My Laminated List, Part I

Today, while eating dinner, we were watching Knocked Up, starring Seth Rogen and Katherine Heigl. We were commenting – Sean, Auntie Em, and I – on Katherine’s gorgeousness, and Sean mentioned, “Yeah, she might be on my list.”

So I think it’s time to get this one out in the open. The “laminated list” from Friends has become part of pop culture for a certain generation: it’s a list of the celebrities with whom your significant other would concede you could, uh, get jiggy if you had the opportunity. (And it makes the assumption that you never will. I mean, they’re celebrities. Besides, if you really think of it, most celebrities have all kinds of sordid baggage, right? Realistically, do you want to get involved and have to consider drug habits, egos, eating disorders, megalomania, jerkishness, what have you? For the purposes of my list, I leave actual personality out of it. They’re all actors anyway, so who knows what their personality is?)

Here they are, members of Dilovely’s Laminated List o’ Famous Men (they all happen to be actors – and yes, I know it’s only supposed to be 5, but I’m a rebel):

1. James McAvoy – May I just state, for the record, that he is actually in a class by himself. I love him way more than I love the rest of these blokes. In fact, I never knew the meaning of a full-fledged celebrity crush until Atonement. There’s just something irresistible about him. He’s cute even in goat legs. He’s truly talented, and (I know I’m leaving personality out of this but) his colleagues speak highly of him so he might be a genuinely cool guy. Plus, he can do any accent – but his real one is Scottish. Sigh.

James McAvoy

James McAvoy


2. Jude Law– was first wowed by him in The Talented Mr. Ripley, couldn’t believe he was so beautiful.

Jude Law

3. Robert Downey, Jr. – was first wowed by him in high school when, for once, my girlfriends and I all were fully satisfied by the same movie: Only You. Somehow, he’s even better-looking now.

Robert Downey Jr.

4. Colin Farrell – he has my preferred eyebrows, and a sexy Irish accent doesn’t hurt either.

Colin Farrell

5. Joseph Fiennes – he has great eyebrows too, and his beautiful, soulful eyes in Shakespeare in Love are simply unforgettable; he looks equally good with whiskers and without.

Joseph Fiennes

6. Ryan Reynolds – He was hot in Van Wilder and Two Guys and a Girl – and he simply continues to be so. Plus: Canadian. 🙂

Ryan Reynolds

7. Ryan Gosling – incredibly talented but also beautiful; amazing that he can do The Notebook, Lars and the Real Girl, and Half Nelson with equal persuasiveness. Plus: Canadian. 🙂

Ryan Gosling

8. Zachary Levi – added as an update, January 2014. He was my “bonus” guy in 2010, when I still had cable and no kids, and watched Chuck on the actual TV. I only ever saw to the end of Season 2. Now that there’s Netflix and I’ve voraciously watched all 5 seasons, this guy actually sneaks right up, list-wise, and rubs elbows with James (see #1). He. Is. A. Dorable. Plus he voiced Flynn Rider in Tangled, one of E’s (and my) favourite Disney movies. If you were to watch this interview, at 6:44 you would discover what clinched his hold on my heart.

zachary levi

And, just for fun, a list of 6 male celebrities that other people love and who, no offense, really don’t do much for me:

1. Hugh Grant – he’s got a charming way about him, but his face is too droopy.

2. Nicholas Cage – something about him reminds me of a monkey.

3. Pierce Brosnan – basically good-looking and dashing and all, but… meh.

4. Harrison Ford – yes, he’s Han Solo and Indiana Jones, he’s a legend, etc., but physically – and I know this is sacrilege – I don’t see what all the fuss is about.

5. Robert Pattinson – Yes, I loved the Twilight books, but I had a very different Edward in mind. This one was a big disappointment for me.

6. Brad Pitt – I know, I know! What’s wrong with me? I don’t deny he’s awful pretty, but he just doesn’t wow me. Maybe if he were Scottish.

And now it’s Dilovely’s bedtime, but please stay tuned for the Laminated List, Part II: if I swung (swang?) the other way

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Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games and Canadian Pride

I know the Olympics in Vancouver have been over for a long time. I’m gonna write about them anyway because it’s MY blog… and people are still talking about it regardless. And the Paralympics are still to come! Plus, I’ve now gone through a grand Olympic struggle to get this post up… working on it while one-and-a-half-handed (MOTL), and then finding I’d lost everything I’d just written because of a log-in mix-up… I just hope you’ll find it was worth waiting for.

