Happy BirthMothersDay

True to form, I am late in posting this, by one day (or two depending on how you see it).

I realized around 11:30 p.m. Sunday night that I didn’t mention Mother’s Day on my blog. Where I mostly write about being a mom and most of my readers are moms.

Yeah. I figured that the wooden tits should say it all.

But in case it wasn’t enough:

Happy belated Mother’s Day to you all!

Really though, when you read this, you’ll understand why I sort of forgot it was Mother’s Day.

A. I’ve never been good at remembering holidays. Growing up, we knew it must be some sort of holiday if there was one of those gross lard-based grocery store cakes sitting on the dining room table.

My family goes through the motions when it comes to holidays, but that’s about it.

Birthdays were about the same. Because of the mostly bad or non-existent birthday memories, I’m determined to make sure Annika always has a good birthday celebration.

And B. Yesterday was her actual birthday, but Toyin and I took her to Port Aransas for the weekend to play in the sand and splash in the salt water.

We had a blast.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, Annika’s birthday will always take precedence over Mother’s Day.

And that is just fine with me.

The Dolly Parton Tree

On our way to Port Aransas this weekend we stopped in the tiny town of McCoy, Texas. We stopped so I could use the facilities at a little barbecue joint where a guy was settin’ outside actually cooking the meat on a grill. The owner of the place was super friendly and made sure to tell us all about the tree to the side of the restaurant.

“That’s a Dolly Parton tree you know,” she said to us, pointing to the magnificent 200-year-old tree on the side of the restaurant. I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the place, but if you get off at the exit for McCoy and head east you’ll come up on it after about two miles. You can’t miss it. It’s the first sign of civilization. It’s sexy, huh?

The hum of the road brings out the philosopher in me

Last night as we drove south on Highway 37 toward Port Aransas, we passed by what Toyin and I guessed was an oil refinery. It stretched for several miles and was lit up like a small city. The individual lights burned brightly like Christmas lights on a tree, glowing with serenity. The steam pumped out across the sky forming a soft burnt cloud-like smog across the city. It was — dare I say it and offend my environmental sense — quite beautiful.

It was like a small city within itself. It hummed with a sense of a tiny, organized ecosystem within a ragingly disorganized and painfully expansive system.

Ever since the oil spill along the coast, I only saw the negative impact of the oil pumping along the coast. Because of the oil spill, ocean life has been damaged, food sources have been lost, livelihoods are threatened, entertainment and vacation spots will be ruined. There is much to be lost because of this oil spill. It is sad. It is painful for our world. I get that.

But as we drove in the darkness while Annika slept, the sight of the oil refinery struck me with wonder and knowledge. It is its own tiny point of light and a movement of evolution in itself. Oil provides a way of life. It is a natural resource that we use to power things that are necessary for daily life in this century. I don’t know about you, but I like lights and motor vehicles.

Maybe it was the darkness and the hum of the road that lends itself to seeing beauty in the openness of the unknown ahead of us. Maybe it was the silence of the sleeping child that one learns to enjoy to its fullest because you never know how long it will last. Maybe it was the beauty of the lights against the velvety sky. Maybe it was the smell of the ocean or the anticipation of vacation.

I’m not a religious woman, but I did grow up “in” the Church of Christ, as we put it. Three times a week for 18 years of my life I worshiped the Lord. I am very familiar with the teaching of Christ.

When we drove past that oil refinery all of these thoughts roiled through my head and I murmured, “One things dies so another may live.” It was all very metaphoric.

Today we spent the morning at the beach and once again I was struck by another ecosystem inside a larger one. The smaller ecosystem inside water that pools in between the beach and the edge of the rolling tide. It is a miniature system that is formed of the same things that forms the ocean, but it is more closely connected, more intense. It is the dregs of the ocean that are moving closer together to make their own tiny society of kelp, seaweed, gravel, shells, tiny fish and salt water.

Watching these newer, smaller ecosystems at work, the way they take what is there and mold something new that resembles its maker is like watching a child grow and become.

Become what? Just become. Become who they will be. Become the essence of you, your genetics, your childhood environment, your talents and your failings. For better or worse, they are our oil spills and our miniature oceanic ecosystems, taking what the world gives them and reworking it.

