WARNING: You’re about to be bombarded with cuteness. If you can’t handle it, or aren’t in an environment where squealing is appropriate, you might want to forego reading the rest of this. For you brave souls who can handle a little pudgy baby smiling at them, carry on.
“Deuces” she says. She’s outta here. In my 4-month tenure as a mama, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time at my house. Partially out of exhaustion. Partially due to a napping baby who likes her crib. Partially due to my own neurosis that makes normal things seem hard. Mostly due to that last one, yo. Motherhood has introduced me to all kinds of crazy I’ve had hidden deep inside. We’re working through it.
Anyhow, I can stay in my house no longer. I’ve gotta go places. And so I’m attempting to challenge that crazy voice that says doing regular things is prohibitively hard. Like going out to eat, checking out the thrift stores, and (today) hitting the beach. I’m trying to fight the panic and expand RG’s horizon’s, introducing her to new and exciting things. Today I told her we were going to the beach, and I took her to the lake. Poor thing will likely grow up believing that the “beach” involves muddy, 92* lake water, but hey, there are worse things.