Funny Faces
These are the photos of Louisette that I find funny – often just because of her facial expression. Only the birthday cake photo was posed – the rest just happened.
0-1 month:
No! Not without makeup on!
Ninja baby only pretends to sleep.
Fart face.
What on EARTH is that pink flailing thing, and why is it following me?!?
The eternal, “Huh?”
1-2 months:
Mmm, tasty.
Mwa haha! They’ll never catch me!
Suspicious baby.
Oh no! They’re on to me!
Okay, this one was posed (or was it?)
I respectfully disagree.
2-3 months:
And this one (the hard part is always getting the zip done up, am I right?)
That bag was a lifesaver while travelling (it’s designed as a stroller insert, and worked great as a handbag/cot).
I’m watching you, Mr Elephant. Don’t make any sudden moves.
Could I be any more ladylike?
Music! Flashing lights! Arg!
3-4 months:
Winner!
Nom nom.
I’m so nervous chewing my nails just isn’t enough.
Holding Hands With A Boy.
I would have got away with it too, if it wasn’t for those darn kids.
A-a-almost got it. . .
Why does that giraffe have a rainbow shoved through its skull?
Flipper baby
Okay, I can explain! See there was this thing, and then I just. . .
Yo, bring me a cold one, wouldya?
First dates are always so awkward. What am I meant to say?
Pfft.
4-5 months:
What could possibly go wrong?
Look what I caught!
Why won’t the book open?
Darn it, I KNEW I’d forgotten something!
They grow old so fast.
Sneaking up on the enemy.
Drop bear.
I can eat the caterpillar, and my hand, and the world – simultaneously.
Sadly, her actual hair.
5-6 months:
Fascinated by her cousin.
Why do you want to eat the table, sweetheart?
Because it’s there.
Obviously hiding SOMETHING.
Kissing frogs.
Easy to hold onto, not so easy to put in her mouth.
And the feeling is mutual.
Whatever works.
Mirror, mirror – who on earth is in there?
Suspicion versus further fascination.
Dressed as the hungry caterpillar, and hungry for the hungry caterpillar book. (The combination of outfit and book was deliberate.)
Yeaaaaahh!
6-7 months:
and three seconds earlier:
How does she already know she wants lollies? She’s not on solids yet.
Nom nom.
Saucepan!!!!! Woooohooooo!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks, poppy. I’ll be taking that now.
Would you keep down that racket?
And then the Irishman said, “I’ll be having mine with potatoes!”
Mine.
Once she could crawl, it suddenly got very difficult to keep her in frame.
But I LIKE drinking this way.
Wassamatter?
8-9 months:
Nom nom.
Mine.
Hark! Is that Prince Charming, come to take me away on his white horse?
Just not that impressed.
Box!!!! Wooo!!
Mister? Mister, wake up!
Her natural hairstyle.
Being a baby takes a lot of concentration.
Nom nom.
Yes, she’s blowing a raspberry (her idea; she invented the technique without ever seeing it done). Yes, that’s a grand piano in the background.
Nom nom.
I believe I mentioned she suddenly became a great deal harder to photograph. This represents 90% of the photos I’ve taken ever since.
Nom nom.
Buddy? Are you okay up there?
9-10 months:
Punk princess.
Pushing boundaries.
Still working on that “eating” technique.
Bad hair day.
Yes, she’s genuinely asleep with her face on her own legs.
Eating a peg and apparently kind of angry about it.
What do you mean she’s not a chew toy? (This is after repeated attempts at sucking on her littlest cousin – not all of them unsuccessful.)
This is such a drag.
Is it coffee time or what?
Talk to the hand.
Baby death-glare.
Truth in advertising (read her shirt).
Mmm. . . coke. . .
And THIS is how I get dow—arg!
About time somebody cleaned up around here.
10-11 months:
Hurrah!
Eeevil baby.
A little but of shush, please. I’m talking.
Ten seconds later:
Leggo of me, Poppy! I’m doing fine.
Would she gain the ability to reach the presents before Christmas? It was a close-run thing.
11-12 months:
Nome nom. 
Nom nom.
Who says you need a dog to tidy up?
Marry me, Justin Bieber!!!!
I ordered my latte five minutes ago. Where IS that incompetent new assistant of mine?
Is there something on my face?
Aargg, noooo!!!
