taker can make that judgment.

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