The holiday season has barely begun, and we're already awash in the generosity of friends. Today, if you can imagine, we were surprised with (yummy) gingerbread men from Kelly, tunes from Miciah and Ann, baby clothes from Meredith, and a freezer-full of goodies from Kathy. Wow. Just... wow. We were overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of these amazing women. Thank you all so very much!
Down to the hospital, Jane and I had a quiet little day. She spent a good part of her awake time chilling with Birdie, her BFF.
She multitasked, practicing poking out her tongue while gazing adoringly at her buddy.
But being pacifier-free is always a temporary state. I stood by her bed with my hand spidered over her to keep her busy hands and mouth occupied. Finger jiu jitsu!
I brought down my laptop, hoping to knock out the Christmas cards. I'm sure you can all guess exactly how well THAT went. Which is to say, it didn't. Because as soon as I took my hand away, our girl pulled this face:
SO unfair. What am I supposed to do with that puss pouting at me?
The one snippet of news: Jane did NOT have her trach changed today. The ENT surgeon was out sick. The nerve! The man better heal fast, because we are ALL getting tired of waiting for this thing to be changed out. We can't do a thing with her until it's done. Kiddo hasn't had a bath in over a week, and those of you who have experience with babies have a pretty good idea of the funk that's wafting off Miss J. And she hasn't been allowed to sit up, or lie on her belly, or (worst of all) be held in all this time. It's no wonder the poor kid is agitated. She's BORED. Time to get this girl grooving!
Oh, speaking of which, did I tell you I made a playlist for Jane last night? I played some of it today, and the results were decidedly mixed. The Beatles, Apples in Stereo, Bob Dylan and Cornershop are all IN. Dan Zanes, David Bowie and Elvis Costello, tragically, are OUT. I tried Velvet Underground's "Sweet Jane" (as if I had a choice), and I'm choosing to think she was gassy at the time.
All right, kids. Time for me to throw in a load of laundry and hit the sheets.
Thanks for everything.