Watch Her Grow

Time flies when you're having fun (and are sleep-deprived), and I've got the photos to prove it. For a while now, I've been meaning to pull together my favorite photos of Alexis. I finally did it. In the interest of keeping things relatively short, I decided to force myself to pick my favorite one from every month of her life. I'll keep adding new ones each month, and you'll be able to find them through a button in the sidebar.

When you look at the photos, you'll be able to see the hemangioma (birthmark) on her forehead appear, get worse, then mostly disappear. Just a couple of notes on hemangiomas:
- They are more common in girls than boys.
- The cause is unknown.
- They are not genetic.
- They nearly always go away on their own.
- They can bleed profusely if bumped hard enough.
- You should never do a Google search for them unless you WANT to see the worst-case scenarios.
- They are far worse for the parents that have to hear the annoying comments from every human under the sun than they are for the kid who has it.

A Little of This, A Little of That

In honor of the fact that Alexis' mouth has suddenly developed multiple personalities, with Mouthelica being the one that says things like, "I want to sleep, please" and her evil twin sister Mouthette saying, "I don't want to sleep. No! Mommeeeeeee! Waaaaaaaaah!!!!", I bring you randomness:

- OCD is apparently either genetic or contagious because wo-howdy! does Alexis have a good case of it. The girl cannot, under any circumstances, go to bed unless she his hugging her Elmo Pokey Pokey book (that's what she calls it, I find that my brain takes her title to places my brain shouldn't go). Since I find amusement in other people's neurosis, I have made it a habit to find the book half an hour before bedtime and hide it from her. It's always in an easy spot like the second shelf in her bookcase (instead of the first where she keeps it), in the middle of the floor, or under the covers in her bed. I suppose I should feel guilty for laughing at her as she looks all over the place for the silly book, but I don't. Ahh, Alexis, perhaps someday you'll have kids of your own that you can torture.

- I added two more hermit crabs to the worm-laden tank and haven't spotted any worm heads poking out of holes since. I do believe I may have broken the cycle, at least for now.

- Alexis has decided it's a fantastic idea to tell Mr. Husband and me to "Go away!" I think it's a dreadful idea and have been trying to figure out a strategy for getting her to stop being a mouthy little snot. Ignoring her did not work. Telling her it wasn't nice didn't work. Acting like she had hurt my feelings and pretend crying made her LAUGH HYSTERICALLY. She stops the deep belly laughs long enough to ask, "Mommy, what happened?" but then promptly goes back to enjoying how she's killing me with each and every word.

- Last week my company held closed bidding for a few of the older fleet trucks. We had a wee bit of money sitting around from federal taxes (woohoo!), so I bid less than the delivery fee for a few yards of mulch on one of the trucks. Wouldn't you know it, I won. So, I bought Mr. Husband a hunk-a-junk big, ugly truck last week. He's in heaven. His undying need to talk about his heaven-sent truck has turned me into a walnut, a cashew, a peanut, an almond, and ever other freakin' kind of nuts that you can be. ENOUGH WITH THE TALKING ABOUT THE TRUCK, PLEASE!

- When Alexis was born, Mr. Husband and I agreed that we would save money for her by holding on to all of our change. If the lady at Target handed me 99 cents, I stuck 99 cents in Alexis' piggy bank. If Mr. Husband got 40 cents back from the soda machine, he stuck 40 cents in Alexis' piggy bank. And so on. Even though neither ever carry much cash (I think I'm rich if I have a $10 bill), over the course of two years, we saved over $500.00 for the munchkin. She could have bought Daddy the truck she's so rich. Would that mean she would get to be a little peanut as well?

- I took Alexis with me to cash out the last of her change today (so she can start earning interest on her pennies, you see). I went to the change machine at the grocery store for various reasons, and Miss Thang had a GREAT time shoving the coinage down the hole. I started to feel a lot like a hockey goalie as I tried to block her shots when they went wide. Really, I spent fifteen minutes making sure she didn't take out some old guy's eye with a flying nickel.