I’ll start with this: even though I barely saw the Vancouver 2010 Olympics, I was sorry to see them end.

The first time I really paid attention to the Olympics was in 1988, when I was 9 years old, during the Winter Games in Calgary. I was a little figure skater, just learning my loop, salchow, and flip jumps, and I became totally enamoured with Elizabeth Manley and Brian Orser. My first attempt at a scrapbook arose from this. I was also in Homeschooling, so I got to see and learn about sports I’d never witnessed, like bobsled and luge and giant slalom. I remember Kerrin Lee-Gartner won two medals for skiing, which was a big deal. (This was so long ago that curling and hockey were not even part of the Olympics yet.)

To be honest, I haven’t ever paid as much attention to the Olympics since then. I kept up with figure skating (doing and watching) throughout the Kurt Browning and Elvis Stojko days, but that was pretty much the extent of it.

This year, as we were gearing up for the 2010 Games in Vancouver, I was mostly unenthused. There was so much talk in the media about how much money it was costing for Vancouver, how cities go into absurd amounts of debt in order to host, how the politics of the IOC and the Games in general are ruining the spirit that was meant to be.

I have friends who were firmly cynical about Canada hosting. This was not helped when right off the bat, CTV decided to air footage of the awful luge accident. Then there was the snow melting (in Canada, what?!). Then there was the IOC insisting that Uvex, the company that provided some of Lindsey Vonn’s gear, take its congratulations to her off its website when she won, because “no competitor […] may allow his person, name, picture or sports performances to be used for advertising purposes during the Olympic Games”. Come on now, that’s just petty.

And… let’s face it, I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t complain about the fact that the beautiful song composed as the Olympic theme for 2010 revolves around a grammatical error. Urghhh. I tried to not care, but I can’t tell you how much it made me cringe to hear, in the midst of such an inspirational song, the words “I believe in the power of you and I” over and over. (The power of I???? Who ever heard of such a thing???? Really, you had to write it that way?… Okay, I’m done ranting for now, I promise.)

When the Games began, I didn’t watch them, mostly because I am not in the habit of watching live TV these last few months – who has time? But once they got going, I meant to. I was intrigued by people’s comments on Facebook, especially regarding the opening ceremonies: people were in awe. Non-Canadians were saying things like, “You must be so proud to be Canadian right now!” And on CBC radio, people were calling in and saying how much they loved the honouring of the native peoples during the proceedings, how the atmosphere in Vancouver was thrilling, electric, joyful, how people on the streets were demonstrating Canadian hospitality at its best.

I finally got around to checking on the last Friday of the games, hoping to catch a few exciting moments – and of course to check up on the figure skating. I had heard about poor, brave Joannie Rochette winning the bronze in spite of her mother’s death a few days earlier. I read up on Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir winning gold and ending the decades-long ice-dancing domination by Soviets and Russians. And I was suddenly kind of heartbroken to realize there were no more figure skating events left – I had assumed the men’s singles would be last, as used to be traditional. Apparently a Gala of Champions did occur, but I couldn’t find a listing for it.

I finally got down to business on Sunday, the last day. We had recently cancelled our cable, so I tuned in on my computer to watch live streaming Olympics. I have to say, if you’re going to miss all of the Olympics except one day, the last day is a pretty good one to catch. The CTV folks were all excited and emotional, and they summed it all up for me wonderfully, airing all the favourite moments – their own and those of the Canadian audience. They included categories like “best hug”, “best dance”, “best reaction”, “best moment from opening ceremonies” (the moments they showed of the ceremonies only confirmed that I must see them in full, because, um, WOW). The moments that kept coming back, talked about by everybody, included:

  • Alexandre Bilodeau, the freestyle skier who won Canada’s first gold medal on home soil, victory-hugging his brother FrĂ©dĂ©ric, who has cerebral palsy and has always been an inspiration to him;
  • The board-hopping embrace between Charles Hamelin (upon winning gold in short-track speed-skating) and his girlfriend Marianne St.-Gelais (who had won silver in the same event for women, on her birthday)
  • The Canadian women’s bobsled team freaking out, realizing they had won gold and silver;
  • Jon Montgomery‘s walk of victory after winning gold in skeleton, during which he impressively chugged beer straight from the pitcher a fan handed him;
  • The group tackle-hug of the women’s hockey team when they won;
  • Dozens of triumphant, spontaneous dances and euphoric hugs from athletes and fans alike, not just Canadians but everyone, from everywhere.

