As I sit here typing this, I can tell that I am carrying the faint smell of baby vomit on me. Like, seriously. I keep getting a whiff every few minutes. It must have dried up on me somewhere without me realizing.
But I digress.
This gal has us all shades of smitten.
Full disclosure: with Iggy, it took me months to fully put on my "mom suit" (if there is such a thing). To feel and think like a mother, to wrap my brain around motherhood - those things took a good long while. But now, I've got 2.5 years of motherhood under my belt and it's given me the ability to ease into this cozy little vomit scented nook of newborn life like a champ.
I could talk about Evelyn's accomplishments over the last month, but frankly I'm not quite certain what they are. I know that her and Iggy are quite different; two completely different newborn experiences. But I'm different too. The changes in me, I think, are more noticeable. Evelyn is hitting her marks like she ought to, and we're grateful. She smiles and laughs liberally. She is curious about the dogs, and her brother, and the random objects we dangle from mobiles. She's doing great!
But so am I.
Except that I keep poking fun of myself for being such a smiley, sappy, goober of a mom, just totes enamored with her little baby. Yep. That's me.
Now pardon me while I go stare at the 87 photos I took of her in my phone today even though she's sleeping within arms reach as I write this.
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