I wish I had some pictures for you but alas, I did not take pictures of either one. And, I forgot my cable for the camera. But hang tight because I’m going to try to find one tonight and instead of oil refineries and tiny pools of fish I have some pictures of a tree with tits! God I love Texas.

Mother’s Day remembrances and a review

Mother’s Day is just around the corner and thinking about it, I am reminded of a wonderful little bundle of joy I was given last year. No, not Annika. That was two years ago. Yep, she was born the day before Mother’s Day. It was definitely the best Mother’s Day gift I have ever gotten and every year she will continue to be the best Mother’s Day gift.

I have already sworn that I will never one of those moms that hints around for gifts and instead I will use Mother’s Day to remind myself that the best gift my child can give me is her presence (pun intended).

However, I am lucky in that, Toyin, even though he certainly doesn’t have to, still buys me presents occasionally.

Last year, on my second official Mother’s Day, Toyin gave me an iPod Touch for Mother’s Day and it was hands down the best gift he has ever given me, other than Annika. And he, unlike previous men in my life, gives really good gifts.

The year before, a couple of months after Annika was born, he split the cost of a new laptop for me. The first year we dated, he took me to a bed and breakfast for my birthday and bought me a digital recorder, which would come in handy for my job as a newspaper reporter. He’s bought me clothes, fancy dinners, and gadgets in the six years we’ve known each other. But even so, the iPod was the best thing he could have ever bought me and I’ll tell you why. Even though it wasn’t the most expensive gift he ever bought me, unlike those other gifts, this one saved my sanity.

At the time, Annika was working on about the fifth month of what looked like a never-ending life being attached to my breast for sleeping. And 1-year-olds sleep a lot! We’re talking, like 14 hours a day I was strapped down next to her while she slept.

In the first months she did this too, but I could pop her on my breast on my Boppy nursing pillow and once she fell asleep, I’d turn on a TV show or read the news on my laptop.

But as she got bigger and more aware of the world around her, the noises from the laptop irritated her. At night, for a while, I could leave the light on and I’d read books. During naps, I did the same, but a person can only read so much, plus it’s exhausting on the fingers and arms trying to hold a book up with one arm for an hour or two while flipping pages with the same hand because your infant is sleeping on top of the other arm.

So for several months, off and on I’d lie there, bored, staring at the ceiling, thinking about e-mails I wanted to respond to, news I wanted to read, things I’d like to write about, videos I could be watching, funny Facebook statuses came and went through my head that never got posted.

Twitter remained elusive. I’d hear about news events and be surprised, even though they had been all over every major news station in the world. Even though a lot of those moments were good extra time for sleeping and lots of good bonding with Annika also happened during that time, it was tiring and lonely, lying there while my child slept next to me with my breast in her mouth and all I could do was lie there, unfulfilled, bored and not tired.

So when Toyin bought me the iPod Touch, it changed my life.

I still use it even though it has gotten way easier to sneak out of bed after she falls asleep. Naps are still hard to sneak away, so I use it during those. But the iPod has actually made it easier for me to stay in bed longer with Annika at night and has given us even more cuddle time. Surprisingly, this little gadget has made it so that I am not longing to get up and often, after Annika falls asleep, I will get on my iPod for about an hour and then I turn it off and roll over for more snuggles as I drift into la-la land.

This little gadget isn’t perfect by any means. Even though I’ve had it for less than a year, many of the apps I want need the upgraded version, so they don’t work. And for some reason YouTube videos stop playing after we’ve watched them several times. Occasionally, the wireless gets hung up and I have to reset my modem.

Another problem that I didn’t originally foresee is that now Annika fights me for the use of it. On the one hand, it’s a nice toy for her because I have some cool toddler apps that she really likes. She has learned her shapes using the iPod and her eye hand coordination is remarkable for a less-than-2-year-old, in my opinion.

But she has gotten to the stage where she will demand the use of it. “Have it!” She tells me when I am using it to check my e-mail, or, she will demand to watch a “boo do” (video).

But all in all, the iPod Touch has been a lifesaver for me. I have often thought that it’s something no attached mama should be without.

So if your husband or significant other has asked you what you want for Mother’s Day, tell him or her that you want an iPod Touch, or hell, make it an iPad. It might come in handy during the heavy flow days. (Pun intended.)

