Updates, schmupdates!  Y’all are quite content to read old posts while waiting patiently for me to get off my lazy butt and post again, right?  No?  Okay, stop yelling!

Ironic, then, that I have SO much to tell you.  I’ll start with the BIG announcement:

WE HAVE TOOTH!

That’s right, folks, Evie is the proud recipient of her first tooth, which has made her grouchy, cranky, fussy and just generally ill.  Also, the drooling is OFF THE CHARTS.  I’m talking rivers of drool that only a mother could find cute and charming (Which I do, OMG!)  And, oh my Lord, if it is not nailed down it is being chewed on.  I put the poor child in her Exersaucer the other morning, turned around to put something in the sink, and when I looked back I saw Evie Langston, the Most Prettiest, Most Daintiest Princess-Baby In the Land, straight up knawingon the side of the thing.  She is desperate, y’all.  I gave her one of her teethers from the fridge last week, all cold and chewy and counter-pressure-providing, and the look in her eyes was not unlike that of her father when eating double fudge chocolate cake.  Pure ecstasy.

But, still, there is tooth.  I have not seen it, but I have felt it.  Apparently, Miss Evie is not ready for the big reveal.  But it’s there.  And that mother is sharp.  Maybe stopping breastfeeding was a good idea after all. Huh.  

Further, WE HAVE SITTING UP!

On Thanksgiving Day, I sat with Evie on the floor to play.  Now, this usually includes propping Evie up on, leaning Evie against or laying Evie down on something.  She had been able to “sit” for short periods, as long as she was supported by a person, a mound of pillows or the glorious Boppy (horrible for breastfeeding, great for supporting babies’ hips, which was it’s original intention anyway, and I’m not sure how it’s role was changed to include something it sucks at).  So, there we were, Evie and I, “sitting”.  And then we saw him.

He crawled right past us.  He was working on trying to pull himself up and walk.  He is five months older than Evie, but the look in his eyes seemed to say, “You mean you can’t sit up yet?  How funny!” 

I looked at Evie.  She looked at me.  We looked at the crawler.  I scooted her little butt forward and out from between my legs and whispered in her ear, “Go ‘head on, chica.”  And Evie sat.  And sat.  And then she sat some more.  She played and sat.  She talked and sat.  And she looked sideways at Mr. Crawlsalot* and sat some more.  And then she fell down and almost cracked her little head open on a chair leg.

And Gill’s and my world just got childproofed.  Pronto.

When we got home that night, because I think I am indeed one of those parents, we worked on crawling.  I have to tell you, there’s nothing more exhilirating and more freakin’ frustrating than a child who can         a-l-m-o-s-t do something.  We almost have scooting.  We’re SO CLOSE!  Stay tuned.

*”Mr. Crawlsalot’s” real name is Benjamin, and he is the sweetest, most good-natured little boy, with mile-long eyelashes and the cutest little grin.  He and Evie are now best buds.  The “look” he gave Evie and me is called artistic license, which is another word for lying.

Finally, SOLID FOOD!

You already knew Evie was partaking of the usual 6-month-old fare, including various pureed fruits and vegetables, but what you didn’t know was that that Evie has also sampled Chicken Divan, pasta, chocolate syrup, Sweet Potato Bake and ice cream.  And, if given a choice between some yummy, scrummy Chicken Divan sauce and bland old liquified pears, she will dive for the plate of Chicken Divan every time.  And, I mean, literally dive for the plate.  I thought I was going to wear my dinner that night.

You see, like I’ve been telling anyone who will listen, homegirl wants you to bring the flavah.  She don’t want no yucky room temperature sweet potatoes.  Put some cinnamon and brown sugar on it and warm that bad boy up!  And don’t be trying to shove no cold carrots in her face.  Salt, pepper and, again, MICROWAVE!  And, really can you blame her?  Have you tasted cold butternut squash from a jar?  I’d rather have something else myself.  Like, oh, say…anything.  Mashed potatoes with real butter would be a start.  

And, by the way, it pleases her Uncle Ed, the chef, no end to have a niece with such a sophisticated palette. 

Well, that’s what’s goin’ on in Evie World, folks.  Busy, busy.  And, not to brag (okay, TOTALLY to brag) she’s also starting to hold her own bottle, answer to her name and use multi-syllable “words”.

And all you did was eat turkey this weekend.

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