Our Thanksgiving was chock full of family and food and pie, as it should be (and in welcome contrast to last year's sweet but quiet celebration). Unfortunately, Juniper's Thanksgiving week began with what I assume was a cold bug. She spent two or three days sniffling and snortling and snotting all over the place, horking up phlegm and tossing about in her sleep. The upside of this little episode is that she now knows how to wipe her own nose with a tissue. In an embarrassing display of my complete Mommyfication, I just about jumped through the roof when I saw this. Omigosh! My kid can wipe her own nose! Look, I give her a tissue, she touches her nose with it! Is that not the greatest thing you have ever seen EVER?!? Yes, people. It is possible for a person to get that excited about snot being wiped. No amount of condescending hipster smartassy sarcasm will ever make up for that. I can listen to all the underground indie folk rock music I can find while wearing an almost too tight ironic t-shirt and making obnoxious references to Charles Bukowski. There is still no going back.
Of course, the downside to this new nose-wiping behavior is that Juniper's definition of "tissue" is decidedly loose. A tissue? A shirt? A curtain? A cashmere scarf? Mommy's new wool coat hem? This month's issue of Rachel Ray, I mean, The New Yorker? All of these and more are suitable snot cleansing devices for our little June Bug. Don't you just want to run on over to our house and hang out?
Speaking of amazing milestones, now that Thanksgiving has come and gone, I am gearing up for the next big event around these parts. My baby who is now so much more toddler and so much less baby than I can bear is turning one year old on Monday. ONE! bwaaahhh! I shall be a quivering ball of conflicting emotions - excitement, pride, panic, joy, nostalgia, incredulity, adoration, fear that the cake is undercooked. Juniper shall be indifferent to the whole affair until she is plopped down in front of a cake and instructed to go at it without Mama freaking out over her sugar intake (well, perhaps a little).
In other news, this dog, with all her cuteness and gentleness and soft sweet furriness, has developed a most infuriating and disgusting taste for diapers. Oh no, not just the disposables I use on rare occasions. The cloth ones too. How she manages to get into the impenetrable fortress that is the diaper pail, I may never know. What I do know is that coming home to the sight (and smell) of shredded (and partially consumed) dirty diapers all over our carpeted areas makes me shrivel up and whimper inside.
Um yeah, you're coming over right?