Funny Faces
These are the photos of Louisette that I find funny – often just because of her facial expression. Only the birthday cake photo was posed – the rest just happened.
0-1 month:
No! Not without makeup on!
Ninja baby only pretends to sleep.
Fart face.
What on EARTH is that pink flailing thing, and why is it following me?!?
The eternal, “Huh?”
1-2 months:
Mmm, tasty.
Mwa haha! They’ll never catch me!
Suspicious baby.
Oh no! They’re on to me!
Okay, this one was posed (or was it?)
I respectfully disagree.
2-3 months:
And this one (the hard part is always getting the zip done up, am I right?)
That bag was a lifesaver while travelling (it’s designed as a stroller insert, and worked great as a handbag/cot).
I’m watching you, Mr Elephant. Don’t make any sudden moves.
Could I be any more ladylike?
Music! Flashing lights! Arg!
3-4 months:
Winner!
Nom nom.
I’m so nervous chewing my nails just isn’t enough.
Holding Hands With A Boy.
I would have got away with it too, if it wasn’t for those darn kids.
A-a-almost got it. . .
Why does that giraffe have a rainbow shoved through its skull?
Flipper baby
Okay, I can explain! See there was this thing, and then I just. . .
Yo, bring me a cold one, wouldya?
First dates are always so awkward. What am I meant to say?
Pfft.
4-5 months:
What could possibly go wrong?
Look what I caught!
Why won’t the book open?
Darn it, I KNEW I’d forgotten something!
They grow old so fast.
Sneaking up on the enemy.
Drop bear.
I can eat the caterpillar, and my hand, and the world – simultaneously.
Sadly, her actual hair.
5-6 months:
Fascinated by her cousin.
Why do you want to eat the table, sweetheart?
Because it’s there.
Obviously hiding SOMETHING.
Kissing frogs.
Easy to hold onto, not so easy to put in her mouth.
And the feeling is mutual.
Whatever works.
Mirror, mirror – who on earth is in there?
Suspicion versus further fascination.
Dressed as the hungry caterpillar, and hungry for the hungry caterpillar book. (The combination of outfit and book was deliberate.)
Yeaaaaahh!
6-7 months:
and three seconds earlier:
How does she already know she wants lollies? She’s not on solids yet.
Nom nom.
Saucepan!!!!! Woooohooooo!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks, poppy. I’ll be taking that now.
Would you keep down that racket?
And then the Irishman said, “I’ll be having mine with potatoes!”
Mine.
Once she could crawl, it suddenly got very difficult to keep her in frame.
But I LIKE drinking this way.
Wassamatter?
8-9 months:
Nom nom.
Mine.
Hark! Is that Prince Charming, come to take me away on his white horse?
Just not that impressed.
Box!!!! Wooo!!
Mister? Mister, wake up!
Her natural hairstyle.
Being a baby takes a lot of concentration.
Nom nom.
Yes, she’s blowing a raspberry (her idea; she invented the technique without ever seeing it done). Yes, that’s a grand piano in the background.
Nom nom.
I believe I mentioned she suddenly became a great deal harder to photograph. This represents 90% of the photos I’ve taken ever since.
Nom nom.
Buddy? Are you okay up there?
9-10 months:
Punk princess.
Pushing boundaries.
Still working on that “eating” technique.
Bad hair day.
Yes, she’s genuinely asleep with her face on her own legs.
Eating a peg and apparently kind of angry about it.
What do you mean she’s not a chew toy? (This is after repeated attempts at sucking on her littlest cousin – not all of them unsuccessful.)
This is such a drag.
Is it coffee time or what?
Talk to the hand.
Baby death-glare.
Truth in advertising (read her shirt).
Mmm. . . coke. . .
And THIS is how I get dow—arg!
About time somebody cleaned up around here.
10-11 months:
Hurrah!
Eeevil baby.
A little but of shush, please. I’m talking.
Ten seconds later:
Leggo of me, Poppy! I’m doing fine.
Would she gain the ability to reach the presents before Christmas? It was a close-run thing.
11-12 months:
Nome nom. 
Nom nom.
Who says you need a dog to tidy up?
Marry me, Justin Bieber!!!!
I ordered my latte five minutes ago. Where IS that incompetent new assistant of mine?
Is there something on my face?
Aargg, noooo!!!
Aaaalmost there. . . .
Not happy, Jan.
Cleanliness is next to annoyingness.
I gotta drink up before they find me.
Eureka! One year old!
Born to be bad (at housekeeping)
Reading this post made me so proud of my home. Here’s a sample:
“I love going to visit people in untidy, lived-in houses. They never look the same twice, like a landscape in changing light. I feel flattered, welcome, and comfortable when invited into a lived-in house. I feel that way because things have not been hidden. I have been allowed to step into someone’s life just as it is, and I take that as a compliment. . . .
