Stinky Pickles and Bricks

I am trying to decide what I like best about being a mommy. Someone lighting up whenever I enter a room, an audience for my singing, dressing my own live doll, getting to watch Guiding Light every day, cuddles, kisses, and teeny tiny toes.

But there is also a dark side. I've gotten spit up on so many times that I now have a permanent sour milk smell. Seriously. Henry is teething and so there is more spit up than usual. I've taken to wiping myself off with baby wipes instead of bathing. (If I took a shower every time I got spit up on me, my hair would probably fall out.) Last night there was so much of it I had to call Sloan to come take Henry so I could change clothes. Ugh. But sweet.

Henry now has two favorites. It used to just be me, no one else. But now he likes Daddy too. Check out these pictures. The first is of me trying to get Henry to smile--I was making funny faces, singing, jumping up and down. The second is Sloan walking in the room and simply saying, "Hey Pickles." (Pickles is our little pet name for him. We have no idea where it came from.) I'm happy that Henry loves his daddy, but a bit sad at him loving both of us equally. I'm warped.

I'm also becoming dorky. I came home from my first day of Bible Study yesterday and told Sloan, "There's this cute girl in my small group. She's really pretty, also has a new baby boy, and dresses cool. I hope I can make her my friend." Sloan said, "Really? Maybe you should ask Mom if she can come over to play. What are you, twelve?"

To add to my dorkdom I'm becoming domestic. In addition to my regular craftiness, I'm taking sewing classes and am really excited about it. I'm making this cowboy themed bag for Henry. If I turn any more into a dork I'm just going to have to shoot myself. At least I'm not a brick expert. (Sloan watched this show on the History channel about bricks and there was this tool of a British guy whose title was "Brick Historian" and behind him was a wall full of books on bricks. I thought, imagine this guy at a dinner party. "Stewart, what do you do?" "I write books on bricks." "Really? Is there much of an audience for that?" Who buys these books? It actually makes me a bit depressed that some brick dork is a published author and I am not. He probably smells better than me too.)