Dreary, Damp & Dismal

The skies outside are grey.  It's just a solid span of clouds for as far as the eye can see.  It's not even a peaceful, wintry grey because when you step outside you realize how damp and humid it is.  All of this grey-ness is leaving me feeling very unmotivated and sadly uninspired.  I don't know if the weather is echoing my mood or if my mood is responding to the weather.  I'm going to blame this one on Mother Nature, though.  I haven't even taken many pictures because the cold light isn't so flattering, and the moments of sunshine are so brief I'd lose the light before I had adjusted the camera settings.  And you can just forget indoor photos because it's just way too dark.  Which is a shame because you have a new "toy"...


Daddy bought you a "Jenny Jump Up", which is just a girly version of the good old "Johnny Jump Up" I had as a baby.  It's basically just a seat dangling from a spring that you mount to a doorway.  But you love it.  I think you feel free in it.  For once you can stand "unassisted" and bounce and sway on your own.  You're so tiny that the seat comes up to your shoulders, and all I can see are two pudgy legs poking through the bottom and your round, smiling cheeks above.  Clearly this is a toy you can grow into.  


Unfortunately, it appears that you've inherited your mommy's sweaty hands and feet.  Your little piggies are so moist that I think it'll make bouncing in your new jumper difficult on the tile.  Of all of the traits I could have passed along, why this one?  The one that earned me nicknames like "Clammy" in school and dashed all hopes that I could ever be a gymnast because I could never grip the parallel bars (Well, that and maybe the fact that I'm pitifully clumsy may have hindered me also...and the fact that I never took a gymnastics class.  That was working against me too, I suppose.)  Poor kid.  I'm truly sorry.

Cute but sweaty little piggies

It also appears you come from a long line of rule-breakers.  I thought I was bad getting you out of bed to snuggle the other night.  Last night you fell asleep early, so when you woke up for a midnight snack at around 11:00, your dad thought it was playtime.  He went into full-blown tickling and nonsense talk mode.  My first instinct was to remind him that we are supposed to be teaching you that bedtime is quiet time and that a routine is important.  But I bit my tongue, and I'm glad I did.  Sometimes I forget that you girls are his kids too.  Meaning that he should have as much say in how we raise you as me.  Not to mention that time like that is precious.  We have no guarantee that we have tomorrow to play.  He was happy, you were happy.  Win/win.  Again, who makes these rules?  Why do I get the feeling I'm raising yet another "Daddy's Girl"?  You girls love your daddy.  Luckily, so do I.

We miss you, sunshine!