Baby Fist

Olivia has discovered her fist. It's quite fascinating to watch her be so fascinated by a part of the body we totally take for granted. She'll stare at it, open it, close it, grab things with it, and try to shove it into her mouth. Better than television. Especially now that baseball's on every channel. Ick.

She's also drooling like crazy.

Oh, and she's sleeping in her own crib. The first night we tried this new arrangement, we didn't sleep. She woke up every hour. The next night we comprimised. We took the side of the crib off and pushed the crib up against the bed. Then when she would start to stir in the middle of the night, I'd just reach out and pat her back or touch her face. She'd be immediately comforted and go back to sleep. And I can see her. It's better for everyone.

And I'm hosting a Pampered Chef party on December 3. You're all invited. If you can't make it, I'll get you a catalog and you can still order lots of cool stuff. The more you spend, the more I get. Ashley, I know it's a long drive, but it's worth it, isn't it? I'll let you hold Olivia!

Well, I guess that's it. But I won't sign my name - oh no! Apparently that's not good blog-ettiquitte. I'm not sure that's how you spell that, but it's French so I don't care. I should just spell it phonetically: "Et-i-kit"

I can't stop! I need closure! How do end a post if not with my name? It's like writing a letter and not signing it! So unfinished.

I'm listening to the Grease soundtrack.

"Tell me more, Tell me more..." Appropriate for this, the never-ending blog entry. All because Jeremy doesn't want me to sign my name. Well, too bad for him. I have to do it.

Bye!
Beth