- Saturday when Mr. Husband took Alexis out with her truck for a spin in the driveway, it turned into Gigglefest 2008. She thinks it's a riot that the little truck moves when she pushes on the gas. The only problem is that she can' laugh and push the gas at the same time, so she moves a few inches, doubles over laughing, moves a few more inches, doubles over laughing, lather, rinse, repeat. I got a zillion great photos during Gigglefest 2008 (some of which you've already seen):

But this one is, by far, my favorite:

About Those Prisoners

It's no secret that Mr. Husband has a soft spot for animals. When I first started dating him, he had an iguana named Chuck and a cat named George (why yes, he is good at naming pets). All he ever talked about was how he would eventually have a Bulldog. Getting a Bulldog was, for a long time, his biggest dream. I think it's pretty well documented that I am not a fan of the smelly, noisey things. I mean, I love Meg, but I don't exactly like her most days.

The road to his dream was a long one. Early on, money was the deciding factor for why he didn't have one. They aren't exactly the cheapest of pups, and Airmen do not walk around with a few thousand dollars to spend on a dog. After he got out of the Air Force, he went to college. College students also do not have a few thousand dollars lying around. All through the broke days, I reveled in the knowledge that I was safe from the attack of the Bulldog.

The drawback from having a dream that was truly not attainable at the time was that he tried to fill the alleged void with other animals. He spent his first thirty years dreaming of that dog. He also spent his first thirty years dragging assorted critters home. As a kid, his mom limited him to the occassional rodent. Once he moved out, he moved on to bigger things. Oh, there were still the occasional Guinea pigs and hamsters to be found, but it wasn't until he was under his own roof that he brought on the reptile phase.

I was not a fan of the reptile phase. There have been three iguanas (Chuck, Norm, and Lou) and a Chameleon (Ernie) under our roof at some time or another. The last of the lizards finally died this past summer. One of the happiest days of my life was when I saw that iguana cage finally make the trek to the trash, signaling the end of the era.

In the midst of the reptile phase was a brief hedgehog phase. Grommit was his name, and he was essentially a prickly Guinea Pig. Looking back at it, Grommit was the closest thing to a bulldog that we've had, other than Meg. He was a lot smaller than the Bully baby, but the prickles meant he was sitting wherever he wanted to sit no matter what we tried to say about it, he grunted CONSTANTLY, he ate all sorts of random and weird things, and the cats avoided him just as much as the avoid Meg now. I don't think anyone shed any tears when he died.

After college, it became clear that all the small critters were doing nothing to temper the desire for a Bulldog. Mr. Husband had three cats to entertain himself with, all his other small creatures, and yet he was still left wanting. So he began his full court press for his dog. That led to Jasmine. I'm sure you're thinking that a Lhasa Apso is the furthest thing from a Bulldog, and in some ways, you're right. But Lhasas are very cool dogs in that they behave like big dogs, but don't eat big dog quantities of food or take up big dog space.

The short story of how Jasmine managed to come home with us was that Mr. Husband and I had a GINORMOUS fight in a pet store when he tried so hard to get me to let him buy a Bulldog puppy there that we actually ended up in a screaming fight in the middle of the store. It was the kind of fight where everyone in the vicinity stops what they are doing to stare. Why yes, we are some classy people, yes we are. Anyway, later that day I was still fuming, he was still pushing, and we walked past a poofy little baby Lhasa Apso. I said something to the effect of, "The only kind of dog you're getting is one of those things." And so it was.

It took another few years before I finally caved to Mr. Husband's Bulldog passion. I don't know if that means he's more stubborn than me, or if it's just a matter of me finally running out of excuses. I will say that if he thinks he's getting another one when Meg passes away, you might want to make your reservations for the fight. It's going to be a good one, I'm sure. Especially since I strongly suspect this one will be taking his side in the fight:

I'm screwed, aren't I?