This is when it started to crystallize for me – what the Olympic Games are supposed to be about.

That afternoon, at the baby shower I was attending, we guests were getting periodic updates on the men’s hockey game, the last athletic event of the Games. I had been picturing the hockey guys in their dressing room before the game, going, “Well, we must win. There is no other option.” Not on home turf, not at the Olympics, not when one more gold medal would take us from more golds than any other host country to more golds than any country – ever.

Of course, they came through. They were kind enough to take the game into overtime, not only for better nail-biting entertainment value, but also so we could get home from the baby shower and catch the end. And of course, who else could score the golden goal but Sid the Kid? Parfait. I’m not even that into hockey, but one must admit it was a family-movie type ending to the Games.

I watched the closing ceremonies live as well, remembering how in ’88, it was way past my bedtime so I couldn’t watch the end where they extinguished the torch. (My sister and I had our own symbolic torch-extinguishing ceremony with a flashlight.)

In 2010, I enjoyed them on my computer. The wry tone was set right at the beginning by the clown-mime who “pulled” the last arm of the torch out of the floor – a joke to encourage us to laugh at the hydraulics malfunction that apparently disrupted the opening ceremonies. That was just the start of the tongue-in-cheek shenanigans.

Some people felt the humour was just too tacky, but I took it as it was meant: that we can laugh at ourselves and the stereotypes that haunt us. Although I squirmed at the environmental implications of gigantic inflatable moose and beavers, I thought it was a clever way to be a “good sport” no matter what the outcome of the games: if Team Canada had not done well, it would have said, “That’s okay, we can still get silly and have a big ol’ party.” Since we did do well, it said, “We may be awesome in myriad ways, but we don’t mind also being a self-deprecating doofus in the name of fun.” If the opening ceremonies were our chance to show our respectful, cultural, gracious side, the closing ceremonies showed that we have a whimsical side too.

It was also cool to see so many Canadian stars up there – it was great to see La Bottine Souriante get some well-deserved international exposure; individual comic bits by Bill Shatner, Catherine O’Hara, and Michael J. Fox felt like an intimate, chatty farewell; Neil Young and Michael BublĂ© showed themselves worthy of their status as Canadian icons.

One of my favourite parts of the event was the speech by the lead organizer of the Games, John Furlong. Though his French was painful to listen to, the rest of his speech was thorough, thoughtful, and sincere, full of thanks for the different groups that made these Olympics possible. And he hit the nail on the head with this:

…compare for a moment the Canada that was with the Canada that now is.

I believe we Canadians tonight are stronger, more united, more in love with our country, and more connected with each other than ever before. These Olympic Games have lifted us up.

If the Canada that came together on opening night was a little mysterious to some, it no longer is. Now you know us, eh!

If we were once the few we are surely now the many.

That quiet, humble national pride we were sometimes reluctant to acknowledge seemed to take to the streets as the most beautiful kind of patriotism broke out all across our country.

So many new and dazzling applications for the Maple Leaf – so many reasons to smile and be joyful.

Canadians, you joined each other and our colourful international visitors in common celebration – radiant, jubilant, spontaneous, peaceful.

For us, you were the wind beneath our wings.

That’s what I’d seen, and that’s what had touched me: the pervasive elation, a delight in being Canadian that seemed to suddenly come into its own. I’d seen what he meant by “in love with our country”, and it was powerful… like Canadians had just been waiting for this chance – permission, almost –  to glory in what we have here.

I am never comfortable with patriotism that manifests itself in jingoistic self-righteousness or brandished weapons, but to be proud of your home and recognize that you love it is valuable and profound. Canadian patriotism, like Canadian identity, is rather too complicated to put your finger on, as John Ralston Saul has pointed out – but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I think most of us know and appreciate what we have, how lucky we are, and that we are collectively unique in wonderful ways.

This is definitely what I felt as I watched the live blog comments pop up on the CTV website beside the video feed: every few seconds, Canadians (and some non-Canadians) were writing in, mostly to say things like, “This is awesome”, “Amazing job, Vancouver”, “I’m so proud to be Canadian”, and especially, “I LOVE CANADA!” It was an awesome feeling of connectedness, to watch the images we were all watching, and feel that I was together with all these other viewers, many of whom wrote that they were moved to tears as the festivities drew to a close.