I don’t know why, sometimes, when you go to someone’s house, they say “Sorry about the mess,” when their possessions are lying around. Why are possessions called mess? Why are they apologised for? They are evidence of living, of doing, of being, creating. They are nothing to be ashamed of. Unless there’s like a dead body under it all and the laundry has been carefully arranged to hide it.
In impeccably tidy houses, I feel incredibly uncomfortable. I’m never sure if I’m allowed to sit down and relax. I feel I’m messing the place up just by walking through the front door. If my mug is whisked away and scrubbed the minute I finish my tea, I feel it’s not okay for me to be there. Maybe it isn’t.”
———————————-
Random pic of our living room (literally the most recent I could find, in order to show the house at its most random/normal, including our zombie cat):
Pretty sure she’d like my place. I have friends over at least once a week and I never tidy up a thing. Sometimes, if a friend is allergic to cats and I remember in time, I put the couch covers (which is to say, several towels, a blanket and a mohair rug which surely can’t be good for anything else) under my desk while they’re there. The desk which is also in the same room.
Sometimes I tidy up the room-wide covering of toys after Louisette goes to bed. Sometimes not.
Look at Louisette not mangling the cat! The cat certainly looks hesitant, but it’s clear that she’d rather a (supervised) pat from Louisette than no patting at all. Poor neglected cat 
New Steampunk YA, featuring girls who (*gasp*) do stuff
“The Friday Society” sounds like it was blessed with a smart, thoughtful writer. Here’s some of what she wrote about her aims at Whatever.com:
“A lot is made of strong female characters. To the point where panels are created at conventions to discuss the topic. Yet it is most rare to see a panel on strong male characters. And by “rare” I mean, well, I’ve never seen one. The reason? We are still working hard to promote female characters as characters and not as female characters. Look at Soderberg’s Ocean’s 11. No seriously, look at it. It’s a really fun movie. I’ll wait two hours . . . Okay, you back? Notice anything? Each man in the film is a type. The sexy type, the nerdy type, the funny type – you get my drift. And then there is the woman type. A single solitary female. A bit like you tend to have a single solitary person of colour (POC). But that’s a whole other contentious issue.
Men are seen as people first, gender second. They are considered gender-neutral. They are the waiting forms into which you can pour your types. Women, on the other hand, tend to be seen as their gender first, people second. They are not a ready form for a dozen different types. They are all, inclusively, already a type.”
Rather ironically, what I’ve just done is say “Look! A book with girls in!” I’m already excited about this book, and I barely know the plot (it’s something about fighting crime). Still gonna read it, though.
Water Baby
You can see for yourself what Louisette thought of the sea:
That right there is what made this trip the most excellent coast trip ever. We were right on the beach, so whenever we felt like it we just took her out and dunked her in the sea until our arms got tired.
Digestive Tract Family Thrill Ride
Last week, my entire family plus all our spouses and kids went down the coast – twelve people altogether, in one giant beachside house. It was awesome. We looked forward to it for months, and it was everything we’d hoped for.
But more on that some other day.
A lot of events have more than one possible “story”. Is Duchess Kate glowing and delighted about being pregnant with a royal heir – or is she in a strange and horrible place as the whole world makes jokes about her throwing up?
Both are true. So today’s blog is about the strange and horrible experience that was one side of last week.
Louisette and I were both mostly – but not entirely – over our gastro experiences*. At the last minute I packed a few extra pairs of long pants for her, and lined the car seat with a mat that’s designed to catch accidents before they hit carpet. Pessimism rocks.
Our destination was at Bateman’s Bay, and when we had half an hour to go CJ and I both smelled nastiness from the back seat. Louisette travels best without breaks – she either sleeps or is at least in a dopey pre- or post- sleep state that keeps her relatively calm. We’d carefully timed our trip to coincide with her most reliable nap (which meant arriving two hours before the house actually opened, but limited the possibility of Louisette screaming at us for two hours). But if she’s taken out of the car partway through a trip, all she wants to do is explore, socialise, and – above all – move. So CJ and I discussed whether we’d be better off changing her in half an hour’s time or immediately. We chose to stop and change her, and it’s a good thing we did. She’d produced a startling quantity of pure liquid poo that had obliterated her pants and the improvised car seat lining (her pants had around 60% coverage, for the mathematically-minded among you).
It so happened that, flush with the thrill of being able to take more than international-airline-restricted hand luggage, we’d packed a great deal of baby paraphernalia including a rubber-lined foam change mat and a full-size nappy bucket (which has an excellent lid). And, like I said, spare pants for the munchkin in case of an Unusual Poo Event.
So we changed her, mopped up everything as well as we could, put her entire outfit into plastic bags for later washing, and put the nappy and contents into another plastic bag inside the bin. I happened to have packed a second car seat lining, because that’s how I roll. And we drove on. A few minutes later she threw up – actually threw up, not baby-style posseting – a LOT. It was a personal best for her quantity-wise. And it was chunky.
