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Photos from the first meeting of my baby and my best friend’s baby, with narration.

IMG_3065Baby Evan: Mmmmm…this hand is delicious.
IMG_3058Baby Evan: Oh hey, I didn’t see you there. Sup? I like your outfit, totally dig the whale.
Baby Evan: Don’t cry dude, I promise I won’t eat you.
IMG_3062Baby Reid: Whew, I was worried. Nice to meet you. I would shake your hand but since I don’t quite have use of my own I’ll just punch you in the face instead.
Baby Evan: It’s cool, I totally remember what that was like.
IMG_3066Baby Evan: As a sign of friendship I will punch you back, in the leg.
Baby Reid: Whoa, you moved so fast you’re totally blurry. Take my advice, immobility is the way to go. Don’t let them trick you into doing stuff on your own – next thing you know they’ll expect you to wipe your own butt and it’s all down hill from there.
IMG_3072Baby Evan: Thanks for the advice man. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Baby Reid: Yes indeed. I am wise beyond my years month.
IMG_3069Baby Evan: MOOOOOM! I made a friend! He’s tiny and adorable and likes whales!
Baby Reid: Me too Mom! My friend is chubby and bald and looks like he’s going to be trouble. We’re gonna get along great!
Best Friends


I’ve always been an over-packer. I cannot leave a 60-mile radius around my house without outfits for the following situations: what if we go to the beach? what if it’s cold at night? what if we go out to dinner? what if we have to walk really far? what if a giant asteroid hits earth? what if Steven Spielberg suddenly falls out of the sky and says “You! If only you had a red shirt you’d be PERFECT for the lead role in my next film!”? So I tend to carry a lot of stuff.

All that previous packing was NOTHING compared to the amount of crap you need with a baby. We didn’t even spend the night away from home and we still brought an entire car full of baby stuff. There’s the car seat, the stroller, the diaper bag, the other diaper bag, the outfits & burp cloths (because I still have the spitty-uppiest baby in the world), the pack’n’play, the sling carrier, the mei tai carrier, the toys, the bouncy seat…wait, where’s the bouncy seat? Did we forget the bouncy seat?!?!  Luckily, E’s cousin has two kids and a garage full of abandoned baby gear which happened to include a swing. I seriously don’t know how people used to survive before Fisher-Price.

Our trip was to Plymouth, Mass – I’ve always felt that was an appropriate place to spend the 4th, very America-y – and we had a good time. The baby was about as well behaved as a three month old could be. He took a nice long nap in my new baby carrier while we walked around town. Unfortunately, now all the pictures of him in Plymouth look like this:

But he was very happy being carried and he didn’t get a sunburn and besides a little numbness in my left shoulder this morning the mai tei worked great. That’s us standing next to Plymouth Rock. I know, how exciting. A rock. You’re so jealous of our proximity to a random rock on a whole beach full of rocks that has been designated as the official rock the Pilgrims landed on even though it’s definitely not. Oh and someone vandalized it so instead of saying “1620” it says “1820”. So America just lost two hundred years of history. Great job, douchebag vandal.

Here are some pictures from the rest of our day:






This weekend we’re making the annual trek out to Plymouth, Mass for E’s aunt & uncle’s 4th of July party. There will be hamburgers. There will be beer. There will be fireworks. And there will be A POOL. Which means tonight before dinner I headed out to find a bathing suit.


Actually, it was the least unpleasant bathing suit shopping ever. I tried on three. They all fit ok. One looked the best and was in a nice color and a halter style that will allow me to breastfeed. It was $25. I bought it.

Did I mention it’s a one piece? The last time I shopped for a one piece was for church camp (apparently belly buttons are the gateway to Satan) in 8th grade. Since then I’ve spent the first two months of every summer searching in vain for an affordable, flattering bikini. One year I bought a dozen cheap ones at Wal-Mart and just threw a sarong over the bits that didn’t fit right. One year I spent $100 on a very nice orange bikini with a bandeau top – and spent my time at the beach wishing I could go body surfing without flashing all of South Carolina. I’ve tried ordering them online. I’ve tried the special bathing-suit-stores. I’ve tried on literally hundreds and hundreds of suits in the past decade. But I never considered just buying a one piece. Those are for old people or my mom.

But now I am a mom. I have a three month old baby and a three month post-partum body. I could use a little extra material in my swim wear. And maybe some ruching. And a hidden control panel. And a nice flattering criss-crossy pattern. Anything short of a full body wet suit is going to expose some flaws and imperfections and the old Suzanne, the 22 year old who ate half a Powerbar for lunch and plain lettuce for dinner and hated every part of herself between her chin and her knees, that Suzanne would be dreading everything about this pool and beach filled weekend. But the cliches about how you learn to love and appreciate your body after pregnancy are true. I GREW A PERSON. I am currently keeping that person alive using only my boobs. That is way cooler than a bikini any day.

Yesterday went like this: bad, good, really good, bad, really bad, NAP, good, really really good, super fun good, sorta bad, really bad, OMG will the screaming never end bad, EIGHT HOURS OF SLEEP.

Since our Friday night plans got cancelled because of thunderstorms, we wanted to check out the Harbor Festival yesterday. Our town is celebrating it’s 350th anniversary and has been holding events for the past few weeks. They’re doing parties and lectures and walking tours of the mansions and gardens and there’s a tall ship down at the harbor and unfortunately I have made it to exactly zero events. As of today I have still attended zero, because I have a three month old. Baby Evan just didn’t give a crap that there were balloons! and pirates! and cotton candy! and a drum and fife band! None of those things interested him more than my boob, so with my handy nursing cover I fed him on a park bench. It went pretty well. It would have gone better if I’d had a pillow. Or if it hadn’t been a million degrees. Or if the drum and fife band hadn’t fired their muskets right when I got the baby latched on. causing him to almost rip my nipple off.

In the evening, we packed up the baby and some lemon bars and went over to E’s former co-workers for a cookout. We set up camp in the baby-corner with four other sets of parents and had a great time lying in the grass surrounded by kids and dogs and food. We made it two hours and one feeding before my back started screaming in pain and my head felt like it was going to explode. Baby Evan was grumpy from being awake for too many hours and once the yelling started I knew it wasn’t going to end. Although he napped in the car on the way home, he was too hungry to sleep for long and I spent the rest of the evening nursing him almost constantly to keep him from wailing.  At 11 pm I gave up and turned him over to E hoping I could get a couple hours of rest. At 7 am I woke up and found both my boys had slept in the living room and I had gotten EIGHT HOURS of sleep for the first time in 12 weeks. I needed it. Today we’re going to do nothing structured and just let baby (and E) nap as much as he wants.


Baby Evan’s outfit is a hand me down from when my brother (now 20) was a baby.

Using my nursing cover.

Baby, blanket and beer at the cookout. E even wore the sling for a while, despite some of the guys giving him crap. It made the other moms really jealous of my awesome husband.


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July 2019
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