Paisley Makes the Elite 8 (months)

March has been a pretty busy month for us. Paisley took her first trip in an airplane, Brandi had her birthday, we hit the one year anniversary of being home owners, bought a new car, and celebrated Paisley turning 8 months old. In recognition of Paisley's latest achievement, we thought we'd highlight a few of her major accomplishments, some more recent than others.

1. Got her first haircut and first pig tails.
2. Learned how to say Mama.
3. Used rolling as a means of transportation.
4. Can get into sitting position from stomach.
5. Rocking back and forth while on her hands and knees, and now, crawling.
6. Wave.
7. Drink out of a bottle...again.
8. Using the toilet.
9. Can pull herself up to standing.

As an added bonus, we thought we'd throw in several of our favorite pictures of Paisley taken during the last month or so.

He Is Risen

In an effort to teach Paisley the true meaning of Easter we decided to forgo all of the baskets, eggs and chocolate while instead implementing a little pagentry. This is what Paisley woke up to this morning:


Okay, so that's not really a true story. We've been sitting on this photo for a few months now and decided that today was the perfect day to release it to the public. After years of past sacrilegious impersonations of Jesus, Tim was actually approached by a real artist at the end of the year about the idea of posing as Jesus for a couple of shots for a series of paintings that she is working on. The artist attends our church and is rather talented. Her concept is to put together a series of five paintings depicting different life stages of Christ and his relationship with Mary, from infant to the resurrection. Tim stood in for carrying the cross to Golgotha and appearing to Mary in Gethsemane as a resurrected being. Brandi couldn't resist snapping a couple of pictures during the process for posterity. Tim was just excited to be able to add "Jesus Model" to his resume. Happy Easter everyone.

Armed & Dangerous

Paisley learns to crawl...

The Princess and the Pee

This could end up being the crappiest post we ever come up with. Paisley is our little princess and like all royalty, she's had a natural affinity to the throne. This is all about bragging that our 8-month-old daughter is officially potty trained. Sort of.

Ever since Paisley transitioned from her all breast milk diet to veggies and rice cereal, her diapers have obviously followed suit. Almost immediately, her poops went from old mustard to deer scat. Poor girl. We're always offering her a bottle of water because the evidence makes one think that she's severely dehydrated. The expulsion effort has also increased significantly. We've coined the look as "poop face" and it could very well be the cutest, saddest face ever. It also leaves no doubt as to what's taking place.

Fast forward several weeks later when Brandi was giving Paisley a bath one night. Half way through the experience, Brandi caught glimpse of the face and in an effort to avert disaster and unwanted "rubber duckies" in the tub, scooped Paisley up and sat her on the toilet. Paisley took to it like a pro and pooped in the potty.

Ever since then, she's repeated the trick many times. Not that we're forcing potty training on our infant but given having watched the "poop face" over and over with nothing to show for it, sitting her on the toilet has seemed to help speed up the process. Not that Brandi wouldn't appreciate one more potty-trained member of the family. (Consequently, she's also hoping that Tim will pick up a few pointers in the meantime.) We usually sit her on the potty after meals and before bed and more times than not, she adds a couple p's to the ool. She's gotten so accustomed to her place on the thrown that even when she hasn't given us any squinty-eyed, red-faced indication of having to go, she still produces from both arenas. We've been working with her on a few dinner related baby sign language signals, so maybe if we can teach her the sign for potty we can eliminate the need for diapers all together. If she inherits nothing from us, Princess Paisley will always have her throne.

Happy Birthday Brandi!

I'm sorry that you had to make the edible version yourself. May the rest of all of your wishes come true. Thanks for making mine. Here's to another marquee year. Oh wait, that probably isn't one of your wishes.

My Loneliness Is Killing Me

The problem with asking people what they would like for their birthday is that there is a high probability that they're going to tell you. And when that person is your wife, there are consequences for ignoring that advice. Brandi wanted to take Paisley and take a trip to Chicago to visit her sister and hang out with their family for a week. On Monday afternoon I kissed them goodbye and watched them fumble their way through airport security.

I have to be honest with you and admit that there was a part of me looking forward to a break from responsibility. What I wasn't prepared for was the boredom and feelings of...discombobulation. Borderline depression. You could have probably filmed one of the Cymbalta commercials with me, the cat and the turtle the other night. Despite being overly dramatic, I really don't consider myself to be needy. (Do you think I'm needy? Do you? Please! Anyone.) If anything, my life in the past has leaned towards the side of isolation and independence. I once had someone psychoanalyze my hobbies: reading-isolating, writing-isolating, riding my bike-isolating. I could add to it that most of the jobs I've had within my profession have removed me from civilization.

Then I got married. The kicker is that I've just sort of assumed that I've remained the same person, despite the many major life events that have occurred within those short 18 months. But I'm not the same person and I'm actually a little bit proud about it. I've missed my girls tremendously. It's hard to say that despite of this or because of this, it's been a frustrating week. One of those where even the simplest activity seems to malfunction topped off with the fact that I ruined my brand new phone while almost drowning in 1 1/2 feet of water and an unbelievable amount of mud in the middle of a pond in no where Nevada and having to drive the 2 hours back to Vegas soaking wet. All I really wanted to do was wrap up in a blanket with Brandi and decompress. It's a level of comfort and security that no "night with the guys" could ever mimic.

From the sounds of it Brandi has had a great trip and has really appreciated the time she and Paisley could spend with them. It's one of the more reluctant birthday gifts that I've ever given, but I'm starting to appreciate the gift that I've received in turn. I also like convincing myself that her REAL present is her coming home to me with the same renewed appreciation! Not that I feel unappreciated or anything.

The people closest to us are far too easy to take for granted. But it's also easy to take being needed by someone for granted. Maybe the loneliest part of being home by myself all week was that there wasn't any one there for me to take care of. The fine balance of any relationship is the middle of being needed and being needy. A line that I will be firmly standing on tonight when they step through airport security again tonight.

Happy Birthday, my love.

(For the record, Brandi's birthday is next Thursday, March 13. Feel free to send your wishes her way. Also, since she's out of town, this post is missing her incredible editorial skills and she would probably want me to disclaim the following: the opinions expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the normal publishing standards that you've come to expect from BabyGirlRicks.blogspot.com.)