Ch-ch-changes

I was ready for this week to be different than the 15 weeks that preceded it.

I was ready to start having a bit more of a routine (not a schedule…)

I was ready for some changes.

Margot was also ready for some changes.

But, we were on totally different pages.  My idea of change was less sitting around on the couch and more playing and productivity.  Margot’s idea was just to go through a massive and all-encompassing growth spurt.

So, instead of routine playfulness and productivity, we did a lot (A LOT) of sitting around on the couch, nursing and sleeping and nursing and sleeping and nursing and sleeping and nursing and sleeping.  (That describes about 2 hours of our typical day)

Occasionally during all that eating and sleeping, Margot would wake up and look at me with her big beautiful eyes and SMILE.  Then she would voraciously go back to what she was doing.  Those moments, though.  Oh boy.  Those eyes.  That smile.

Worth it.

I would endure anything for that smile.

Now, excuse me while I bawl my eyes out over how much I love my little boob monster.  Here’s about two weeks of Margot’s Instagrams.  Mostly pictured here are those precious moments between eating and sleeping…

 

You may have also noticed some other changes around here.  I had planned to do a complete overhaul of the blog over the course of one weekend, but… it didn’t happen.  So, I started working on it piece by piece. So far, you can see that we’ve changed the page lay-out. You might not have noticed that we also changed the pages on the blog. Check out our “about me” pages ( Mr. Moore and Mrs. Moore)  There are some more changes we have planned.  And maybe someday I will actually get to them.

Maybe.

For now, there’s a little baby girl who needs my love and snuggles (and milk), so… that’s the most important thing.

I leave you with this poem by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton:

Mother, O’ Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth.
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due,
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek – peekaboo.
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew,
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo.
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
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