Meow

My friend S. was holding Baby V yesterday, and when her son saw her, he hollered from across the backyard, "MAMA!? What are you hugging? A CAT?"

I guess that's my cue to cut her hair. At least a trim to make it look more... human.


In other news, the neighbor's dog is gone. We spotted an Animal Control truck driving away from their house while the family lingered on the front lawn. What transpired? I didn't want to barge in on what might have been a sensitive moment for them, but I'm burning with curiosity. It is absolutely amazing to have NO BARKING anymore. I didn't realize what a fixture it had become in my life.

But the postpartum part of me feels like we failed that dog, as humans. He was confused and pent-up and sad. If only Cesar Milan were our neighbor instead of these well-meaning but ill-equipped folks. I hate to think of his ultimate fate. The Animal Control van doesn't bode well.

But it's peaceful now. It's really peaceful.

And also, I should tell you people that Baby V isn't always a cakewalk. After I posted all my blather about "tracking" yesterday, she got really pissed, as you can see in this photo. It took a lot of jostling, a lot of smooth talk, a lot of boob and formula, and ultimately a ticket into Mama's bed before she slept last night. Why did Hub-D take this picture? I guess to show how hard I'm working as a mom. Or perhaps how ineffectual I am...

And finally, Chebbles has potty trained herself. I have no better explanation for you than that, but she just kind of decided it was "time." Maybe my blog pissed her off too. She just saunters over to the toilet and pees and poops when she has to. Uh, OK.

In alignment with that development, she has started waking up in the middle of the night to scream that she has to go to the bathroom. Crap! Can't you just pee in your diaper when we're sleeping?

So tomorrow she's graduating to a Big Girl Bed. She's got a load of new bedding from Target ready to go, and tonight we plan to shop for the perfect mattress. Her crib converts into a full sized palatial bed, and we've got our fingers crossed that she'll make the transition well.

The only trick now is to teach her what "Seven AM" means, so that she knows to stay the HECK in her bedroom until that hour. Not. A. Second. Sooner.

So we're all going to sleep better, now that there is no dog and better bedding, yes?