authoritatively certain

A recent trip saw we-the-family enjoying a long car ride and the subsequent conversation that usually happens on longer than your average trip to Target car rides.

We'd been camping and discussing the wildlife we saw on our adventure.

Cardinals, snakes, orb weavers, armadillos, raccoon, and squirrels.

"Mama, are squirrels food?" asked Boo's big sister.

"Well," replied Mama, "some people consider them a food source".

"Mama?" she asked again.  "But, Mama, do *we* eat squirrels?"

"NO!" shouted the baby, without pause, from the backseat.

The rest of the family was shocked, stunned into silence and then laughter.

It was the loudest "no" we-the-family have ever heard.  In fact, it could possibly have been the loudest, clearest, statement of anything we've heard from our tiny Isla.

And she is, of course, correct.  *We* do not eat squirrels.
"Iwah nah eah woowuhs".

two.

Twenty-four months (and a few days as of this post) cute. And cuter by the moment.

Poosie-pants, as she is often known around here, is currently napping happily in her crib.  She has not quite recovered from her birthday celebrations which included a week's worth of beach days, time at the park, special one-on-one time with her mama, new dresses, shopping for a new ball, lunch at her favorite island haunt with her sweet friends, playtime with her Dadoo and big sister, a trip to the bookstore, "skebbie", her favorite movie ("woof-woof"), a boat ride with those same friends, candles, a crown, cake and a pile of presents.

In the words of her big sister, 'May we present,  ....... Isla!'

an animal lover

Though not necessarily animal-loved in return.

Isla has always been fascinated by animals.  And like most toddlers, she loves to look at picture books whose pages are filled with fuzzy, furry creatures.  She's a very good animal-caller and we-the-parents are so proud to say she can tell you what a fish, bear, lion, cat, dog, fox, bee, bird, mouse, rooster, chicken, baby-chick, duck, horse, elephant, turtle, giraffe, monkey, tiger, cow, sheep, pig, bunny, frog, zebra, squirrel and koala say.

She's loved to watch her pet cat Rèmy since she was born, but now, as she finds surety on her small feet, she loves to follow him, chase him, corral him and pet him - very gently and sweetly - anytime she is able to catch and terrorize persuade him to join her for some play.  Most of the time, Rèmy complies, and so the bitty-bun is able to get her fill of furry fun.

In addition to her love for Rèmy, Isla also find great happiness in seeking out and waving to 'woof-woofs'. She spots them from her stroller during her morning ride, from her car-seat as she rides along to our favorite store, from her seat at restaurants, from her perch on the playground swing, and each time she shouts with joy, "WOOF-WOOF!  WOOF-WOOF!".  Her chant is repeated over and over and over until someone near her acknowledges the presence of the pup.

During a recent visit to North Carolina, bun-baby had the opportunity to spend some quality time up close and personal with her grandparents' Westie.  Chloe the dog was a fascinating subject for Isla, and yet Chloe did not find Isla equally so.  Isla followed the dog around, giggling with glee, trying to get in a pet, laughing and chasing when Chloe tried to escape (on her own tiny legs) from the tiny-legged girl who kept sneaking up on her.  In the end, it was a bad situation for everyone, as Chloe, annoyed and bite-y was retired to the sun porch.  The dog, used to a pampered life of freedom, spent the remainder our visit quarantined.  On the other side of the glass, Isla lamented the loss of her fluffy pal, "oh-NO, woof-woof".

Now, daily, at mealtimes and bedtimes, Isla adds her own line to the family prayers ...
God bless Averie and Isla and all our friends and family . . .
And woof-woof.

is one year old.

Right now. One year ago, now, our bitty baby Isla was born.

We love her.

Happy 1st birthday, sweet Isla.

six months old

Six months ago, we were sitting in the Telfair family room, waiting for the floor manager to bring us to a room. Six months ago, sometime around now, I was posting one of the first few entries on this blog, sipping from both a bottle of water and a bottle of diet coke, and trying not to make a display of myself in front of the other families waiting as my contractions got stronger. Six months ago, I was only waiting to hear the crying that currently serves as background music to this post. Six months ago, I was so ready to meet Isla, and for her to be a part of our family.

Right now, Isla is standing in her exersaucer - the same one that used to belong to her big sister - and managing a menagerie of baby toys while she spins herself around. I'm watching her as she turns the pages of her 'peek-a-boo-baby' cloth book, and watching her fingers stretching and curling as she examines the different textiles of its pages. It's sweet and incredible - seeing her learn right in front of me and knowing that for her, something as small as the difference in satin and corduroy is amazing and full of newness.

Six months ago, Isla was born after what seemed like minutes compared to her sister's thirty-three hour labor. Just a few hours after her birth, her sweet Daddy went to get Mama the dinner she'd been craving ... tacos. This morning, that same sweet Daddy offered to take us all out for ... tacos. Wonder if he remembers ...

Here's our sweet six month old. As her big sis would say, 'Cute, huh? Yeah? Yes you are, Iwah! Yes you are!'

talking

Sort of. She has one word ... and it sounds sort of like mama. She says it when she wants me. Which is usually when she's hungry or wants to be picked up. She stops saying it and smiles when I get to her. So we've pretty much decided it is 'mama'. And I'm pretty much claiming first word rights, which is awesome since I missed out on the claim first time around, what with that Dadoo person hogging all the baby love and stuff.

