You are 3 months today! It’s kind of a cool anniversary for you because it’s another Friday the 13th, just like the day you were born. Shout out right here to all Friday the 13th babies! I’ve decided that it’s definitely a lucky number!
We’re in Mammoth right now for our yearly family ski trip. Dad is out getting as many runs in as possible and your Auntie Mandie and I are switching off ”Avery time” with slope time.
In another 5 years, you are going to be one of those little kiddo’s I see beating me down the hill in your little “pizza slices” and “french fries.” Enjoy it while you can, because Daddy is going to outlaw “pizza slices” as soon as possible. Now, you’ll probably hear him tell you things like, “Fine, if you’re going to give up, you’ll never get anywhere,” “Don’t quit half-way into your turn,” “Lift up your ski!,” and my personal favorite, “It’s called downhill skiing, so go downhill,” I’m telling you now that you should just do what he says, because he really does know what he’s talking about when it comes to skiing. Okay, fine, when it comes to lots of things, but especially skiing. I hope you have that inner Sproul fire, girl! Where will I be, you ask? Right there laughing with joy that Dad is finally not focusing on my skiing. Just kidding. A little bit.
Mommy already has you looking the part of rockin’ ski bunny. You can thank me later.
This last month has been the most fun we’ve had together yet. We’re like little buddies, you and me. It’s that magical time when your sun rises and sets with your momma. I love it. I especially love that your sun is rising after a full night of sleep! There, I said it. Please don’t make me regret it by waking up in the middle of the night again.
You are doing all sorts of fun little things now. You smile lots, love to sing with your Auntie Mandie (but she’d kill me if I posted the video), kick around when we sing to you, bat at your toys, and make all sorts of cooing noises. I’m pretty sure you are this close to rolling over, too. Small you are not, girly. You weighed in at 12lbs, 12 oz. at your 2-month appointment and I’m pretty sure you are hitting 14 pounds already.
Last weekend was your first Easter. I dressed you up from head to toe in pinks, flowers, and frills. I was so happy to take you to church and show you off. Every time someone complimented you, I said, “Oh, gee, thanks.” But, what I was really thinking was, “You’re right, she’s the most beautiful, wonderful, spectacular baby you’ve ever seen. The end.” So, there we were singing along in worship while I nodded and smiled at your stream of admirers. You started to get fussy, so I took you back to the baby corner. Our church has had an exponential growth in attendees with babies and has not exactly kept up with the procreative habits of its members. We’ve got two couches set up in the back corner with a plastic wicker divider to provide some privacy. Easter service was packed, so I had to kick out an elderly couple that was sitting on the couches. Daddy and I basically traded them seats. He went back to stand with the youth group and I took my place in the corner. All too late, I realized the plastic divider wasn’t really set up well that morning and I was basically sitting next to a teenage boy who, I am sure times a million, did not want to see anything that goes along with nursing. Lest I scar the poor kid, I was extra careful when covering up and crossed my fingers you didn’t start kicking the cover off. You were doing so well as worship ended. Then Pastor Paul greeted everyone and silence fell over the crowd as he lead us in prayer. And that’s when it happened. I believe the term is “flushing the pipes.” My little daughter, dressed up like a frilly ballerina, did the loudest “numero dos” I have ever heard. It reverberated throughout the room. I tried my best not to laugh and the other mom sitting on the couch next to us basically lost it while her pre-teen daughters stared at me in dismay.
Pastor Paul usually starts out each sermon with a funny little personal anecdote. Oh no, I thought. This gaseous moment is surely going to make the cut, no pun intended. I can just see it now. It might be next year, it might be 10 years from now; but, one day we are going to be sitting in church and Pastor Paul is going to start laughing about this super loud baby fart that interrupted one of the most important prayers of the year. No amount of pink frills would make up for it. I immediately turned to the teenage boy next to me and said, “I’m blaming that on you.” “Sure thing, no problem.” What a sweet kid, but, we all knew what that was. Lest I go to church every Sunday dreading this funny baby fart story, I just had to outright ask Paul after the service if he heard the little interruption during his prayer. Lucky us, he did not. However, one of the Deacons made mention of his wife’s inability to stop laughing when she heard you. Based on where they were sitting, I think only half the congregation knows it was you. Maybe most of them were just visiting, too, right? I hope. I really, really hope. If they have a full-on sound-proof glass divider set up next Sunday, we’ll know why.
I love you, baby girl. All your cooing, laughing, singing, and even pooping noises.