Mystery Pants Revealed!

When Karly and I started this blog eight million years ago, we were two ladies who enjoyed nothing more than boozy good times spentΒ laughing hysterically genteelly discussing the finer points of art and interior design. Then I got knocked up and things changed -- namely the boozy part. Then I squeezed out Sweet Baby Ike and things changed even more -- namely the having time to do anything part.

And now it's Karly's turn. Congratulations and welcome to the dark side, my friend.

Behold Eero Gore Miller Hand, born early Friday morning on October 29, 2010.

Now, he might look like a regular day old baby, but Eero popped out weighing 9lbs 10oz and measuring 22 inches long. In other words, he is already bigger than Ike. And I'm pretty sure that when I saw him he was trying to walk out of his bassinet, much like a baby giraffe.

Next week he will probably have to start shaving, and if nicely asked Eero might even do your taxes. Because he is advanced like that.

Hopefully he will take over the blog in a month or two so Karly and I can have a celebratory drink.

Who am I kidding? Babies are even better than booze and free time, and they might even be better than craigslist.

Seriously, who could resist that face?

But don't worry, we'll still be here to talk story about fabrics and furniture and good art. And of course sometimes we will also talk about our babies.

Because that's what we do now. Change is good.

Daydream Nation

Sweet baby Ike is sick today. Nasty sick -- like twin rivers of Tigris and Euphrates snot sick. It takes a special kind of mama love to kiss a baby's slimy germ infested face, to comfort them even when they cry like... babies. So, either my nurturing mode is in high gear, or the sleep deprivation is getting the best of me, because when I saw these pictures by Adele Enersen, my icy black heart just melted.

Enersen photographs her baby Mila while she sleeps, quietly (I imagine) constructing impromptu sets out of sheets, socks, blankets and books, for her slumbering stage. I'm not sure if I'm more impressed by the creativity, or by the fact that Enersen's baby is such a great sleeper... Ok, the creativity part is awesomer (by a small margin).

Have a great weekend!

Ike's First Birthday

Dear sweet baby Ike, I can't believe it's been a whole year since your tiny baby body finally made a break for it. For nine (actually 10) long months, you slept and grew... and grew. And GREW. I was more than a little afraid I might be carrying a baby elephant.

But out you came -- just an average sized baby human. And of course you came at 3 am, because you really know how to make an entrance. As the nurses cooed over your eyelashes and wee baby face, I laid there dumbfounded.

Stage One of The Plan was over, and Stage Two was ready for implementation. Uh, what exactly did Stage Two entail again...?

Turns out stage two was a hallucinatory exercise in sleep deprivation. The first month was one long run on sentence of baby eatsleeppoop, oh -- and let's not forget a fumbling midnight trip to the emergency room on Day 5. Good times!

But you know what? I wouldn't trade that experience for all the sleep in the word. At the end of an epic, year long journey fraught with many twists and turns, I can tiredly but proudly proclaim that you are mine.

If I'm honest with myself, I know that you're only mine for a little while longer, because I am already beginning to understand the magical, mystical phenomenon that is parental time dilation: if there are two people and only one is a parent, at the end of 18 years the parent will have aged 100 years, but feel like only seconds have passed. Oh, and the non parent will still be young, carefree, and have good skin with no under eye bags, but that is a different story.

I know that someday soon -- sooner than I can possibly comprehend -- you'll be a grown man. Hopefully you won't live at our house anymore, and even though I might psycho dial you (just "checking in!") I'll be happy that you are an independent human, capable of living your own life.

Like any parent, I have my own dreams for your future, but I also recognize that it's your future, not mine. So I'll back off on the specifics, but could I maybe just mention that you seem to enjoy (torturing) cats. A lot. So, I'm thinking vet, perhaps?

Sorry. You know I couldn't help myself.

Ok, just be happy. And know that I love you and your little gigglesnorts more than these feeble words could express --

Mama