Giving

Lyla likes herself a bath, apparently. Maybe we'll use the bath as a relaxation strategy for nighttime, which up to this point she's decided is cry-until-you-hold-me time. This morning we shampooed her hair, washed her hands, and used just warm water on everything else.

But enough about cleanliness. Twice Julie has experienced the phenomenon of the mid-diaper-change poo. It's a commendable feat of timing, really, for Lyla to unleash at the precise moment when her mother is most vulnerable. It's also a feat of timing that this hasn't happened during Daddy's diaper changes. Cheers, Lyla! Keep it up, lady. Poop all over Mom, but hold your shit when it's Dad's turn.

As my friend with her own baby told me, "There's nothing quite like the feeling of warm poo hitting your hand."

When you're holding Lyla and she poos, it's a strange sound. I've been trying to come up with the perfect onomatopoeia (and that's the correct spelling, in case you were wondering) to capture Lyla's bootie producing a biohazard. So far the best I can do is squittely-splut.

Here is Lyla post-bath.


I think she'll sleep all day in that hood and then be wide awake tonight. It's fine. Today is Thanksgiving. I've always had a tendency to take my life for granted; I've even been guilty of giving myself credit for things that I probably shouldn't. Thanksgiving has been more about food and conversation than about actually reflecting and giving thanks. Not so much this year.