So we changed her entire outfit (60% coverage of the whole thing, or around 90% of her front, with some transfer to the back) again, put her in a third pair of pants, mopped up everything as well as we could, refolded the first car seat lining into place, and drove on. I had another pair of pants for her, but no third shirt (there was another onesie, but it was important that she remain in long pants until we had no other choice) so she went topless for a while.
She was sick several more times before we reached the house. She continued to be catastrophically, abundantly sick all that week and has only just begun to recover (oh, and guess what? She’s now teething, which means she’s in near-constant pain that will probably wake her at 3am regularly for up to six weeks). We’d packed seven pairs of long pants for her, and were constantly on the verge on running out. I did at least one load of washing every day, just to keep Louisette in long pants so that her poosplosions were partially contained.
But it could be worse, right?
It was.
On the first night, CJ threw up. He spent the next twenty-four hours barely awake (which meant I was a wreck for the 24 hours after that).
On the second night, my 7-year old nephew threw up. Then he threw up in his sleep. Then he had diarrhoea while throwing up. And then he was sick some more for the rest of the holiday.
On the third night, my sister-in-law threw up (the nephew’s mum). Then she drank some water and threw it up. Then she was sick some more for the rest of the holiday.
Early the following morning (the last morning) my brother threw up. Twice. Last I heard, he’s still not eating. I was also unwell that day.
So, to sum up, out of the twelve members of my close family:
Eleven out of twelve have been sick in the last month or two. Out of those eleven, nine threw up at least once. Six of us – that’s half – threw up at least once while on holiday. In the same very very open-plan house. With two toilets shared among twelve people.
So that was our holiday. It’s good to be home.
How did Louisette like going to the beach for the first time since she was an oblivious newborn?
Well, that’s another story 🙂
*I’ve never thrown up so much in one go. Ever. Particularly not while simultaneously – you know what? Never mind.
Flashback
Well, CJ was sick last night and recovering today (mostly sleeping), Louisette has regressed and is going through ten outfits a day, and I’m feeling the pressure – so instead of a longer entry here’s a flashback photo from when Louisette was six months younger.
Bit late for Wednesday due to technical problems, but oh well.
The Four Scariest Picture Books
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but these are freaking scary.
#4 “My Animals” by Xavier Denaux
Looks nice, doesn’t it? The entire book is pictures of animals, done mainly in black and white (with a feature colour here or there) and clever little holes through the pages where the eye of one animal is also the bellybutton of another. That kind of thing. It’s Louisette’s favourite book.
One tiny problem. . . things get pretty macabre pretty quickly.
That’s right: the eye of the sheep is COMING TO GET YOU.
#3 “Teddy the Policeman”
Great! A simplified way to tell kids about trusting policemen to look after them. How nice. Or not.
This policeman is prepared. But what kind of miscreant needs the automatic application of handcuffs?
That’s right kids (especially YOU, Timmy: I see that tell-tale dirt on your face). The policeman is much, much bigger than you and he’s going to take you away.
#2: God Made Me
Now THIS is obviously going to be a book about how God made you special and unique. . .
. . . and how he can steal your face at any time. Just because.
#1: God Made Colours
Staying on the all-powerful deity theme, another brightly-coloured offering from the Christian Bookshop.
As you can tell, Louisette loves it (either than or she is trying desperately to MAKE IT STOP). The book goes through a number of colours, then ends by bringing it all together in one picture:
Just one teeny tiny question: WHY IS THE SKY BLEEDING???
It’s obviously not because the picture had too much blue – there’s barely any blue at all. It’s because God is on his way to smote all the naughty little girls and boys.
Sleep tight.
Our camera is broken
Luckily, we have an iphone. “We” meaning CJ. Which means all Louisette photos are currently taken when (a) I have my hands free, and (b) CJ is in the room. This is a pretty typical example (so evidently the loss isn’t the worst thing ever):
My job
In the afternoons, I pick up two girls from school and mind them. Louisette comes with me. The girls actually chose the two of us over several other potential babysitters. Louisette is delighted with the girls, and they are delighted with her. I have their mum’s permission to post this photo:
Is it any wonder I love my job?
Girls Gone Metric: She’s Ten Months Old
Yep, just two more months of daily photos to go. . .
Louisette has learned that falling off the couch face-first is something she doesn’t want to do. She has not learned that falling off the couch backwards is something equally unpleasant. But she’s pretty good at the wriggling-style descent these days, and can sometimes even get herself into position (tummy down, feet first) by herself. She has developed two distinct dancing styles, she can drink her own bottle without help, she eats mostly human foods including oatmeal and sandwiches, she feeds herself her own lunch, given half a chance she can and will undress herself and everyone around her, she can turn her musical toys on by herself, she can recognise photos of her Mum and Dad, and she has a couple of cute party tricks up her sleeve – including passing a ball back when it’s been rolled to her. Sometimes she even has good hair days.
See the rest here.
Felicity Banks 