I was looking through past posts to see what I was up to last year this time, and I was posting one of these!
Outside my window: The crabapple we had just planted this time last year, named Fertilitree in honor of our pregnancy, is vibrant fuchsia. I had this swell idea to take a picture of the tree each year with Alexandra, Fertilibaby herself, in front of it, to show the progress. Here they are looking loverly.
Since Allie has outgrown her carrier and we can't do trail hiking without it, Mike and I have been taking walks in the richy-rich neighborhoods around us, where we can take her stroller. Rather than drooling over their homes, I have been drooling over their landscaping, and I want to plant about 27 of these trees on our lot. But that might be a tad costly, so Mike suggested plant piracy. He says it's not stealing if you call it piracy.
I am thinking: About the insurance claim for my surgery 9 months ago, about the dishes in the sink, about all the things I'd like to get done this weekend...in short, about nothing in particular.
From the kitchen: I'm very proud to report that I bought, cooked, and ate real food this week. (Last night was chicken breasts with mushrooms and bacon in an almond sauce.) The baby, on the other hand, is polite but firm in her refusal to let any sustenance other than milk pass her lips.
I am wearing: Hmm...Where did this question even come from? It sounds a little 900-number, no? But if you must know, I'm wearing my sister's hand-me-down Roxy shirt. Even at 33, I still have the great privilege of wearing her clothes once she's moved on from them. But this leads me to another question: At what age must you stop wearing Roxy clothing? Maybe the fact that this shirt is an XL, and I'm an average sized woman should be a hint (that they were made for baby midgets).
I am reading: My first thought upon reading this one was, "Oh yeah, books, I remember those." My entertainment has been of the Hulu persuasion of late. I have a stack of books covered in dust and calling my name, but I am forsaking them for The Voice and Worst Cooks in America. Oh, the state of the world!
I am hoping: My husband finishes our bathroom tiling project this weekend. I can date the stalling of the project with my wee babe's birth, so it has now officially been 7 months since I've been able to use my master bathroom.
I am hearing: My baby's fussing. I just can't get that little thing to nap. You'd think that by now, 7 months in, I'd have some sort of clue. Nope. None. I'm more clueless than ever.
I am creating: Favors for my sister's baby shower. But I can't tell you about that, because you might tell her.
One of my favorite things: Morning naps with the baby. I've gotten in the habit of plopping Allie in the bed next to me in the morning and taking her first nap with her. It's delightful and the best hour of my day.
A few plans for the rest of the week: It's a working weekend for us at the Vanny Pad, but I won't bore you with the details.
A picture thought for the day: See above. Shocker: It's of Allie.