Archive for January 2013

Here we are in the double digits. To think that you’ve now been on the outside longer than you were cookin’ on the inside!


I’ve been remiss with photography. We don’t even have any good pictures of you standing or taking steps. I’m surprised you haven’t shown more interest in walking. Probably because all your spare energy is funneled into FIGHTING NAPS OMG.

You have enough hair now to get bedhead after a nap. You end up looking like an angry bird, stray tuft whooshing up perpendicular to your scalp. When I come get you, inevitably you’ve begun crawling off the bed, and your bewildered where am I? expression is eerily reminiscent of your father’s.

When we shake our heads at you or say “no,” you’ll imitate us and shake your head vigorously. This is your second trick (after last month’s high-five). Except I’m pretty sure you don’t actually mean “no” when you shake your head. You just do it for fun. And when we nod or say “yes” you respond by … shaking your head. At least you’re consistent?

Your silent clap has evolved into a real clap!

You make this >_< face. It’s like a wink, but with both eyes, your impish side asserting itself.

The new carseat – that we scored for free off craigslist! – has been a hit. You still resist being strapped in sometimes, and may pull out an arsenal of tricks such as arching backward or refusing to sit down. But once you’re in you settle down quickly.


This is where your cloth diaper covers are hung to dry.

You’ve taken to gurgling when you cry. You also pass your hand back and forth across your mouth, which results in a yodel of sorts. Both make it hard for me to take your complaint (usually “DON’T WANT NAP”) seriously.

You attempt to avoid naps by distracting me with kisses. NICE TRY, devious one.

Last week you threw up on me, in the evening after dinner, to the tune of noodles in my bra. Oh yes. I thought you chewed better than that.

A few weeks ago, we were playing in the living room when you turned the corner into the kitchen on your own. You voluntarily went somewhere I wasn’t! And after the first couple times, you stopped pausing to see if I’d follow.


It’s especially cute when you go off by yourself down the hallway looking for daddy. You’ll push open the door to his office and crawl right in, like you have an appointment or something.

I like to think you know I’ve got your back, and that security enables you to sally forth into new frontiers.

On Wednesday evening, I took Ashelyn on public transit for the first time. Earlier in the week I’d contacted a Craigslist seller regarding an Ergo baby carrier. I’d hoped to use it on the bus, but she didn’t get back to me in time. (That deal turned out to be a FAIL.)

So I took the stroller. We managed alright, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that again, and not because Translink isn’t stroller-friendly. (It is, more or less.)

Our stroller is a Graco hand-me-down, and the wheels are quite worn, making for unwieldy navigation. My primary complaint, though, is that its five-point harness comes apart into five separate strappy bits that must somehow be snapped together around a rambunctious nine-month-old who does not like being strapped into things.

Ashelyn tolerates being in the stroller … while it’s in motion. As soon as it stops, she wants out. So I pop her out once we board the bus, and we’re all happy campers. But then I can’t buckle her back in without two extra sets of arms (and, God forbid, a scene). So I’m stuck CARRYING her off the bus and pushing an empty stroller. With one hand. Making me even worse at navigating it than usual.

Once off the bus, I grit my teeth and wrangle said rambunctious nine-month-old back into the stroller. (Don’t give me that look, passersby. I don’t need your pity. Also, I’m older than you think!) Then we transfer to the skytrain, where the cycle repeats itself.

So I’m thinking, next time, no stroller. It’d be easier just to carry her. A sling might work, though probably better in weather that doesn’t involve poofy jackets. Then again, by “next time” she might be walking, which would totally solve this problem. Right?

I expected Ashelyn to get a kick out of public transit – at least I was right about that. One passenger expressed surprise that my girl stayed awake; when her own daughter was young the erratic motion of the bus would always lull her to sleep. But Ashelyn’s too busy making friends to think about sleeping.

I was usually the shy-bordering-on-timid kid, so I’m impressed that she’s such a social butterfly. Here I am, taking notes on her methodology:

1. Scope out a target – someone close by. The UBC student in the seat behind, the lady with the luggage, the high schooler who just got on, the man preoccupied with his phone. No need to be choosy.

2. Stare at him until he notices you’re cute.

3. When he looks your way, smile. Now you’ve got him. He’ll start making faces at you or talking to mama.

4. Keep laying on the charm. Babble. Tilt your head to the side. Wave. Bounce frenetically on mama’s lap. Squeak with glee.

Works every time. It’s never too early to begin collecting allies, after all.


Posted on: 15 January 2013

I liked the old theme enough to keep it for three years, but I wasn’t fond of the juvenile-ish colour change on bolded or italicized words. And I hated the format for block quotations and comments.

It’s high time for a change, anyway. (Other than Ashelyn hijacking the subject matter of this blog …)

I like that the wider column allows for more aesthetic text wrapping around pictures. I like how it’s not so wide that it intimidates me into writing longer paragraphs. (I wasn’t kidding when I swore that my days of academic writing were over.)

say what

Posted on: 11 January 2013

S: I missed a call from mom. Did you tell my parents about Ashelyn’s nine-month check-up this morning?

K: I told your dad I had to leave early to take Ashelyn to the doctor. Why?

S: I just called back. They thought she had to go to the hospital and were wondering what was wrong.

K: … that’s NOT what I said.

(Surprisingly – because we aren’t particularly tall people – Ashelyn is still in the upper upper percentiles for height. However, her weight has tapered off to about average.)

You’re a charmer, supremely happy all the time. Always a smile for everybody. They call you 开心果 (pistachio, literally “happy fruit”) and 喜乐天使 (literally “angel of joy”). Both sound cuter and less lame in Chinese, I promise.

You are a tease. You’ll reach for someone … then, when they come to hold you, all flattered and pleased that you’ve singled them out for attention … you’ll quickly withdraw your arms and turn away, like, JUST KIDDING! Smirk smirk.

Look what I can do.

Look what I can do.

You tilt your head to the side, all cute and coy. Where did you learn how to do this? I did not teach it to you.

You know how to give a high-five.

This is new: at times you protest vehemently when we take something away from you, or deny you something that you want. You’ll tense up, wave your fists, and yell at us. Uh oh. You have a WILL! Is this the end of the easy parenting days?

Your feet have outgrown your adorable puppy shoes. Nooo.

We’re getting the best fit from 12-18 month sized clothing.

Come to mama!

What’s with you and sneaking bites of paper? How many times this month have I had to fish pulpy wads out of your mouth?

For some reason you’re wild about drinking from a cup, and will demand that we share our water with you.

A few days before Christmas, daddy noticed that something in your mouth was clinking against the cup from which you were drinking. Teeth, at last! Yet I mourn the loss of your gummy smile. At present you have two nubbins on the bottom; the second broke through sometime around New Year’s. How lucky are we that teething bothered you not at all?


Very, very lucky.

New foods this month include chicken, peas, hummus, lamb, cheese, cauliflower, cabbage, eggplant, turkey. Grandma keeps trying to feed you junk. But you really wanted the cookie! she says. Duh. You want to eat everything. See above re: paper. Now can we stick to things with nutritional value?

You think it’s hilarious to snatch the nursing pads out of my bra.

On New Year’s Eve, you levelled up into a bigger carseat. You were hating the infant one, with its too-tight straps and your feet protruding past the edge. Now you can see the road, and you couldn’t be happier!