Family Pictures 09

I thought everyone might want to stare at pictures of my family. I'm pretty sure I thought right. If you're wondering about my hair, know that it was sort of windy last Sunday when we took these, so my hair has a wind-blown effect. If you're wondering about Josh's hair, the wind blew it off.

I like this picture because Rip looks cross-eyed and somewhat handicapped.And this is where we had to climb a mountain to get back to our car. It was wild. Rip was in the stroller screaming; it was difficult not to 'accidentally' let the stroller go. Just kidding?
We haven't edited them to fix all the shadows and stuff, but we're on it (probably not). We just wanted a family picture at the beach and we are too cheap to pay for a real photographer (no offense Laura; we greatly appreciate the pics and I consider anyone who can focus a camera, all the while squealing loudly in order to get the attention of a 3 month old, a photographer).It was really hard to get Rip to look at the camera, so the first two pics are pretty much the only ones where he was looking at Laura. The rest, he's lazily drooping his head or screaming his face off. Case in point. Either he's really tired or he just hates his parents. Hard to say...

Rip van Stink

There are a million more, but these are two of the 5 million pictures that I have actually downloaded from the disc. These are from Rip's photo shoot when he was 2 weeks old. He doesn't actually look anything like that now (his hair is getting lighter and lesser), but who can really keep track of these things? Apparently I'm supposed to get photos of him every week of his life. I do not plan on doing that. I plan on not doing that, in fact.

This is what he looks like now, though, at 3 months. And yes, he's wearing a CALLE shirt in the first picture, and no, CALLE doesn't make baby clothes. A friend made it for us, so you can all stop trying to purchase one. You can borrow Rip's, but only if you're slightly overweight, since he is too.

I saw a man unicycling around town the other day (this was before I took my leave of absence from society; I haven't left the house in 5 days and I don't plan on leaving any time soon. I kid not.), and I told Josh about the guy on the unicycle, to which he replied, "That guy is lucky I didn't punch him in the face." I wanted to point out that I was the one who saw the unicycler and not Josh, thereby making it impossible for Josh to punch him in the face, but I opted against that and decided rather to nod my head along in agreement. And either Josh has a strong dislike for those who ride unicycles (all 2 of them), or I've completely rubbed off on him. It's a toss up. Either way, I like it. Anyone who randomly wants to punch others in the face has my support.

Halloween

So you might be wondering what we were for Halloween... you might not be. We're obviously Utah mormons. You can't really tell in the picture, but I've stuffed my stomach to look like I'm pregnant, ratted my hair, putting the 'Bump-it' to shame, and I have a baby taped to my leg. Josh has a BYU hat on, socks with sandles, and jean shorts on. Needless to say, our California ward got a kick out of the 'costumes.' We get sick of hearing about 'Utah mormons' and such, and so we decided to go with it and make a joke of it. They loved it. And Rip is obviously a ghost. A scary one.

The other pictures are from a week ago when we watched some friends' kids. I'm trying really hard to take more pictures and look like a good mom. So far I'm 0 for 2.

You might be wondering how old Rip is. He's 2 1/2 months old. If you feel like he's been 2 1/2 months old for at least 2 years, you're not alone. D0esn't it seem like he should be older than that? Doesn't it seem like time is standing still? Doesn't it seem like Rip shouldn't be able to open his eyes that wide? Well, he can. And he does it often. In fact, this seems to be his expression of choice. As my sister, Meg, put it, "His eyes are taller than they are wide." I'm sort of concerned.

Spit up

I keep meaning to update with pictures and videos, but I've opted to spare you, or rather, spare myself. I hate updating. I probably hate it because my fingers are sore and tired from the constant removal process of spit-up. Seriously. Rip doesn't just spit-up either, he pours sour milk from his mouth like a fountain... the entire day. Spit-up sounds kind of cute and innocent. What Rip does is neither cute nor innocent. It's a vicious assault of my person and my decency. It's an act of terrorism and it needs to be stopped. I'm pretty sure it cannot be stopped. This baby was designed to try me and milk upheaval tries me.

There are so few breaks in between the constant upheaval of milk, that I've resorted to wearing t-shirts all day every day. This might not seem low, but considering I firmly believe the t-shirt to be an article only worn to exercise or sleep, this is a huge development. I loathe myself for stooping so low, but even my resolve to dress like you aren't going to bed has dissolved. My will has dissolved. Life, as I know it, has dissolved. I love the word 'dissolve.' Dissolve.

And to top it all off, the baby just puked on my bedspread.

I'll post pictures tomorrow/later/probably never.

My life is better than yours

I'm furious. I just wrote an entire post and was just adding a title when somehow I deleted the entire thing. Honest to goodness, if this computer was a living thing it would be shriveled on the ground weeping, for fear of the harsh expletives that fell out of my mouth.