Aaaalmost there. . . .
Not happy, Jan.
Cleanliness is next to annoyingness.
I gotta drink up before they find me.
Eureka! One year old!
The Four Scariest Picture Books
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but these are freaking scary.
#4 “My Animals” by Xavier Denaux
Looks nice, doesn’t it? The entire book is pictures of animals, done mainly in black and white (with a feature colour here or there) and clever little holes through the pages where the eye of one animal is also the bellybutton of another. That kind of thing. It’s Louisette’s favourite book.
One tiny problem. . . things get pretty macabre pretty quickly.
That’s right: the eye of the sheep is COMING TO GET YOU.
#3 “Teddy the Policeman”
Great! A simplified way to tell kids about trusting policemen to look after them. How nice. Or not.
This policeman is prepared. But what kind of miscreant needs the automatic application of handcuffs?
That’s right kids (especially YOU, Timmy: I see that tell-tale dirt on your face). The policeman is much, much bigger than you and he’s going to take you away.
#2: God Made Me
Now THIS is obviously going to be a book about how God made you special and unique. . .
. . . and how he can steal your face at any time. Just because.
#1: God Made Colours
Staying on the all-powerful deity theme, another brightly-coloured offering from the Christian Bookshop.
As you can tell, Louisette loves it (either than or she is trying desperately to MAKE IT STOP). The book goes through a number of colours, then ends by bringing it all together in one picture:
Just one teeny tiny question: WHY IS THE SKY BLEEDING???
It’s obviously not because the picture had too much blue – there’s barely any blue at all. It’s because God is on his way to smote all the naughty little girls and boys.
Sleep tight.
Kissing Frogs
They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs before  you find your prince. Louisette is getting started early.
Strange Kitten
So Ana has decided that our bathroom is her favourite place to be.
The bath is fine. The sink is sort of fine. Eccentric, sure. Slightly odd when a giant fuzzy thing emerges above the rim while you’re on the loo at 2am – certainly. But it’s better than this:
Here’s hoping it’s just one of those phases a girl goes through. . .
Next week we’ll be in HONG KONG! Yay us! Which also means our house and catsitters will be dealing with this for the next two weeks. 🙂 And of course I’ll be blogging about all the awesome stuff we do, including a visit to a pirate’s cave.
That’s not a poo-splosion, THIS is a poo-splosion!
I rarely use exclamation marks. This one is, believe me, deserved. Time for a daily awesomeness that uses the OTHER meaning of “awesome”.
Alternate title: The Bum-Gun.
Picture the scene: It’s 5:00am and all is quiet except for a stirring infant and her mother; a woman light-headed and blurry from lack of sleep. It’s time for a feed and – judging by the smell – a nappy change.
The mother cuddles the infant and places her on the change table. She skillfully scoops up a very full load of nappy without letting it spill and stain the baby’s clothes or wrap. She drops it in the nappy bin and reaches for the wipes with a smirk of self-congratulation.
That’s when it happens.
Pow! Blam! Squirt!
A stream of liquid poo shoots up (yes, up) and out (yes, out) at a 45 degree angle (yes, a 45 degree angle) hitting the mother’s hair and spraying across the carpet and furniture.
The mother emits an inarticulate noise of shock and awe. She freezes, thinking, “Did that just happen?”
It did. Oh yes, it did. There is no mistaking the angle of attack: The evidence lies, warm and pungent, half a metre above the scene of the crime. In my hair. So much for gravity.
Five centimetres to the left, and I’d have copped it in the mouth.
Is this the face that conceals a startling secret weapon?
It is. Oh yes, it is.
You know you’re a mum when. . .
-you find yourself washing dishes at 3am, because you “had a spare moment”.
-ditto blogging.
-ditto brushing your teeth.
-when you lie down to sleep, a drill sergeant in your head says, “Sleep! Now! Hurry up! Stop wasting time and sleep! NOW!”
-you can eat spaghetti one-handed.
-you already have four different hairstyles that don’t require a mirror. Or a brush.
-you never cry over spilt milk – heck, you don’t even wash your shirt until it’s been a few days.
-you look at other people’s kids and think, “Boy, they look heavy.”
-personal grooming is a privilege, not a right.
-the same does not stand for personal hygeine.
-well, not on the days you leave the house, anyways.
