When your Monday morning starts off with a face THAT happy, and all you had to do to make your sweet child THAT happy was take him to the park on a gorgeously cool and spring-y Texas morning ... the week is officially off to a very good start. (No need to clean your screen, that's dirt on his chin from the faceplant he'd just taken running eleventy billion miles an hour to get to the park.)
How's Miss V, you ask? Well, she's as scrumptiously adorable as ever and throwing around whole-body smiles like she's been doing it all her (six-and-a-half weeks of) life. Which is a very good thing (for her sake) or I may be tempted to trade her for a goldfish. Or a sea monkey. Or something very quiet and low maintenance that wouldn't scream at me whenever I dare step away from it for two and a half seconds. ((Disclaimer: I love Vivian dearly. There will be no trading for aquarium-dwelling creatures of any type. It's called sarcasm, and I was born with quite a lot of it. Thanks, dad.)) Our Vivi isn't a big fan of independence, you see. What she is a very big fan of is being held. In HUMAN ARMS AND THAT'S IT. Forget the swing, the bouncy seat, the car seat, the crib, the pack and play, or any of the other worthless baby holders we have cluttering up our house - ARMS ONLY. Car trips? Ha! I didn't even get to Panda Express (approximately two minutes away) before she had a big dramatic nervous breakdown that caused her brother so much concern that he sat with hands clapped over ears, screaming "MAAA MAA! BAY-BEH! BAY-BEH! MAA MAA!" and pointing toward the noisemaker with his foot to ensure I was made aware of the VERY DIRE backseat situation. As if I could possibly have been unaware. As if anyone in a two mile radius of our vehicle was unaware.
But the thing is, she's a big faker, that V. She wasn't hungry or dirty, she just wanted ARMS. We raced home and screeched back into the garage, I threw my door open and ran around to her door, pulled her from the seat, and before I'd even finished checking her over for obvious signs of gushing blood or serious life threatening illness, she let out a wobbly little sigh and smiled sweetly, like she hadn't just been screaming like her (cute little) butt was on fire. Trickster. And of course, that gummy baby smile was SO ridiculously precious that I smiled right back and assured her she's still the best little baby-waybee in the whole wide woooowld.
So, that's Monday so far. Fun at the park, screaming in the car, orange chicken eaten with one hand while feeding the big child PB&J and feeding the little child a bottle with the other hand. Here's hoping for a good long nap period, a scream-free afternoon, and a very happy week. And someday soon, a trip to Panda Express where nobody acts like they're DYING.