while my girl gently sleeps

I really would be curious to know, if such sort of calculation were ever possible, how much time I've spent in the last 19 months waiting for my girl to go to sleep. It doesn't get me as angsty and tense these days as it did when she was younger, but it's still an issue. Today she had Moanie and another new little buddy, Olin, over. Somehow badass babysitter managed to get Els, Moans, the new dude plus annoying but lovable dog Lucy to the park. They played on the trail in the sunshine, but came home kinda wound up. Alas, it's now 4:00 and I think my chicken has finally stopped squawking. And singing the ABC's. And jumping up and down in her crib. And having lengthy conversations with Baby, Night-Night, Baba and Baby Pea. I've fought the urge to go in multiple times and folded twice. After a banana, some agua, a bit of baguette, a lot of back rubs, and my rendition of my dad's famous, "Night night my Gillie" song, the house is finally quiet. And I can relax.

The irony is, instead of grabbing my book and getting cozy on the sofa, I'm sitting here writing about my girl.

Actually, I began this post during the squawking. I can't really do much else when I'm waiting for her to sleep. I do dishes. I put laundry in. I pace around. But generally, the best bet is to park myself right outside her door at the table and play on the computer. I can't disconnect from her in moments like these, so instead it seems better to focus on her through writing and continue to resist the urge to say screw it and get her out of her criblet so we can be together. Our house is too small to use a monitor, though sometimes I would love to just watch her. Listening through the door is almost as good, especially because she is such a chatty cathy. I wonder where she got that....

So I've promised my mama a new and fabulous pic of Miss Moves. But it's not exactly easy. When she sees the camera these days she immediately says, "Moanie? Moanie?" and wants to watch the video of her and Moana dancing. In fact, when I put on a CD, she immediately says, "Moanie? Wile, wile tree? Moanie?" so I fold and play that damn Indigo Girls song for the hundredth time. Here is my recent photographic attempt at showing what living with a little nut is like (anyone want to give me photography lessons for my birth.

She loves to pretend to put on daddy's deodorant:

Feeds, carries, diapers and generally obsesses over Baby and Night Night:
Gets to watch (and talk to/sing with/point at) Baby Einstein when mommy gets dressed:

Needs to wear her "Moanie shoes" (even if we can only find one, even if she insists on putting them on on the wrong feet):

And generally destroys the house.
So that's life with Pea, in a nutshell. She is such a happy little thing, so full of life and energy, so ready for adventure and good times.