The two-year mark makes me feel like a giddy school girl

I don’t know what it is. This two year mark coming up on being a mother is somehow similar to how I felt when I moved from junior high (now called middle school — yes I’m old) to high school.

It may not seem like much of an accomplishment on the outside. To the cool kids of the world I probably still look like an awkward, unkempt 12-and-a-1/2-year-old wearing purple eyeshadow and a bulky watch that does not go with my ruffly graduation dress.

But on the inside I feel like I am a new woman. I’ve figured out how to shave my legs without bleeding and the possibilities with boys are endless!

In all reality, I feel like I have passed the first big test and the first major hump of being an attached parent.

If parenting is brain surgery, attachment parenting is neuroscience. It’s not just looking at what is there, it is looking at what could be there and trying to make sure that good things happen and bad things don’t.

I’m not trying to debate the differences between mainstream parenting vs attachment parenting. But let’s face it. The reason many people choose not to do certain things like, breastfeeding, co-sleeping, avoid sleep training and wear babies is because, it is fucking inconvenient. It’s physically and mentally challenging. And it lasts longer. It’s hard on your back and neck.

It’s also emotionally tiring because in some cases people not only have the regular challenges of parenting, but they also have to defend their choices (or feel like they have to) to judgmental family members and/or friends and sometimes even their partners.

We will be celebrating Annika’s second birthday one week from today. Last year, on her first birthday I remember feeling some sort of milestone, but she was still a baby. She wasn’t really walking yet, taking little steps here and there. She was still babbling. She still nursed for most of her nutrition. She still needed me 150 percent of the time. She was still a baby.

But this year, man oh man, the second year has flown by. My neck is still hurting from the whiplash of this year. Or, hmm, maybe that’s from the pretzel-like positions I’ve been sleeping in for the past two years.

This year on her birthday she is not only walking, but running. Man that kid is gonna be track star. She is talking in complete sentences. She can count to 17, if you don’t count 14, 15, and 16. She knows about 12 percent of the ABC’s depending on the day. She sings. She laughs at jokes. She defies me. She tests my patience. She forces me to grow as a human being. She makes me examine myself and see where my strengths and my weaknesses are. Oh, the weaknesses!

So yeah, the two-year mark is not just a milestone for me. It feels like I’ve been running and running around the track and I finally got to the first hurdle. And I made it over.

So come on y’all and give me some high fives! Next up, the slutty phase. Can someone please teach me how to put on lip liner?

Being single-ish means more than the fact that I’m not getting laid

Being a co-parent instead of the traditional single mom and dad with established visitation means that in some ways, you have to function like a marriage.

Since Toyin and I decided to go the co-parenting route, this means three things. One, I often refer to myself as single-ish when I’m talking to other parents because I don’t like the stereotypical image of saying I’m a single mom. Two, I have to consult Toyin on things like when to take Annika to the doctor and how often she brushes her teeth. And three, I still don’t have time to date. The latter has more to do with the fact that I’m still breastfeeding and co-sleeping and I have other things to do when I am without Annika, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make an effort to blame Toyin for it.

Anyhoo, last week Annika was sick and when she gets sick, the dys in our dysfunction flares up and man, does it itch like crazy!

We tend to disagree on how to treat illness. I tend to take the more laid back attitude of, “Well, we’ll see if the rash goes away on its own. If it starts dripping puss, then we can try rubbing some raw garlic on it and if that doesn’t work I’ll take her to the doctor.”

Toyin on the other hand, well, I’ll just put it this way. I’ve taken her to the doctor twice for one cold because he was determined that she was going to die if we didn’t inject her with something that ended in dryl or drine and had lots of ingredients that I can’t pronounce.

So, yeah. Last week she was sick. She wasn’t dripping puss or running a fever, but she was highly uncomfortable.

What was wrong with her is irrelevant, and I’m going to be vague about it because I think this particular problem crosses the line into her privacy and what could potentially embarrass her.

But I thought I had it under control and instead of asking Toyin for advice, I gave him a list of items I needed from the store and assumed he would show up with them.

Instead of getting all of the items on my list, he got two out of the seven items and then some stuff that was actually counterproductive (in my opinion).

I was all, “WTF Dude! Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t you have a cell phone? Check in next time.”

And he was all, “I don’t need to check in with you. I have a mind and I can think for myself. Quit being a beotch!”

