Here's To Silly!

This has nothing to do with my hippie card.

At least once a day, Bean and I look in the mirror and I say some version of this:  "Do you see the baby in the mirror?  Look at the baby in the mirror.  That's such a cute baby in the mirror, huh?  Can you say 'hi' to the baby in the mirror?"  After repeating the phrase "baby in the mirror" that many times, about 98% of the time I end up with the chorus from this song in my head:
It's not a bad song.  In fact, it's kind of a good song.  It's inspiring and all.  I still don't love having it in my head all day, every day.  I'm not exactly sure how to acquaint Bean with her mirror self without getting it in my head, however.  And so it continues.

Conclusion:  The King of Pop continue to reign.

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First off - strollers.  We bought an umbrella stroller from some friends who were leaving the island so we would have "something," just in case.  I tried it out a few weeks back.  Bean loved it.  Until she got absolutely sun-fried.  I wisely saw some pros and some cons (the decision to use it came about because I needed to go to campus and help out with a fundraiser and needed more movement than the sling would give me but wouldn't have anywhere to put Bean, so I figured it would work to just have her hang out sitting in the stroller for a while.  That part of it worked like a charm.  So did the quietly strolling her to sleep while we waited for Wonderman to finish his business up on campus so he could walk home with us).  Still, the flaming red skin kept at bay all further thoughts of strolling.  Until I got the heat rash from hell all down my front after wearing her in the sling through a long, hot day (I mean, everyone with boobs gets at least a little boob sweat, right?  The sling takes that to the Nth degree and then gets it running all down my belly and then holds it there).  I realized that another semester (in the summer) here without a stroller might not go well.  I contacted my sister-in-law who had offered us her jogging stroller clear back in December (I turned it down, holding firmly to my hippie ideals and thinking I didn't want to "deal with" a stroller), who told me she had kept it, just waiting for me to want it.  Ooooh, that made me feel angry? sheepish? GRATEFUL.  Anyway, it's on its way (with a camera in its pocket - hooray!!!).  It's big and bulky and folds down to a very small size (i.e. about equivalent to the size of Rhode Island).  It's exactly what I imagined I would never own.  But it's exactly what I need (just today as I walked home with a sleeping baby in the sling and about 30 pounds of groceries in my hands I thought, I really need a stroller, even if it's just to put the groceries in - they can make the 20 min. walk home seem so much longer).

I'm already having separation anxiety, just thinking about putting Bean in a stroller instead of a sling (this has made me wonder if attachment parenting in my case is more about me not being able to be separated from Bean that about her needing me).  I can't imagine having her that far away from me for that long, that often.  I am, quite literally, very attached to her.  I also have a strange sense of pride when I get asked "You don't have a stroller, do you?  I've never seen you use one."  I also know that I get recognized because of my beautiful sling and the adorable baby with the aqua-colored sunhat walking all over town, if not for my own stunning beauty.  Once I get a stroller, I'll just blend in with all the other mommies.  The American mommies, anyway.  Very few Dominicans use prams, as they call them.  They don't wear their babies, either.  They just carry them.  That seems difficult and wildly impractical to me, but it is the way of things.  Anyway, I'll only have my own good looks to set me apart, and in the tropics in the summer time, even those get muddled a bit.  Sigh.  Here's to the ladies who stroll!

Conclusion:  Humble Pie isn't nearly as good as dutch apple or lemon meringue, but apparently it's quite nutritious.

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Guess what?  It turns out that I only have time to keep up with reading all the blogs I've added to my reader or to post on my own blog.  Should you be someone who notices when something shows up here, you are aware of what my choice has been lately.  Sigh.  Can I blame part of that on my lack of a camera with which to take adorable pictures of my sweet love, Bean?  She is my inspiration and all.  That's at least part of the problem.  The other part is just me being swamped with reading other people's stuff.  Not only do I do it for educational purposes, but I also have a group of imaginary virtual friends, see.  They're real people, but I like to imagine they're my friends.  They are awesome.  My sister says to comment on their blogs and we can become real friends, but I am not very good at that yet.  I've made a few forays out of my lurking corner, but no fast friendships of eternal consequence have emerged.  Still, I feel obligated (wildly curious?) to know how things are going on their side of the world.  Plus I have to know what my sister/cousin/aunt/college roommate is posting.  It's all pretty important.  Anyway, here I am.  And I'm having a bit of a crisis.  Wonderman says I'm going to have to turn in my hippie card.  There are a few issues at hand.  Updates coming soon.  Probably.

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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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