In the Tent

Brigid (who I swear went from 4 to 14 overnight at some point, and who I will never allow to sleep again out of fear that she'll age another 10 years on me...) wanted me to take a picture of her and her American Girl doll in their new matching pajamas, with their equally matching pink hair. Even though you can't actually see her pink hair in the pictures, I assure you, it was PINK.

And then, I noticed Caitlin...

Seriously. That is just so...Caitlin. I love that kid and all of her goofy ways.

Picking and Choosing the Battles

Last night, Brigid told Steve she wanted to sleep in our bed because she didn't get to see him all last weekend, and she wanted to cuddle with him. Guess who won that round of emotional manipulation?

This kid:

Caitlin will only go to sleep if you rock her or walk her or just generally hold her until she falls asleep on her own schedule, but the ONLY TIME she will let you snuggle her is when she's tired enough to be rocked to sleep. Guess who will get exactly what she wants until the day she decides I can't even snuggle her when she's sleepy anymore?

This kid:

I'm not even mad at the fact that I am not the boss in my own house at this early stage in parenting, I'm just impressed. Way to own the room, ladies. That will come in handy someday, I'm sure...

Two Sides

Look, I'm not saying that there are certain times when I love Brigid more than other times, because I love her wholeheartedly, all of the time. Of course I do.

I'm just saying...there are times when things are more...peaceful...than others.

(I think this is a phenomenon that just comes with the whole parenting-of-children territory. I mostly have just as much fun with the Brigid-ness of the process as I do with the peacefulness of it, really. Mostly.)

(Except this past weekend, that is. This past weekend was tough. There was just so much whining. SO MUCH WHINING OMG!)

(SO MUCH!)

(GAH.)

Green Thumb

I think I've only mentioned the fact that I now have a decent backyard for the first time in my adult life maybe 600-700 times, so one more time can't hurt, right?

I HAVE A USABLE BACKYARD, PEOPLE!

Brigid has planted (with the help of my MIL) a butterfly garden and a general flower garden, plus Steve and I planted a couple of blueberry bushes along the fence and Steve added a raised bed to the mix, in which we currently have peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, and maybe eggplant and a squash or two. (You'd think I'd remember exactly what we planted, but you'd be wrong. We planted everything in the middle of April, when it was 70+ degrees out, right before we got hit with a surprise mid-month freeze that killed off half of our plants. We've replaced some, but at this point, I honestly don't know what we're growing anymore.) Then there are the flowering bushes scattered around that were there when we moved in AND a rose bush that seemed dead but managed to produce one single flower this season (I'LL TAKE IT), and, well...

I think I might exactly enjoy this whole having a garden thing.

(Please note I enjoy HAVING the garden. Gardening itself? Eh. Jury's still out on that one. For myself and Brigid, actually, as my darling eldest daughter was not happy when she found herself digging in dirt that was slightly damp. Dry dirt? Fine. Wet dirt? No thank you.

I don't really get the distinction, but it made sense to her, I guess...)

Daddy's Girls

When Brigid was younger, she wanted nothing to do with me if there was a chance that she could trade up for Steve. She wanted daddy to put her to bed every night, she wanted daddy to hold her, she wanted daddy to hug her if she got hurt. And, I'm not going to lie, it annoyed me to no end.

I mean, COME ON. She lived off of me for NINE MONTHS! Didn't I deserve some kind of preferential treatment for that?

No, apparently. No, I did not.

Now that Brigid's a little older, her affections can be easily swayed with a simple 'yes' or 'no' response to one of her many, many, MANY requests each day, so I don't get all fired up when she kicks me out of her room in the middle of her bedtime routine because she'd rather cuddle with Steve instead of me. Generally, that just means I get to go to bed earlier than I would have if I'd completed the process (and it probably actually prevented me from falling asleep in her bed and waking up with a cramped neck at midnight), and that's never a bad thing these days. And anyway, I don't have the energy to get fired up when this happens, since I'm too busy spending all of my time being annoyed that Caitlin is now doing THE EXACT SAME THING TO ME.

Seriously. Is this just a daddy/daughter thing? Do all baby girls love their dads more than their moms at this age? Is it all babies, OR IS IT JUST ME?!?! Am I really just that terrible with babies?

Little turds. Both of them.

(Adorable little turds, yes. But little turds, nonetheless.)