Wow, it’s a good thing there’s no shortage of baby fashion cuteness, because finding more than eight consecutive minutes to rub together (?) for a REAL blog post is, like, not happening these days. And blogging is like exercising for me – if I don’t do it for extended periods, guilt eats away at me. (Not because you, dear Di-hards, have ever been accusatory, but just because I can’t leave alone anything I start, and blogland is always waiting for more.) So these little posts are like doing a few squats or crunches every once in a while: they help to stave off the guilt.
Yes. I may have a few issues. But whatever. FASHION!
I picked a couple of comfy loungewear favourites for today (not loungewear as a euphemism for lingerie, by the by).
I call this one “Plouf!” (It means “Splash” in French.)
And I call this one “Adorable Distraction.” Because I’m hoping your eye will be irresistibly drawn to the ruffles, this time delineating the bum and arm contours (and forget to notice my messy living room).
And now I’m going to reveal the secret subtext. I’ve immensely amused myself by entitling this post “Ultra Lounge”, because:
I was once given as a gift a CD called “Ultra Lounge”. It’s authentic martini-lounge music and it’s kind of fabulous. You know it’s gonna be, because the case is actually covered in fuzzy leopard print. Naturally, E has always been attracted to this sumptuous CD case.
Then, once upon a time, Daddy asked E, “What kind of music would you like to listen to, buddy?” Of course, E picked the leopard-print music. Daddy, who was not precisely in the mood for Ultra Lounge, performed a sleight of hand with an album he felt like listening to, and said, “Oh! David Francey! Good choice.” (If you’re familiar with the brilliant folk singer David Francey, you know that it would be hard to find something LESS leopard-printy.)
E is also a big fan of Francey, especially the CD Daddy played that day (“Late Edition”). For months afterward, he would find that fuzzy, gaudy case and say earnestly, “Let’s listen to David Francey!” Even after we explained the truth, the connection between a Scots-Canadian folkster and animal-pattern velour had apparently been seared on his little synapses. It’s only recently he’s finally learned what the real “Late Edition” looks like, so now he will override whatever’s playing, whenever he wants, and replace it with good ol’ D.F.
Speaking of my lovely firstborn son… Here is a special photo of Baby AB’s Big Brother, sporting Toy Story and Chocolate Goatee Fashion.
He will be four years old tomorrow. I’m amazed and thrilled and heartbroken. I mean, three sounds so little still… but FOUR. It’s big. Soon, he won’t even count as a preschooler anymore, because he will be in school. OH. I can’t even.
I love that crazy, aggravating, wonderful boy with all my mama-bear ferocity. It feels weird (and yet very common, I think) to be so happy that he gets to grow up, while also clinging to the babyhood that only fleetingly surfaces in a pure grin, a snuggle, a vulnerable tear, a soft sleeping cheek.
The other day, I was going through his clothes to see what he’d outgrown, and I totally wept onto his wee cargo pants and grippy socks, because there’s another layer of innocence, shed faster than I can grasp.
And, there’s another collection of sweet things his brother will never wear. I’d be in denial if I didn’t acknowledge that this is really about both of them.
Anyway. Lots more to say about that, another time. Right now, it’s time to make the final preparations for a BIG DAY TOMORROW!