What Do Baby Androids Dream?

Claire’s not an android.  That’s for certain.  But Holy Crap.  Babies have nightmares.  Three days ago Danielle and I were watching television.  Well, we watch television every day.  But, three days ago Claire was sleeping on the couch with me while we watched television.  Peacefully.  Until her eyes shot open and she screamed like she was being murdered.  I choked on a chip.  Now, I haven’t really read any baby manuals.  I mean, I’m alive and the product of thousands of generations of successful child rearing.  So, I assumed success was genetically assured.  And she’s still alive.  But, to the point.  If they don’t put baby nightmares in the manual, they should.  It nearly caused my death via chip inhalation.
Ordinarily I would post a picture of the event.  But, I was comforting the baby and trying to defeat a chip in mortal combat.  I know it’s a poor excuse and I apologize.  In an attempt to make up for it, here’s some pictures of everyday life from today.

Danielle and I got distracted with a conversation and Claire put herself to sleep on the bed.  That is exactly how I nap.  Pacifier and restrictive bundling included.

Cute baby sleeping picture number two; nuff said.

Me, in between rants at the various evening political punditry.  My rants soothe her.  No joke.  I don’t get it. 


The child carrier is for walking around out doors.  But, sometimes when the baby is fussy Danielle will put her in the human carrier.  Claire hates her carseat, but she loves that baby chestpack.

My parents cam and watched the baby today while Danielle and I went out to enjoy a meal.  I’m not sure what the discussion was about who got the baby and who got the cat.  But, my dad’s allergic, so I assume he lost.  But, really he won.  Because that cat does not sit in just any random person’s lap.  It’s really an enormous honor.  Also, the baby tends to spit up on people. 

Or, maybe the cat is getting soft.  Ordinarily, the dog’s violation of the cat’s relaxation space would have resulted in a flurry of furry fury.  Impotent rage, to be sure.  But, violent impotent rage.


Lane Kiffin: Persona Non Grata

The Princess has decreed that Lane Kiffin is officially persona non grata in the House of Charlotte Claire.
You shall not speak his name, or you shall suffer the consequences:

In other news, the Gators beat long-time rivals Tennessee over the weekend.  23-13.  Tennessee played hard, but the game was never in contest.  This tips the all-time series record in favor of Florida.  Jeff Demps, with a one hundred plus degree fever ran the ball four times for 31 yards and a touchdown.  The Gators are now 3-0 and still ranked number one nationally by both the coaches and the AP.  What’s Tennessee ranked again?


Try As She Might


As you can see, no fire rained down from the sky tonight.  Although, I suppose photographic evidence was not strictly necessary to establish this fact.

Istas and I waited obediently for the show of force to start.  Kaya was skeptical, but content.  The cat was lurking elsewhere.

Claire considered her options carefully.

Compelled by the promise of a delicious light snack, she deigned to spare us from a fiery end.  For the time being.  Later, she laughed herself to sleep.  I assume this was because she was delighted with our continuing company.  Conversely, she may have been laughing maniacally over the remarkable power she already holds at such a young age.  It is hard to tell when one is dealing with the Princess of the Galaxy.


Last Night A Baby Punched My Eye

So, yeah.  My baby punched me in the eye.  Then, for good measure, she poked me in the eye with her nails three times.  And, that was just while we were putting her to bed tonight.  Sure, it seemed like she was just happy to be near me.  And happy babies flail their arms about, right?  But, she simply could have been pleased, what with her developing motor control skills, to have scored four direct hits on her acquired target.  I’m sure it was just overwhelming happiness manifested in windmillery of the arms.  Right?  Right?

Could that face really deliberately poke her father in the eye?  Could it?  Shortly after that picture a stranger did stab her with a needle.  On the other hand:

If the sunset looks like that tomorrow, I’ll assume she is Satan’s child (as previously discussed) and is preparing to rain down fire from the sky.  And I will act accordingly.  I will, and mark my words, see her sent to bed without dessert.

We’ve Taken How Many Photos?

I currently have 784 photos of, and related to, the Life and Times of Charlotte Claire.  That’s roughly 20 photos a day.  Claire has had her photo taken, on average, once every 72 minutes since she’s been born.  I don’t know what the over/under is on baby photos in the age of the ubiquitous digital camera (everything is a camera now), but I’d say we’re giving the average a run for its money.
Once every 72 minutes.  Wow.  So, here’s a bunch of photos.  I believe we may have some to spare.

Like, It’s Much Less Psychadelic

That last was a picture of Claire enjoying her swing.  The sun had just set and all the lights in the house were turned off, save the lights from Claire’s swing.  I had left the camera setting with a longer exposure time for for low light.  The swing was singing its reassuring music while I checked the picture.  It reminded me of the tunnel scene from the Willy Wonka with Gene Wilder.  Very psychadelic and very creepy. 
Last week I had a similar moment.  I was in the bedroom reading.  I can see the rocking chair through the bedroom door from my position on the bed.  The light in the loft was the only illumination in the living area.  Danielle was rocking the baby and quietly humming her a lullaby.  Most, I think, would be thrilled with the idyllic picture of a beautiful family moment, made only stronger if I, papa, was on the porch with a corncob pipe.  But, alas, my horror movie senses were tingling.  Danielle and the baby were backlit in soft light, obscuring their faces and casting long shadows.  I kept waiting for young twins on trikes to peddle around the corner.  These are the moments they don’t write about in the baby books.
I have capital W Weird dreams. 
In a sudden and total shift in tone, I provide a couple cute family moments from the last couple days.




In that last picture, you can read my smile as "Take the blangin picture already, woman."  In the time it took to get the camera on the other side of the room, the dog and Claire had both decided this was a ridiculous venture.  Although, they had been enjoying it for about five minutes prior to that.  Want to break up a happy gathering?  Think to run and get a camera to document it.
And, oh by the way, here’s the picture of Claire in the swing with the flash.  Like, it’s much less psychadelic.

Although, there may be a hint of the demon eye.  There may be.  One never knows with such things until it is much too late.

Like, It’s Psychadelic

[cue the creepy music]
There’s no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going.
There’s no knowing where we’re rowing
Or which way the river’s flowing.
Is it raining?
Is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a blowing?

Not a speck of light is showing
so the danger must be growing.
Are the fires of hell a glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes! The danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing.
And they’re certainly not showing
any signs that they are slowing!