By the time the 2010 torch was extinguished, I understood. The point of the Olympic Games is to celebrate the best parts of our humanness: joy, love, community… and exhilarating physical activity, whether it be competing or just cheering like crazy. When we genuinely celebrate these things, they encompass us and blur the lines between countries, reminding us what really matters, how much we have in common, and how much there is to admire and respect in each other.

As I see it, especially when you’re having an international extravaganza like the Winter Games, there can be no better goal.

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Random News

  • As of yesterday, March 1st, 2010, two new teeth were noticeable in E’s mouth! Lower right outer incisor, upper left front (as it turns out, the first one he cut on the top was not right in front, but off to the side). Good story, eh?
  • I am writing a big post about the Olympics, coming soon. Dilovely admits to and analyzes Canadian pride.
  • I am sheepish for not writing more this past week or so. Je m’excuse.
  • E has not been napping very well this week… which may have something to do with above-mentioned blog neglect. He has his navy seal duties to attend to, and drama to practice.
  • Beautiful sunny days, two in a row, walks with the stroller, blue skies, rushing water in gutters, snow melting, faint smell of earth. (We’re bound to get a cold snap any time now.)
  • New blog is getting organized! Soon to be available on an InterWeb near you.
  • Since this post is pretty boring, check this out for something more interesting (but not right before bedtime because it will scare you).

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Baby Bits XII


The Booger-Sucker.

A few squirts of air in the face from the nasal aspirator can transform E instantaneously from a grumpy, crying baby to a euphoric, laughing baby – you won’t believe your eyes, folks! I’m hoping to catch this phenomenon on video very soon.

This is a great discovery, since in all honesty this little gadget is not that great at sucking boogers.

Yes, I cleaned it first.

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Taking the Elephant by the Tusks Before it's in the Room

Hello, dear readers,

I apologize for my absence the last few days. I am in the process of a sea-blog-change.

As the end of my maternity leave creeps closer, I am wishing more and more fervently that I could only go back to work part-time (or, since I’m wishing, how about not at all?). I know that teaching full-time is a large expenditure of personal energy, and I would come home and only want to spend time with my own kid. Blogging would definitely fall by the wayside.

And yet, I hope not to give up blogging, because I’ve discovered that having an reason to write on a regular basis, even if it’s just a wee post, has been a joy to me. I used to write obsessively when I was a kid: stories, novels, poems, and especially journals. It’s good for my soul. But lately, all those things have been neglected because I have other priorities. I can’t spare time to write just for me.

Then I started a blog on a whim, and a few people enjoyed reading it! Now, even though just you couple dozen people witness my posts, it’s enough to justify me writing… and I get to benefit from that process. Thank you for reading, so that I can write.

There is a bigger (more awkward, elephantine) point to be made here. I am soon going to move my blog to a new independent site… it will look all different… I will be able to do more things with it… and… there will most likely be ads on it. I don’t know in what form yet. I hope they will not offend your sensibilities, readers.

I know to some bloggers that’s a sell-out/cop-out/travesty. I’m sorry about that. I would probably feel the same, except that I can’t afford to. Is it better not to blog at all? Not in my mind.

As it is, I have no idea if this will pan out. Some bloggers end up with a decent income this way, and many don’t whatsoever. I am looking at it as an experiment similar to the one I initiated when I started blogging in the first place: let’s do this, and see what happens.

In the meantime, I am pretty excited about my new blog, as I will get to use my own header art, and a domain name of my choosing, and put up videos and so on. I think it will be aesthetically pleasing and fun to use…

and I hope you’ll keep reading.

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What a Festrogabulous Idea!

Yesterday I attended my first official clothing exchange party. It was smashing! (The good kind.) Now, read on, and see if you can guess what that big F-word up there means.

I’ve been at events where clothing was exchanged, but this was hard-core. A belly dancer friend of mine invited me – and I guess this is a pretty long-standing tradition for her, because she clearly knows how to throw a clothing exchange. The invite just said to bring any clothes, shoes, accessories, etc. that you don’t need any more, and bring a salad, appetizer, or dessert that you love, and that’s it. Who knew that’s all you need for such a successful event!

I walked in with my bags, about half an hour after the technical start of the evening, and was amazed. My first impression was that of a feeding frenzy. Clothes were piled up on the various pieces of furniture and a dozen women (out of at least double that) were immediately visible, rooting through the loot, yowling and scratching as they fought over cuter items, stripping naked and flinging garments willy-nilly.

