You might deduce from the increased frequency and decreased whining of the posts that I am feeling better. That would be correct. Of course, it's all a matter of perspective; this would have been feeling rather poorly in October. But compared to not daring to roll over, it's a huge improvement. Don't look for folded laundry any time soon, though.
Wondergirl has left, having saved our lives in the meantime. I am able to cook again, and even sit up to eat my meals. This is a big step, as for some reason that was impossible for a long time, and eating tomato soup lying down is dangerous to the couch. I wonder how the ancient Romans managed all those reclining meals; I bet they didn't eat tomato soup.
Nigerian Chicken Recipe
There is an elegant Nigerian lady at our church who is also an excellent cook. So when I was enjoying her baked chicken at the potluck this week, I told DOB that I would have to ask her for the recipe some day, but not right then because I still would rather not talk about food too much.
He came back from a trip for refills to report that he had asked her for the recipe himself. She replied, "I put a lot of spices on it and baked it for a long time."
That's what my recipes usually sound like, too. I'll have to try it sometime.
Life: The Musical
D1's fascination with making up songs has become chronic. Sunday morning we were greeted with toes sticking under our bedroom door and serenaded with a song about purple and blue socks. D2 joined in on the choruses.
Getting ready to go to church, she sang the Mitten Song (a pre-existing composition) and then composed a lengthy Glove Song, with a verse for each finger. When I found myself singing about the troubles of getting children in and out of the car, DOB said that this trend had gone far enough.
I thought this article was faintly amusing. It's now counter-cultural to have children before you're thirty--at least if you have a college degree. And people actually feel like they must be too young and inexperienced to have children at that age! The truth is, everybody is too young to have children until they have them.
Then again, thinking about it, most of the couples around here that are our age in fact do not have kids yet. We'd rather get it over with before we're too old and tired to handle them. (And later arrivals will at least have older siblings to chase them.)
We had been suspicious for awhile, but DOB measured D2 this week and discovered the shocking truth: he's grown an inch and a half since the end of September. No wonder we weren't having to roll his jeans up anymore. I thought children were not supposed to grow as fast in the winter. It's definitely a bad time for it, as his winter shirts are all starting to get too short, and his stomach is going to get cold.
Poor lad, he still is not reconciled to the idea that he is too big for Mama to carry (or that Mama is too tired to try). We have to remember to give him the choice between being carried by Papa or holding Mama's hand; then he's usually happy with holding my hand.
His speech continues to increase in elaboration and precision. I want to call him Baby Jeeves. "Papa is going to the chiropracor, also." "That would be a good idea." "Yes, I am able to do that." It really doesn't sound that cute in print; you have to see his wide-eyed baby face producing these solemn sounds.