Amidst the chaos that is Christmas, our little peanut turned 4 months old.
I cant stand it. I want to keep her small forever.
Do I say that every month?? (Check here, here, and here to find out.)
I want so badly for my babies to stay babies forever (Husband does not share this same desperation for baby land for all eternity).
When she was first born I told you that Ladybug was a calm, patient and content baby... and nothing has changed.
Ladybug is happy to sit on a lap (any old lap will do, no attachment problems here) and watch the chaos around her.
She is happy, and smiles pretty much as soon as someone looks at her.
She is loud now, not in a mad baby way... but in a, "pay attention to me, I can be loud too," way.
She does that little song and dance all. day. long.
She loves to use her little pipes, oh and she loves that giraffe too.
She also, like all babies, loves to do this little number.
She's got rhythm huh??
She is also a comedian.
Picture it, it's 3 am... she cries, I roll out of bed, steady myself, rub my eyes, head to her room, look into her crib... and she laughs.
Immediately, without hesitation, she laughs in my face... like, "It is hysterical that if I cry, you come get me every single time Mom!"
I'm laughing too, especially after the 3rd time... oh yeh and she laughs and passes out.
I myself am not so good at the whole insta-sleep thing.
I still do not understand what is so damn funny to my daughter about the middle of the night, but apparently it cracks her up.
She will also bend over backwards, literally, launch herself damn near out of our arms to watch her brother... she loves him.
Last week she sat in her high chair for the first time.
It was a success minus her brother scaling it, and it nearly flipping them both.
I swear these things take one split second to happen.
Needless to say we had a long talk about not climbing the high chair.
Her feet still do this little clapping yoga thing, which makes me warm inside every time she does it.
Her thighs have literally silenced a room full of people.
I call them American Thighs, Husband calls them Milkshake Thighs.
You get the idea, the girl is not missing any meals.
She is a whopping 16.2 pounds now... insane.
Ladybug is exclusively breastfed, having only taken a bottle once when we went to a wedding.
That means, I am solely responsible for Baby Thunder Thighs and apparently have Twinkies in my milk.
For all you baby experts with no kids out there, her pediatrician is thrilled with this fatso breastfed baby, and wouldn't have it any other way... so don't worry, she's not going on "Maury," any time soon.
The pediatrician is also responsible for me putting Ladybug into size three diapers, because she nonchalantly called Ladybug's size two a "diaper thong"... and suggested I go up a size.
Yup, picture it... a diaper thong.
One minute we're talking head circumference, and the next I am picturing my daughter as a high schooler in tight jeans with no panty lines.
If there is a way to slow time, someone please clue me in.
I'll take a screeching happy 4 month old over booty floss any day.