Okay, okay, he didn’t actually use the B word, but I could see it hovering in his mind. When you get to a certain age, you can almost feel the B word and the C word inside the head of a man. They don’t actually have to say it. They just think it and all your lady parts stand at attention ready to retaliate.

Then over the weekend Toyin and I got into a discussion about education, as in, what Annika’s education will look like as she is growing up.

Once again, I got all huffy with him and I ended our discussion with, “I can’t talk about this right now.”

Oh christ. Did those words just come out of my mouth? I am for sure turning into my mother. I just hope I don’t forget how to check my voicemail and start doing crossword puzzles.

Since I learned that I was pregnant, I formed a pact with myself that I would not impose the exact same negativity on my child that my parents did with me and my siblings.

My parents fought insanely my entire childhood. Even when they weren’t having major blowouts, the bickering was constant.

That was something I never considered as a possible problem. Toyin and I weren’t getting married. Sure, we argued sometimes but except for the time when we were an actual couple, the fights were rare. For the most part, we got along.

Then we moved in together and spent the first 18 months as parents under one roof.


I’d say that 80 percent of the time, it was at least, okay. There were some blowouts. It got nasty a few times. I chalked it up to normalcy. I mean, even loving couples argue. Passion often inspires heated moments between anyone and even though Toyin and I aren’t passionate about each other anymore, we’re still passionate and very, very opinionated people.

But after last week I realized something, our lives will be entwined for a long time. (I know, you’re going, really Martha, you JUST realized this?) Somehow I thought that once we moved into separate homes things would change and I would get to start making all the decisions without consulting him. Ever. Okay, no I didn’t really think that, but somehow I thought it would get easier. And it has, mostly. We are definitely getting along better again. But even though we aren’t married, our lives function that way on some level. We will always have to make decisions for Annika as parents. And boy howdy, the big ones haven’t even started yet.

So far, we’ve done alright. Our biggest decisions have usually started with me going, “I want to try some kooky new age crazy hippie thing.” Then he looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Then I explain and explain and eventually wear him down.

Just kidding. Okay, not really. But most of the time we make rational decisions based on what’s best for Annika. And I think we’ll do just fine. I’m just looking for a way to do it with less “discussing.” And by discussing I mean arguing and bickering.

So, how do people do it? How do you make decisions without arguing? I am not a big fan of compromise, especially on big decisions. I mean, that just seems like you have to take to really fine ideas and then water one or both of them down so that nobody is happy.

If one person wins all the time, the other person is never happy. And really, in situations like this, nobody really wins because family members shouldn’t have to compromise themselves to make the other person happy. It’s probably one of the main reasons people get surprised with divorce papers. One person was happy and the other person was silently stewing.

So, that’s the end. Normally I would try to think of something funny to sign off with but Toyin is due back with Annika. So, go rub some garlic on it and we’ll see if it stops itching.

Helping her get her way

It’s a common parenting adage to say things like, “You have to teach them that they can’t always have their way.”

I say poo poo on this idea. I prefer to teach my daughter that she can get her way. Instead of being the bad guy and making up arbitrary lessons to knock her down, I’d like to help her learn when it is appropriate to insist on her own way, and when it is appropriate to step aside, or share, or let someone else have a turn.

I like this idea because I think in the long run, while it may not always make for a well-behaved child, it will make for a more empathic person who knows how to stand up for herself. And that’s my goal, to raise a happy, functioning adult, not to have a kid who knows how to mind her P’s and Q’s, although, that would certainly be a nice bonus.

Yesterday I was stuck on the couch watching a video on an endless loop for about an hour and a half because Annika was exhausted and she fell asleep while nursing, catching me unawares, because she’d already had a nap.

It was late afternoon and she kept asking to nurse. I nursed her in bed for a while, but she seemed bored. So we got up. I thought her stomach was hurting her and I had her lie down on the couch and I covered her up with a blanket, which she seemed to like. But after a couple of rounds of this, she asked me to nurse again.

At first I said, “Oh no, we’re done nursing for now. Would you like some water?”

“No!” she emphatically stated.


“No, you can have some water or some food. Do you want some yogurt?” I offered.

“Nuse! Nuse!” she cried. Her body stiffened up and she started to cry.

I reached out for her to hug her. She turned away.

I watched her for a minute.

All the different parenting voices shouted at me.

