Happy?

Urghhh....

Fine Sarah.

You win.

Per your request after yesterday's post, this morning I agreed to allow BabyMama to shoot the following images.

This is me and Apple 2.

She met the same fate as Apple 1.

Only this time it was breakfast not lunch that was her demise.

Happy?

Then came lunch.

Last week I had my first play date.

Of sorts.

It was at my house.

With one of my fav's.

My BFF, Apple.

She's delish.

I could just eat her up.

But of course I didn't because you don't eat your BFF.

That's just plain weird.

So Apple came out of the cold for a visit.

And we had a "Gala" of a good time together.

Just me and Apple.

Not this girl, though, just to be clear.


Gwyneth's girl*.

Not her.

Another Apple.

First we cuddled.

But that got awkward pretty quickly.

So we decided to roll around on the floor for awhile.

Until Mama freaked out about all the dog hair sticking to us.

"Disgusting," she said.

Then we played "Little People".

Both Apple and I thoroughly enjoyed the swing part.

Even though I never got a turn.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Good times.

After the "Little People" fun we climbed.

On chairs.

On couches.

Into the Bay Window in Mama's craft room.

Onto the dining room table.

And finally onto the kitchen counter where one of us accidentally fell off and got a bruise.

That silly Apple, she practically bruises like a peach!

All I can say is I didn't push her. She just rolled off all on her own.

I told her to stay put, but she didn't listen.

I even tried to "appeal" to her sense of self preservation.

It's like she didn't have ears to hear.

After that incident BabyMama insisted my friend and I sit down together.

I gave her another cuddle to make her feel better.

Poor little Apple.

Then came lunch.



And that was the end of my play date.



Note: Ummm...nope that's not actually me eating Apple, that just some random photograph of a cute apple eating baby courtesy of Natalie Boog at the Sydney Morning Herald. Yup, you guess it, BabyMama failed to photograph my first playdate. She's hanging her head in shame at this very moment. Some people's parents!

*Gwyneth's Girl photo courtesy of justjared.buzznet.com

Dear God, It's me. BlogBaby.

Dear God,

It's me.

BlogBaby.

You may remember me from BabyMama's womb.

Circa 2007.

Currently residing in the Yellow Door House.

Down here in Canada.

Got me?

Oh Good.

Um...I have a bit of a favor to ask.

Don't worry, I'll pay you back.

10 fold.

Promise.

I'm hoping you might be able to help a girl out.

BabyMama tells me that "All Things are Possible with Jesus".

And I'm hoping she's not just making that up because....

I need a thing.

One of these.

Please.

Not for me.

For BabyMama and SugarDaddy.

Because they are doing the best that they can but still....

I kinda like having bread for my PB&J sandwiches.

And also milk to drink.

And something other than pasta for dinner again.

That would be nice.

Plus I'd like to keep my room.

My room in this house.

Because we love it here.

It doesn't need to even be a big giant money tree.

A money shrub will do.

1 dollar bills are fine.

So if there is any way you could, you know, make this little thing possible, I would be truly grateful.

And also I would like a pony.

And BabyMama to stop crying and wringing her hands.

Thanks.

Your friend forever,

Don't make me act my age. I'm warning you.

Dearest BabyMama and SugarDaddy,

I don't ask for much.

I am a content little lady, aren't I?

In fact, you would be hard pressed to find a 22 month old baby who has been easier to take care of than me.

I've never once woken up crying.

Not once.

Not in the middle of the night at 3 weeks old.

Not after a nap at 12 months old.

Not ever.

I am a happy baby.

I find joy in every moment.

2:00 am and hungry? No reason to wake everyone up, a gentle cooing noise should suffice to wake a light sleeping Mama next to me.

Heck, I didn't even mind the sideways-laying-down-breast-feeding the first 6 months of my life.

I'm easy that way.

Wanna put me to bed early.

No problem.

Wanna run some errands with me.

Sure.

Make me wait an hour for lunch while you shop.

I'll adjust.

Need to sleep in because you were up late watching PVR episodes of "The Office".

Absolutely. Don't mind me while I play quietly in my crib.

Because I am the best baby ever.

You agree, right?

Of course you do.

So I'm sure you won't mind if I make a few simple requests, will you.

Because I haven't given you an ounce of grief (other than my constant eating of dangerous, gross, or inedible items)....oh and that one time involving the knife.

But other than that.....I'm practically a saint.

