Begin with one seven pound baby, preferably freshly fed, changed, and fashionably accessorized...
....and swaddle until arms no longer flail...
...and pacify with binky or pinky finger until cheeks turn a golden-rose.
Serve warm, with lots of snuggles.
The little pickle cupcake had a lovely day today, which included a conga line of adoring visitors, a new big girl bed (no more baby bird toaster!), and an increase in her feeding amount. And with that increase came the inevitable poovalanche that signaled that at least some of that milk that Mommy's dribbling down the front of her onesie is making the full trek through her digestive system. Ava's so much better at doing baby things than Mommy is at doing a lot of Mommy things.
No matter how experienced you are at baby care, fumbles are still inevitable. For instance, when I returned from scarfing down my cafeteria Ruben sandwich (mad props to the ACH sandwich wizard, btw!), Daddy and Pawpaw and the nice day nurse had just finished turning Ava's bedclothes and general area upside down in a frantic search for a missing pooball that was believed to have rolled away. Much to the relief of all involved, it was found concealed in the fold of her discarded diaper. Phew.
And speaking yet AGAIN of poo, I think we're going to tuck in a beat earlier than usual so we don't feel like it tomorrow. We're getting so little sunlight on our skin, I think that we're growing pale and sparkly.
I'll leave you with this snippet of wisdom from the lactation room bulletin board:
....AND one more bonus picture of Ava's new crib, which I am gleefully turning into her own gypsy wagon:
I love the added fabric!
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