Okay, no, I’m letting my imagination run away with me. (Maybe I just wanted an excuse to use the word willy-nilly.) They were rooting through stuff, and it was a curtains-drawn, ladies-only event (except for Waldo the puppy), so there were women getting down to their scanties in order to try things on (though some used bathrooms). And they were all shapes and sizes, and all exchanging opinions and making recommendations, having a gab-fest, and creating an instant, if temporary, community. And wow, the sheer volume of cast-offs was impressive; not just clothes, but shoes, bags, wallets, scarves, books, jewelry, cosmetics, you name it. Also, the kitchen was packed to the gills with yummy food, especially dips (five-layer salsa dip, at least two kinds of hummus, and that cream-cheese-caramel apple dip, to name a few).

Now, I’m not the biggest clothes horse out there, but I can’t deny that an opportunity to give one’s wardrobe a boost for the cost of some brownies is highly appealing. Mostly, I wandered around and looked at stuff, and gave solicited opinions on people’s choices. Several of my fellow belly dancers were there, a few of whom seem to be sartorially blessed to look good in everything they try on, even the iffier pieces.

The two best things:

1) finding a pair of jeans that fit like they were made for me – does that ever really happen??

2) watching the two little girls of one of my dancer friends. Both beautiful, with outrageous mops of brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes. One is about ten months old, the other two years. The former got stolen away by two older moms in need of their baby fixes (actually I know them both from Parent Council at my school, and come to think of it, they did the same with my baby at the Teacher Appreciation Luncheon), and fell asleep in-arms, adorably. The latter got right into it, trying out the snacks, scoping out garments and obviously preferring the pretty bras, holding them against her stomach and then dropping about a dozen of them into a bag (for her, for Mom – who knows?), and finally succumbing to the untamed estrogen in the atmosphere and stripping naked (see? I told you!) at a rate of one item of clothing per ten minutes. Without a doubt, cutest bum in the room.

So to sum up: festrogabulous! Go in with whatever you want, come out with whatever you want more. Try it yourself!

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A Totally Random Question

Have you ever had a baby upchuck almost his entire carefully homemade dinner because of an immature gag reflex, and upon observing the warm, still-very-fresh food that looks exactly like it did on the way in, fleetingly think, I could just re-feed him this!

I haven’t, not me. No sirree.

But if you did, don’t you think you’d feel a little bit validated if said baby then reached to plunge both hands into the puddle of puke?

I might. Hypothetically speaking.

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BANG Movie Review – Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes Review By A Normal Gal

I know many many people have already seen this film, since it was in theatres forever, but I don’t get out much. Oh well.

Here’s what I liked:

  • Robert Downey, Jr. as Sherlock. Yum (and I’m not usually into “older” movie stars… but wait, he’s only 13 years older than I am… I seem to be getting old myself).
  • Jude Law as Watson. Yum again, even with the beardless moustache (not into those either). Both of these men would be on my “laminated list“, if you know what I mean. MOTL.
  • Rachel McAdams as Irene Adler. She’s delicious too. (She would be on my “if I happened to swing both ways” list.) And she was raised just down the road in li’l old St. Thomas, Ontario, which is crazy, because now she’s hanging out with/kissing the likes of RDJ and JL.
  • Grey, gritty, London underbelly atmosphere. To be relished.
  • Those crazy, analytical, medically-oriented, step-by-step explanations of how SH will beat up that guy.
  • An interesting mystery – and it’s supposed to be a mystery, so if I feel like I’m not fully getting it – that’s okay! It will all become clear in the end.
  • All mystery elements explained in snappy, satisfying speech by Sherlock to the villain. I feel certain cinematic/literary clichĂ©s such as this were used to great effect in this movie; after all, that’s what I came here to see – Sherlock successfully using his brilliance and sharing it with the audience.
  • No deerstalker cap. Apparently this symbol of Holmesian detectivity was the contribution of an illustrator, rather than springing from Conan Doyle’s actual stories. I think this was a very good move: if you’re going to re-imagine a legend, you have to take some bold steps away from the public’s expectations. Kinda like Heath Ledger as the Joker.
  • RDJr.’s ownership of the role. I know Jeremy Brett is considered the quintessential Holmes, and he basically gave his life to the role – far be it from me to belittle his version. Still, I liked the one I saw. I found RDJr. very convincing in all his eccentricity, wacky charm, chaotic anti-social tendencies, seething passion for detail, dark sense of humour, etc.
  • Cool, swashbuckling-yet-mysterious score by Hans Zimmer.
  • Tableau shots that become drawings during the credits. Neat idea, whoever thought of that.