Which is why you will acquiesce to my demands er...requests.

Such as:

1. You will allow me to wear my ratty-ol'-too-small jammie shirt with the tacky Big Bird picture on the front anytime I chose to do so. Even if that means every day all day. Even if we are going out in public. Even if it is covered in oatmeal. Even if it clashes with everything and makes me look like I stole White Trash Barbies lounging outfit right off her back. Yes, even then.

2. You will allow me to kiss and cuddle my glass doll who plays lullaby music - affectionately known as "Music Baby". You will allow me to kiss and cuddle Music Baby a minimum of 10 times a day or whenever I point and "EH?" at her, whichever is greater.

3. You will provide me with 57 opportunities to "Cula" (color) each day. Including weekends. Because true creativity never takes a break people. And also I like how the red tastes. Delish. Failure to comply will result in repeated attempts to steal a pen, permanent marker, highlighter or sharp object with which I will either color or gouge the walls depending on how I'm feeling at the moment.

4. You will put the special bum cream on me each and every time you change my diaper. Not the good stuff. Not the stuff we have lots of. I want the special kind with the ingredients I don't need and can't get more of. That kind. Thanks.

5. Each time the fridge is opened you will allow me to select the random food stuff of my choosing and attempt to prepare said random food stuff into something delectable. For example, point pickles.....point apples. Now combine. Yummy.

6. There will be story time every hour of the day. You will say the animal noises in that hysterical voice - you know, the one SugarDaddy uses. You will vary the cadence of your speech and captivate me with the mastery of your story delivery. That mean "say it like you mean it" and with feeling please and thank you. You will not skip pages thinking I won't notice. I do. You will not deviate from the original story in order to entertain yourself and break up the monotony of reading the same 10 books every day. Story time will take place whenever I so choose. Being in the bathroom does not cancel out story time. Neither does cooking, showering, cleaning, blogging, driving or otherwise.

7. Each morning upon waking you will remove and carry all 100 stuffies and 15 blankets from my room and bring them downstairs for morning cuddle time. The 100 stuffies and 15 blankets must all be touching me at the same time during cuddle time. You will sit with me and the 100 stuffies and 15 blankets while I drink my milk bottle and not attempt to feed yourself or BigBoy. You will continue to hold the bottle for me even though I am perfectly capable of doing so myself. Also, you will ensure my milk is warmed to a perfect 27 degrees. And I prefer the glass bottle instead of the plastic one.

8. I decree that all hairbrushes have now been banned from our house. They pull my hair and hurt my scalp and I won't take any more of it. If you come anywhere near me with that evil thing I will promptly put my bum in the air and my head on the ground and stay in an upside down V position until the hairbrush is put away. Preferably in the garbage. I'll tolerate the daily shampoos, conditioners and leave-in conditioners but the hair brushing is taking it too far.

9. You will walk me at least once a day for 1/2 hour. Even if it's cold. Or rainy. Or early. Or inconvenient. You may also bring the dog. As long as she understands whose leading this parade. Toot toot.

10. There will be playtime with SugarDaddy everyday before bed. If you expect me to quietly walk myself to my room while bypassing the playroom where SugarDaddy and BigBoy are engaged in good times, you are seriously delusional. SugarDaddy is uber fun. And I love him. So play time isn't negotiable. No matter how late it is. Or whether I napped today or not. Or even if SugarDaddy is "beat".

You may feel free to discuss these "requests" amongst yourselves but be warned that I expect immediate implementation of these new regulations.

Don't make me act my age.

I'm warning you.

My Mom says some days are like that. Even here in Canada.

Yesterday I went for a walk.

In the woods.

The woods around our house.

The sticks, if you will.

I crunched leaves. (sometimes with my mouth)

Scarred squirrels.

Discovered a single shoe from about 1972.

By the looks of it.

Poked moss covered stumps.

Attempted to catch falling leaves.

Fell down.

Gave the Paparazzi the stare down.

Wrestled BabyMama to the ground then decided she would make a good pillow and pretended to nap on her.

Examined the sun rays coming through the tall trees.

Reveled in the melodic silence.

Picked my nose.

Climbed rocks.

Swung an enormous stick.

Chased my shadow.

Giggled.

And finally ran home.

It was a good day.

My Mom says some days are like that.

Even here in Canada.

You should know better, shouldn't you??

Dearest BabyMama,

Seriously, what were you thinking woman??