'ah-na-ma-mamama
ah-na-ma-mamama'

Yep. That's me. Woo Hoo!!

ten eleven weeks old

Ten weeks and growing. At least she was when ten weeks old when this post was first started. Now, she's a growing eleven week old, full up on vaccines and ready to travel. First trip, Paris.**

Our bitty baby is now a sweet bundle of ten pounds, thirteen point five ounces. That's just a little bit more than two bags of sugar if you're counting by sweet, though the truth is, ten pounds of dixie crystals is nowhere near close enough to measure the sweetness that is this baby girl.

Isla is tall, or perhaps long is a better description. Her 9-week check-up measured her head-to-heel length at 23 and a quarter inches. Though the girth of her tiny little body still fits in newborn size clothes, her long torso and legs are stretching the limits of her 3-to-6-month-old sleepers. She is swallowed up in the extra fabric, but is, at least, able to stretch out her legs.

Her disposition is mild, though she requires much more attention in this infant stage than did her big sister. She is a good sleeper, snoozing nearly every night for five consecutive hours, though there are occasional mid-slumber awakenings for a snack to tide her over 'til dawn. She likes to be held, she hates to stay in a wet or dirty diaper for one second longer than it takes her to utilize it, and she adores her big sister, smiling for her almost every time she sees her.

She smiles now and laughs, and still makes those sweet little grunty noises (the same little grunty noises that had us and our night nurses slightly concerned the evening she was born) almost every moment that she breathes. She can hold her head up for a fairly good length of time, and has even started to roll from her tummy to her back.

She does not cry often (her sister may disagree on this point, and would probably, if asked, relate that her baby sis cries all the time), but when she does, she really, really does. This child will not starve or suffer from the smallest amount of discomfort, for her wails will summon anyone and everyone within hearing distance - and with her lung power, that's a lot of folks - to her aid without delay. We-the-parents rue any miscalculation in feeding times while driving as those last couple of blocks home are near unbearable with a hungry Isla riding in the back.

**We're not going to Paris. Not yet, anyway. Her first trip was to Jacksonville.

eight weeks and two days old

and resting. Pretty well. Last night our little Bun slept from 12:30 ante meridiem clean through to five-point-five hours into the ninth of September. Not to be outdone, our growing Bee slept, alone in her bed, without waking up once from roughly twenty-three-hundred until nine-thirty this morning.

What???!!!!???!!!!

Yes. And that means that we-the-parents also slept, quietly, without waking (or at least waking to feed or comfort someone other than ourselves) for five beautiful hours.

Isla is resting now. Right now, this very moment, as I type this in fact. She has just returned from her baby shower (how much fun is this to do after they are actually outside the womb!) where she was adorable, awake, and quiet - aside from her standard repertoire of breathie, gruntie, baby noises (remember, the 'ie' makes it feminine ...). The super-sweet friends that Dadoo works with made her a special party lunch, complete with delicious chocolate cupcakes, sweet tea and yummy subs from Mama's new favorite sandwich shop. Her big sister got to come, too, and all four of us had a blast.

In other recent Isla news, she's a total pro at head-lifting and throwing, though like her sister before her, she doesn't love tummy time yet. She's sweet and snuggly and likes to be held - a lot - and when she's smiling, she's really, really, really smiling. She smiles most at her big sister, which in turn makes we-the-parents really, really, really smile, too.

Here's what a Bun looks like at eight weeks:

six weeks old

Our sweet girl is smiling now, especially when she has the chance to hang out with her big sister. Those tiny smiles are amazing.

4 weeks, three days and eating

Bun-baby is officially a month old, whether you're counting by weeks or days. Fast, fast, super-fast, says Mama, as time flies by us again. It's incredible how quickly the days go. Except for those super slow parts when our Bee-baby-now-pre-schooler is out of sorts at the exact same moment our Bun-baby is screaming for food. Those parts do not fly by. They seem to linger, dissipating at an unbelievably sluggish pace.

The tiny baby sister is a sweet one, spending most of her daytime moments asleep and waking for conversation in the evenings while she enjoys (endless) hours of multi-course, specially prepared meals. She's cuddly, and soft, and growing. A lot.

Our girl came home from the hospital a bitty, teeny six pounds and eleven ounces. So small and wrinkly, with not a bit of baby-fat anywhere. Two weeks later, she was back to her birth weight, and a mere twelve days after that, she's surpassed her big sister's birth weight at 8lbs, 7oz. That's a big jump in the percentile chart, and some serious encouragement for a tired Mama who wasn't quite sure if her little Bun was getting enough to eat. Turns out, she totally is.

Not to let her height out-do her weight, Bun's head to toe statistics show an increase as well. She's up from her 20 inch birth length by 1.5 inches to a super-model tall 21 and a half inches.

Big sis accompanied her to this latest doctor's appointment, and was a model of perfect behavior and decorum. The baby sis was slightly less amiable, and graced the entire office with an operatic show of lung power. In the bitty one's defense, she was hungry (though she'd eaten but an hour earlier), and when she's hungry, well, she's just a tiny bit less than content.

Current family status:
Bun-baby: temporarily full, clean, and sleeping on Mama's bed.
Bee-baby: full, clean, dressed and playing with her Thomas, her bunny, her duck and the salt & pepper mills.
Dadoo: tired, @work, tired, still the cutest boy I ever saw.
Mama: tired, @(home)work, tired, tired, and thankful.
George Rémoulade: tired, frightened, hiding in the bathroom laundry.