“You have to stand firm. When tell a child no, you have to mean it. Be consistent.”

“But she really seems to need to nurse.”

I gave in and nursed her. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, giving in. Letting her “have her way,” whatever that means. I don’t understand why parents think that if you let a kid win an argument or give in to a demand that is somehow bad parenting. Personally, I think that’s a good way to teach a kid that they will never get what they want.

I was so glad I did give in yesterday, because she was on the verge of a major tummy ache, one that lasted all day today. We spent the whole day on the couch, sleeping and nursing. She barely ate. But she nursed a ton. She was having terrible pains throughout the day. When one would come on, I’d rush to her side, or hold her tight if I was already there. And by the end of the day, she started yelling for me, “Mommy!” And reach out to me. She didn’t need me to be there. But she wanted me to be next to her.

I like that. I like helping my daughter. I like seeing the proof that she knows she can count on me.

And yes. I like helping her “get her way.” I hope she always gets what she wants in life.

I learned the hard way that night weaning does not ensure sleeping through the night

I’ve given up on night weaning.

This may come as a shock to any of you who have been following my night nursing travails. From what I’ve written I’m sure that it seems as if night weaning was a relative success and we were now sleeping through the night.

This was true on some level, but I’ve come to realize that many children simply do not sleep through the night for the first few years of life, no matter WHAT the parents do. My daughter is one of those children.

We had gotten to a point where she stopped crying and asking to nurse. This happened in a relatively short time. I thought that was all it would take. All it should take. Every mom I talked to told me that their kids started sleeping through the night once they night weaned. And if they woke up, they went back to sleep easily with cuddles and/or a drink of water.

Apparently I was talking to all the wrong moms. Or, maybe I was just hearing what I wanted to hear.

But I’m here to tell you, if you think that night weaning solves all your sleep woes, it ain’t so.

Say it isn’t so!

Let me say it again.

Some of us simply have to accept the hard truth that it takes longer for our wee ones to sleep through the night without any major intervention from us.

A brief synopsis of our night weaning:

In December I broke down and decided to night wean. It went well. The first night was pretty bad. The second night wasn’t quite as bad. And the third night she slept for most of the night. This continued, with brief night wakings for about a week until Annika got a cold.

Then she awoke begging to nurse and because of her dry mouth and stuffy nose, along with a spotty fever, I didn’t have the heart to tell her no when she asked to nurse in the middle of the night.

We continued night nursing until some time in February when I decided that the worst of sick season was over so we needed to get back on track.

This time didn’t go so well.

I don’t remember how long it took, but it was several weeks of off and on crying and asking to nurse.

Then she stopped asking to nurse. But in March I realized after a few weeks of continuous waking that Annika was not going to just magically sleep through the night.

She’d wake up and then lie there, tossing and turning and whispering, “nuse,” for about an hour. Then eventually drift off.

But I stayed awake.

I realized that if I wasn’t getting any better sleep, there was really no reason to force her to lie there for an hour trying to fall back asleep when I could just nurse her and she’d fall right back to sleep.

The good part in all of this is: A couple of weeks ago is when I started night nursing again. Since then her language has had what I consider to be a second explosion.

The first one happened around 16 months when she started saying her words really clearly.

Now, at 23 months she’s saying tons of phrases. She was saying random phrases before, but these new phrases are in the proper context.

She tells me, in reference to an object, to “Set it down, Mommy.” “Call Daddy.” “Go for a walk.”

She’s also started screaming “Stop!” when I comb her hair.

So, yeah. Night weaning has not solved my sleep problems. Annika clearly needs nursing to help her as she struggles through her developmental phases. Maybe she’s needs it more than other kids. That’s okay with me. I like knowing that she leans on me. I hope that she always does. I want her to know that I’ll always be there for her.

And the cool thing is, I am learning how to deal. These first two years of being a parent have made me tougher than I ever imagined I could be or ever would be.

I thought I had done a lot of hard things in my life. I got married and moved across the world to another country.

I got divorced.

I lived in Detroit. Alone. For several years.

I’ve done numerous other things here that were hard and scary that I’m not going to mention.

But let me tell you, none of that stuff has anything on being a parent. It’s toughest, scariest, rockiest road I’ve ever traveled. And night nursing was just the beginning.

Spring: a time for renewing my nursing vows

I think people should make resolutions not once a year, but for every season.