Here’s what I didn’t like:

  • Some kind of weird film technique during scenes of mayhem – as if every other frame were missing or something. A choppy visual effect that annoyed my eyes.
  • Ummm… I should really think of something else I didn’t like…
  • Nothing comes to mind. After all, I’m not a critic, my reviews are BANG-on, baby.

Alors, overall: not a particularly profound or poignant movie-going experience, but a firm, hearty Huzzah! Dilovely LIKED IT.

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Traduction anglaise

I was thinking perhaps I should provide a translation of these Valentine verses (especially since my hubby and prime Valentine has great mastery of only certain words in French), and then I had an idea for an experiment. How about I try my hand at translating… and then let the InterWeb have a go… and see which one we like best!

First, the original again:

Lorsque tu seras vieux et que je serai vieille
Lorsque mes cheveux blonds seront des cheveux blancs,
Au mois de mai, dans le jardin qui s’ensoleille,
Nous irons réchauffer nos vieux membres tremblants.

Comme le renouveau mettra nos coeurs en fĂŞte,
Nous nous croirons encore de jeunes amoureux;
Et je te sourirai tout en branlant la tĂŞte,
Et nous ferons un couple adorable de vieux.

Lovely stuff. Now, here’s my amateurish attempt – I don’t feel comfortable yet straying from the translation to do rhymes and such:

When you are old and I am old
When my blond hair has become white hair,
In the month of May, in the garden bathed in sunlight,
We’ll go warm up our old trembling limbs.

As the renewal puts celebration in our hearts,
We’ll believe ourselves young lovers still;
And I will smile at you as I shake my head,
And we’ll make an adorable old couple.

Here’s the attempt by Yahoo! Babel Fish:

When you are old and that I will be old
When my fair hair is grey hair,
In May, in the garden which shines upon,
We will heat our old trembling members.

As the revival will put our hearts in festival,
We will still believe ourselves of young people in love;
And I will smile you while shaking the head,

And we will make an adorable couple of old man.

And finally, Google Translate:

When you are old and I am old
When will my blonde hair white hair
In May, the garden s’ensoleille,
We’ll warm our old limbs trembling.

As the revival will our hearts in celebration,
We will believe even young lovers;
And I’ll smile while shaking his head,
And we’ll do a couple of lovely old.


Huh. Now that I look at these… I’m pretty sure I didn’t win. But at least it proves my proclamation to my Grade 9 French students from back in the day: if you use an internet translator, I WILL KNOW.

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Baby Bits XI

I wonder if this is a common problem. Apparently, I’ve got a baby with too many plans.

As I write this, I feel quite sure this is a common problem. Tracy Hogg (the Baby Whisperer) even said so, and what a relief to see it in print: at this age, you just need to “ride out the inconsistencies”. We’ve basically gotten rid of the catnap, but recently the tendency is for E to stay up all evening, much longer than he used to, then sleep for the length of a catnap and wake up again. He’s all yawny and eye-rubby, but also arm-wavy, air-strummy, and rolly. (Except when he’s very very sleepy, he is intolerant of his swaddle, the thing that most helped him settle.)

Tracy has solutions for the not-sleeping thing – her method, which is preferred by someone like me who wants my baby to be able to fall asleep independently but doesn’t want him to cry alone, is called Pick-Up-Put-Down. The trouble with this method is that it’s based on a crying baby. In theory, when E cries, I pick him up, and put him down again as soon as he stops crying, and repeat as necessary. We do this sometimes; however, most of the time E isn’t crying. He’s strumming or rolling.

Ah, well. I guess we’ll figure this out as we go, and do our best for now. Thank goodness for maternity leave.

In other baby news: today, February 16th, there is finally evidence of tooth #3! Teeth #1 and #2 have been waiting almost four months for upper counterparts, and now, at long last, there is a tiny ridge of toothiness on the upper left. Woo hoo, top teeth! Gonna be so cute!

I just hope he doesn’t suddenly remember about nipple-biting. We’ve been doing so well on that.

E at eight months
Most of the hair lies down these days...

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