Irie is crawling. God help us. We keep doing double-takes upon finding her progressing determinedly (and entirely pleased with her newfound mobility) around the room.
Also: baby-led weaning is definitely a winner. Spoon-feeding was not working, but it seems like the more empowered she is (yes, she's not yet eight months old, and yes, I am serious), the happier she is.
As I write this, I can hear Ellie on the monitor. She's lying in bed singing "Jingle Bells" to herself.
I can't stop thinking about the people who died two days ago in the Newton, CT massacre. All those parents who can't bear to take their child's stocking down from the mantel. I woke in tears on Saturday, remembering how it felt to waken that first morning after Abigail's stillbirth and realize that every single morning for the rest of my life, I was going to wake up and remember my child had died. It felt like I'd just walked through the gates of hell and heard them clang shut behind me. How my heart aches for those families, for those children, for the adults who were killed trying to protect them. May they rest in peace.
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