Classy

A couple people have commented recently that Lyla looks a lot like me. They are of course referring to hairline and overbite.

This afternoon we drove to Julie's work holiday party. Lyla was a big hit, and neither of us held her much. When afternoon turned to evening and the party wound down, we said our goodbyes and then realized in the car that it was 9:00 and we hadn't eaten dinner. So we joined the prestigious realm of America that takes infants to restaurants at inappropriate times. Lyla should have been at home snuggling in her bassinet, but instead she snuggled in her car seat in a booth at Perkins. Somebody, give us an award.

I sat on the side that faced the sketchy couple in the next booth and the old tubercular woman several booths down, and Julie faced only me so she could breastfeed. And really, considering this was her first attempt at public breastfeeding, and considering how complicated it is to breastfeed a tiny baby, she did quite well. There was a nerp flash at one point, but what can you do? I suppose eventually the baby figures it out and you can just shove her under your shirt and she finds where she's headed, but Lyla still needs someone to chauffeur her to the destination. I stood guard and hissed at Julie, "Here comes the waitress with my soup!" which earned me an eye roll to go along with my dinner and show.

We are classy, classy people. I took a picture to someday show to Lyla's first boyfriend:


Ah, parenting. It's always something fresh and new.