After two glorious nights in which she slept through the night in her own crib, we had two really bad nights. It wasn't her fault. She had a high fever and was clearly uncomfortable. But at about 1:45 a.m. on Tuesday night, having yet to get any real sleep because she was continually plucking at my shirt (even though she seemed to be asleep), I stormed out to the sofa, thinking I'd get some sleep out there. I did, but I woke up in the morning with a seriously tweaked back.
It remains seriously tweaked. Last night, I did some yoga with Pumpkin, which helped. (When I say "I did yoga with Pumpkin" what I mean is "I did yoga while Pumpkin played with my blocks and strap and talked to me, pausing every once in a while to demonstrate how much better she is at downward dog than I am.") So I thought I'd try some yoga stretches tonight. Well, as hard as it is to do yoga with Pumpkin around, doing yoga with Petunia around is about 500x harder. She thought I wanted to play and came and blew raspberries on my stomach while I was doing a reclined twist. She climbed on my back when I was doing child's pose. So I gave up. I'll try again once I'm sure Pumpkin is down for the night.
And then Petunia was difficult to get down tonight. She's clearly feeling better. She gave me one of her characteristic pout/frowns when I turned off the light after reading her stories, then laid her head on her hand, pointed at the door, and said "beh"- she wanted to go down in our bed. Fine, I thought. She's still getting over being sick. Whatever. But when I settled in next to her in bed, she just started kicking me, and giggling. So back into her room we went. In the end, Hubby had to take over because it was time for me to finish off Pumpkin's bedtime routine.
So, yeah. It is a good thing Petunia is so cute.
And she is cute. She is remarkably good at playing catch. She can throw (one armed!) and catch the little soft soccer ball we use. She is delighted with each throw and attempted catch, whether or not they are successful.
She is also remarkably opinionated about what she wears on her head and her feet. Clearly, she knows that shoes make the outfit, and if we try to put the wrong shoes on her, she protests and tries to hide her feet until we take her in and let her pick the right ones- whatever they are that day. She also insists on picking her own hat for the day. My mom sews us the cutest hats, so we have a plethora for her to choose from. She is always certain about which one she wants, and no other one will do. I cannot for the life of me figure out her system for choosing, but I think she looks cute in whatever she chooses.
|On her way to more mischief, well accessorized.|
Total aside: isn't it interesting how you can make any phrase look like an 80s song title by inserting some parentheses?