Are you a glutton for punishment??

Do you have some sort of propensity for self-destruction??

Do you not have common sense??

ARE YOU CRAZY??

Why?

How?

Okay, I know HOW...but still WHY??

Is this something that can also be blamed on your BabyMama - my "Non-Grandma"?

Or is this all on you?

Are you bored?

Not enough excitement in your days?

Or is it too much excitement?

Or maybe this is just a ploy?

Is it a ploy??

To avoid having to cook, maybe?

We all know you are no Julia Child.

Overgrown child, YES.

Julia Child, NO.

Or maybe it's a ploy to stay in bed or on the couch all day.

And make SugarDaddy do everything again.

Just like that day last week.

Wednesday.

When you had the "Left Slide" and not-so-drunken-spins going on.

And poor sweet SugarDaddy had to carry the home load in addition to his work load.

Is this like that?

Because if it is, you are in some serious trouble.

With SugarDaddy.

And also with me.

And BigBoy.

I know you didn't ask for this. But still.

You should know better, shouldn't you??

Don't all mother's know better?


Who doesn't know you can get SALMONELLA POISONING from wiping your newly washed dinner plate with the same dishcloth you just wiped you raw chicken handling hands on.

Heck, even I KNOW THAT!

And I'm a baby.

Sheesh woman.

GET.IT.TOGETHER.

Now. Please.

And thank you.

And yes, I will hold your hair for you.

And bring you more toilet paper.

And a blanket.

And some Tylenol.

And water.

And a kiss better.

Even though you totally did this to yourself.

A small but discernible difference

For the record my Mama is NOT ditsy she's dizzy.

There is a small but discernible difference.

When I say she's dizzy, I mean she's spinning.

On the inside.

But still on the outside.

Although the dizziness does make her fall over occasionally.

She says she feels like "the whole world is sliding to the left".

Weird, huh?!

Poor Mama was a mess yesterday.

Poor SugarDaddy had to stay home and take care of her.

And us.

And everything else.

Including the dog.

Today, she's less spinny but still sliding left a little in her mind.

Made it quite difficult for her to take pictures of me the last few days.

HA HA.

Oh sorry, that's not very nice of me.

*muttered under breath*
maybe now she'll have to stop taking pictures of me

Wanna see what she shot?

They are definitely a little off her usual perspective.

It's weird but somehow it worked, I think.


What do you think?

Weird or good?

It's not a national holiday or anything.

I probably should have written this post sooner.

Like on the actual occasion.

September 25th.

It was a special day.

Not for you probably.

It's not a national holiday or anything.

Just an anniversary.

Of 10 years.

Of marriage.

Between these two:


Cute aren't they?

But of course I am late writing this.

I'm blaming it on the dog.

She ate my keyboard.

Or something.

But anyhoo...

September 25th was the day.

Way back in 1999.

When He and She said "We do".

Or something.

A lot has changed since that day.

Like SugarDaddy's waist line.

And the size of BabyMama's butt.

Yup, they've both grown in physical space and maybe even a little in that space between their ears.

So for those of you who have yet to hit this milestone, let me give you a sense of what 10 years of togetherness lots like here at Casa De BlogBaby.


HE:

-is always the first to say sorry. Even when he doesn't mean it.

-still thinks a bum pinch is the ultimate sign of affection.

-has surrendered control of the remote, his schedule, the finances and himself into the capable hands of his "Life Manager" aka. The Wife. (or at least most of the time)

-gives more than he ever asks in return in love, affection, romance, time, and presents.

-binds our family together with exceptional patience, strength of character, humility of spirit, and fortitude to press through hard times.

-doesn't ask for things he has no hope in getting. Like extended time to himself or frequent "special cuddle" time with BabyMama.

-sees all the best and worst qualities in Her but chooses only to focus on the best showing BabyMama an endless supply of God's Grace.

-is a pillar of strength on which the whole family leans.

-tells Her she's sexy and beautiful and wanted every day in word or deed.


SHE:

-attempts to rotate the world around what matters to her.

-would move Heaven and Earth for the family she loves.

-takes far more than she gives but gives everything she has.

-now serves more than KD for dinner.

-remembers to ask rather than tell.

-makes sure He has clean underwear every day.

-steals his socks.

-reminds him of what matters and encourages him not to take health, safety or happiness for granted.

-continues to pray.

-continues to wrestles with her inner demons.