To sum up what the would-be post said, I noted that I didn't have much of anything to write, being that I sit at home with a baby all day and realistically, babies do not make for very interesting companions (anyone denying this is welcome to come and sit with me and Rip and see all the wild adventures we get into; it's both magical and wild and I'm lying. We get bored staring at each other all day, so he screams on the floor and I watch 'What Not to Wear' at subhuman volumes). I mentioned that I left the house the other day with a shirt covered in a film of spit-up and someone pointed it out to me, asking, "Is that spit-up?" Without the slightest measure of embarrassment, I said, "Uh huh. Want some?"

I also noted that I tried to shave Rip's head today but was foiled by Josh, who was horrified by the idea. I pointed out that Rip is currently sporting a comb-over and would be utterly humiliated by it, if he was at all self-aware and not completely focused on milk and the consumption thereof. Josh stood his ground, but has left for work for the day. I'm not sure where he put the clippers but it's only a matter of time. I give it 40 minutes until I crack and shave all the dark fuzzy goodness away.

Last, I mentioned in the deleted post about looking worse than I did 2 weeks ago. Sad, but true. I guess that can be expected with a diet rich in brownies and chocolate chips. I plan to start running my big post-pregnant body, but am slightly concerned about dying along the way. I haven't exercised for a long time, and I'm pretty sure my body is going to remind me of that when I'm trying to haul all of it up a horse trail, and it's trying to haul itself to the refrigerator. We'll see. I'll keep you updated on my love-handles.

Utah ruins babies

So I'm still alive, barely. And so is the baby, barely. We're making it. We had a scare back a few days after we got back from Utah, but we've pushed past it. The baby had some wild notion after being held all day every day by family that that was going to be the norm from there on out. He had a rude awakening when the day we got back, he sat on the floor screaming for want of being squished in someone's arms. Muahaha. I won that battle. Well, actually I didn't since the baby is sitting in a sling strapped across my chest. Hey. As long as my arms are free, I consider myself the victor. Courtney - 1, baby -9,757,866.

Now, pretend to care and stare at some pictures of Rip. He is 6 weeks old going on 2 weeks old. I swear he should be progressing in some regards but he is still refusing to do much of anything besides poop, stare, eat, cry, sleep, and eat. Oh, and poop.

Here is Rip at 6 weeks sitting in his bumbo. Or trying to. Hey. I'm desperate.And Josh took Rip swimming. Here he is clinging on for dear life. I'm pretty sure Josh had some kind of hickey after this.

It's funny because I was looking at the box of diapers sitting in Rip's room and noticed a few discrepancies.

First off, the baby and the mother are both smiling. Together. At each other. At the same time. In the same place. Now, if that were me and Rip, I would be smiling and he would be staring blankly in response. Or, he would be smiling and I would be scowling because I've just finished changing a diaper and he is currently doing his best work to insure that I will very soon be changing another diaper. See the problem? They were both smiling and so far, I'm not convinced that that really even happens.

The second problem with the diaper box is that it only comes with 216 diapers and honestly, a day's supply in a single box just seems dishonest.

Third problem, the mother looks well rested. Either that isn't her baby or she is one of those idiots who has magic babies who sleep through the night. She should have dark circles under her eyes or at least have a little crazed look about her. I prefer both.

The Disgusto Manifesto

I would post pictures, I really would, if the Rip wasn't possibly the most disgusting baby to ever have lived. I say this all with a heart full of love and fondness, of course. It's just that he has the worst case of baby acne, and to add to his grotesque features, he has developed cradle cap, scale-like things all over his head. I hate it. It frustrates me to no end. It's like if there is a single gross thing that can happen to a baby, Rip is sure to break out with it. I'm starting to search for gross baby skin diseases on the internet, just to be prepared for when Rippy gets it. I have to mentally prepare myself.

We went to the beach today with some friends and I found myself hiding Rip in a blanket so no one could see his nastiness. I'm pretty sure one girl figured me to be an overly protective parent, little did she know I would have let the stray bum with one arm hold Rip, had he asked. On second thought, the bum would probably have been worried about contracting one of Rip's skin diseases and asked not to let the baby get too near. I don't blame him.

It just doesn't seem fair that my baby looks like he's been washed in acid and then scrubbed with a scouring pad. People often peer into his car seat and inevitably come up with, "Adorable!" or "Precious!" Come on people. His skin is trying to eat itself. Let's just call it what it is and be done with it. It makes me dislike the general public more than I already do. What's worse is that I feel responsible to acknowledge his nasty skin to every person who comes within 40 feet of him. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. And Rip's skin is exhausted from trying to ooze and blemish so much. When this phase is over (likely never), I'll post a picture or two. Right now I'm too busy searching for cures for shingles, as I'm sure Rippy is on his way to getting it.