-you miss your baby when she’s asleep.
-even crying is cute – sometimes.
Adorable Proof of Incompetent Parents
Before I start – I know there are three types of people reading this blog, so here are my messages for each of you:
1. Regular readers who are really not that interested in babies – never fear. In a week or two your normal schedule shall resume (in fact I’ll be posting the third Philip Reeve book review this Friday).
2. Friends and relatives who want to know what’s happening with CJ and I and baby Louisette – welcome! Wednesdays will be devoted to Louisette from now until several years into the future, so feel free to come back once a week (or whatever – there’s also a “baby talk” and a “parenthood” tag so you can find all Louisette’s entries fast – some entries aren’t tagged yet, but I’ll eventually go back and fix that). Also, please see two paragraphs below.
3. Regular readers who are loving the baby drama – you’re welcome. I haven’t actually read a single comment since I went into labour, but I’ll get there eventually, and enjoy them when I do (sidebar: I haven’t even dared log on to facebook, and have instead been sending updates from afar).
THANK YOU so much to. . . well, everyone I know and don’t know. . . for not visiting. I know some of you are finding it really hard not being allowed to drop by, or call, or even SMS, but it’s making a world of difference to CJ and Louisette and above all to me. I really can’t handle even receiving phone calls at the moment, and I’m loving the very special closeness between the three members of my family. Please don’t feel excluded, either – my own brother hasn’t seen Louisette yet, and my sister (who was there assisting at the birth!) did not even get to hold her for several hours. I will eventually let people in (bit by bit) so if you’re desperate to see Louisette ASAP please email me, and I’ll make sure you’re one of the first.
In the meantime, I’ll be blogging more details every day – hopefully that will prevent anyone worrying or feeling completely ignorant of what’s happening.
While I remember – Louisette weighed in at 4.15 kilos. No wonder any kind of late-pregnancy movement felt like someone was punching me in the stomach! Thank goodness I had no idea how big she was.
When I woke up this morning, this is what I saw:
She was so beautiful it took my breath away. (And yes, all you people who see nothing but a squidgy face with bags under the eyes – don’t panic: I’m still my cynical self and I’m perfectly aware that to you she’s mostly a poo-creating machine at present.) I’d like to title this picture “Adorable Proof of Parental Incompetence” for the following reasons:
1. See that cloth not quite obscuring her face? We put it in the cot to cover up a mild mess. This indicates more than mere laziness – it’s a suffocation hazard (what with it covering her face and all – I pushed it out of the way to take the photo). What bad, naughty parents we are.
2. See that arm completely not inside her white swaddling wrap? That’s because neither CJ nor I were ever able to wrap her up in the enclosed, womb-like way that newborns crave. Within minutes, she’d always have an arm out and flailing uncomfortably (we saw the midwife this morning and she re-taught us the right method, which is actually now working fine).
3. See how the arm is hanging wildly free of the bassinet? That’s because we placed her in the bassinet rather off-centre, so I could reach her more easily when she fussed in the night. Since the bassinet rocks, she slid slowly but surely down the slope until she landed up against the bars at a 45 degree angle. None of the baby books SPECIFICALLY prohibit sending one’s infant to sleep at peculiar angles, but I’m pretty sure it’s not recommended.
Before you start reassuring me with your tales of the time you accidentally stuck your three-day-old in the oven instead of their cot, don’t worry: Both CJ and I feel oddly peaceful and happy, and we’re not-so-secretly pretty damn pleased with ourselves as both people and parents. Save your reassurance for the child services man ringing your door bell right now.
Here’s Louisette meeting her cousin (my sister’s daughter, hence her privileged visitor status) for the first time:
I’m just about to start on tomorrow’s blog entry: the full story of how the labour went (told as gently as possible to keep my G/PG rating). There were some interesting moments (including the moment when the midwife took leave of her usual good sense to say, “This baby is going to be REALLY BIG!”)
Miscellaneous Monday
I got nothing today, so here’s someone else’s brilliant blog entries:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/texas.html
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/03/how-fish-almost-destroyed-my-childhood.html
Two tales by John Scalzi
For today’s miscellaneous Monday, here are the links to two comical short stories by writer and blogger John Scalzi.
Interview with the nativity innkeeper
And here’s a bonus cat pic, taken as I did some winter writing:
Felicity Banks 