-eventually says sorry and always means it.


THEY:

-Only ever fight about things that do not matter. All important issues were resolved in years 1-8.

-Kiss less but with more passion than ever.

-Rally together to conquer any adversary.

-Clean together.

-Play together.

-Laugh together.

-Parent together.

-Vacation separately when necessary.

-Prefer not to talk in the car to avoid arguments about where we are going or what were doing or who's having attitude with whom.

-Keep trying to be better people both separately and together.

-are a perfect example of imperfect people held together by God's Perfect Grace.

Dooogggiie

Doggie

Doggie

DOGGIE

Dogg-i-e-e-e

Dooogggiie

DOOOGGGGGGIIIEEEEEEEE

Dogg......oh um sorry.

I'm getting carried away again.

With my new word.

Doggie.

Rolls right off the tongue now.

Say it with me, will you.

D-O-G-G-I-E

Fun, huh.

Okay, maybe not fun for you, but I'm practically jumping out of my chair with excitement on this end.

Doggie.

Word number 9.

Added to Mommy, Daddy, Apple, Banana, Tess, Yeah, Hi, and "oak" which clearly means "walk".

Hold on a second while I pat myself on the back.

*pause*

*pause*

insert patting noises here

Okay, that felt good.


Anyhoo....

So I know I'm a pretty lame blogger these days.

Remember the days when I was young and had enough free time to post nearly once a day?

Good times.

I guess this kind of thing happens when you get "old".

When you move from being a baby into the scary world of toddlerhood.

And you have to start taking care of yourself and not looking to mom and dad to do everything for you all the time.

Like taking off your own clothes and brushing your teeth.

Yup, it's a big scary world out there for this 21 month old.

Before you know it I'll be using my words to express my feelings instead of balling my fists in a fit of rage.

Growing up is a lot of work.

So let's take a second to savor the moment.

I'll only be 21 months once, right?

Here's a few new images of BigBoy and I to commemorate this very short but special time in this babies life.

Hope you enjoy them!

You can blame yourself.

Dearest BabyMama,

I didn't want to have to do this.

In fact, I've been trying to avoid it for quite awhile now.

But I can't.

Not anymore.

You can blame yourself.

In fact, you should.

It's all your fault.

And I'm not happy about it.

Clearly.

Which is why I am writing you this letter.

To finally say what I have been thinking.

To clear the air.

Because we can't go on like this.

It's too much.

All of it.

I can't take it anymore.

So you need to hear me out on this one.

Please?

Are you listening?

With both ears?

At the same time?

Good.

Ahem.

I don't want to be your BUBBALou Bands Model anymore.


NO MORE.

Yes, of course I LOVE your headbands, how can you even ask me that question?!

It's not that.

They are hip.

And cool.

And awesome.

Clearly.

That's not the problem.

The problem is that thing you keep pointing at me.

The one that looks like this.

It scares me.

It bugs me.

It's constantly looking at me.

And I don't like it.

Not one bit.

A baby needs to be able to play without feeling like she's being watched by the paparazzi.

Now I know how the Gosselin Kids must feel.

And the Jolie-Pitts.

And Octomom's brood for the rest of their lives.

It's no fun.

That's for sure.

I just need to be me, you know.

Without worrying about getting dirty and ruining your shots.

Without the pressure of making a cute face or head tilt.

Without worrying about what I'm wearing and if it looks good on film.

Don't get me wrong.

With the right motivation (read bribery with candy and pretzels), I'll still model for you.

Sometimes.

But I'm putting my foot down now, I can't be the only one.

I need someone else to shoulder this burden for me.

Because I fear that balancing this employee/employer and baby/mama dynamic is hurting our relationship.

Meaning....I'm starting not to like you anymore.

So before we have to trot ourselves off to family counseling where I will be forced to share my side with a series of grunts, unintelligible words and frantic pointing, I think we should rethink things.

Come up with a new business plan involving less of me and more of some other adorable little babies.

Preferably ones with lots of patience.

Who live or are willing to travel to or near Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.

To become the next face of BUBBALou Bands.

And get a free photoshoot.

And give this little Bubbalou a break.

No modeling experience or hair necessary!!

Thanks for your understanding Mama.








P.S. Yes I'm serious Mama, and you should start accepting head shots now for my replacement. Check my e-mail box (theblogbaby(at)gmail(dot)com) or the comments to this post for prospective candidates. Thanks.