I’ve always been a big believer in resolutions, even though I don’t always stick to them, they are good reminders of things that I want. And in the end, if I want it badly enough and resolve it often enough, I usually do it. Eventually. Most of the time. Sometimes. Okay, maybe not ever. But sometimes, I do. Really.

To that end, my spring resolution is a renewal of my original intent to continue nursing Annika until she is ready to wean on her own. I’m even contemplating going back to night nursing since night weaning hasn’t been the cure-all for my sleep ailments that I thought it would.

About a month ago, I began contemplating weaning.

I was sick of the constant clutching at my clothes and rolling around in my arms to position herself at my breast when I was holding her. I was frustrated because Annika would turn up her nose at food, but then two seconds later request to nurse.

So I decided to turn to my trusty mothering books for some answers.

I’ve been reading, How Weaning Happens, and Mothering Your Nursing Toddler. These books have helped me to realize that most of what I’ve been feeling is completely normal. Feeling frustrated because she prefers to nurse instead of eat regular food. Worrying that she’s not getting enough nutrition. Annoyed because every time we are about to go somewhere she wants to stop and nurse. More annoyed because she wants to nurse before she gets strapped into the car seat after a trip somewhere, even when I tell her we can nurse as soon as we get home. Frustrated because nursing has become physically irritating.

But in reading these books, I have realized that some of my frustration is possibly some of the cause of additional nursing. I had wondered if that might be the case. Nursing to Annika represents not just nutrition, but closeness to me. It is a big part of her support system. Suckling helps her ease her stress during heavy developmental periods. When I tell her no, or blow her off with distractions, it represents rejection to her, thereby adding to her stress.

It’s not like I didn’t already know that stuff. I did. But it was hard to see it through my gritted teeth and clenched hands during the nursing sessions that were little more than light sucking most of the time. I’d look down at her and say, “You’re not even really nursing!” I began to wonder just what it was exactly that she was getting out of it.

It made it even harder to be at playgroups with other kids her age and their moms saying, “Oh yeah, we’ve completely weaned. It didn’t seem to bother little so-and-so in the slightest.” Or, “Oh, yeah, she sleeps through the night, no problem.”

It seemed to me like most of the other moms I knew in real life didn’t have the same issues surrounding nursing that I did.

I felt alone in my struggle and questioning myself about how much she really needed to nurse and was I just creating bad habits.

But these books, and additionally some online friends have rallied around me in support, telling me I’m not the only one. She will eventually grow out of it. And yes, she really does need it. Even though all the stupid parenting experts say she doesn’t.

Where did my little girl go?

For the longest time, I thought Annika would be a baby forever.

Of course, that’s ridiculous. I knew that logically. But there was something in my brain that couldn’t let go of the image of us as mother and baby forever. The idea that she would grow up seemed so far off in my mind that I just concentrated on her as a baby and read books on babies and thought baby thoughts.

Then over the past couple of months, I realized with a horror that she is almost 2!

Two freakin’ years old! Where did these past two years go? It seemed like only a few months ago I was still pregnant and then giving birth, cuddling my sweet, soft, newborn.

It’s a little early for this post, I realize, since her birthday is not for another month and a half (May 10 if you want to send gifts, LOL). But for some reason, this seemed like the appropriate time to write about it. Maybe it’s because I’ve realized that my memory is never going to be the same again and since I’m thinking about it, I should do it now. There is something about becoming older and having failing body parts that makes you start to really live in the moment. 🙂

But anyway, Annika has been developing rapidly as of late.

She has start saying, “Cool,” and “Cause,” as pat responses. She tries to work remotes and she actually succeeds more often than I expect.

She has recently started to bargain with me, which trips me out.

She has gotten picky about what she wears and when she likes her outfit, she pulls at her shirt and says, “Annika cute.”

She knows all her colors. She can count to 10 and is beginning to recognize most of the numbers in random spots. She likes to sing the alphabet, although she can still only get up to ABCD, then H, by herself. She also knows XYZ.

She has favorite foods already. She loves cashews and cantaloupe and chocolate. She refuses to eat vegetables even though during her first year she gobbled them down voraciously much to our (and everyone we told) surprise. She requests pizza occasionally.

She’s such a, a, a, dare I say it? A KID! Oh my god. And it just happened overnight.