A little growing angel.

she's growing up so quickly. Just not big enough to fit into Daddy's hat.

It is amazing how much a small baby changes in just a few weeks. She can almost roll over, and will once she figure out how to get her one shoulder out of the way. She recognizes people and smiles frequently, well until you get out the camera. Then she gets all solemn on you.

Being a grandparent is amazing. I get to love on my grandchild, play with her hold her, feed her, bathe her, much of what I did as a parent. I don't, thankfully have to stay up nights with her, make sure I either breastfeed or pump every four hours, and all the other things new parents have to do. I gladly leave that to her mommy and daddy.

I consider each day I get to spend with this precious child a blessed gift. I know that soon she and her mommy will move away with daddy, once they finish college, and I won't get my daily dose of baby kisses. So many grandparents don't get to spend that time with their grown children or their grandchildren. I just can't take that for granted.

Cuteness personified

Yes, my little darling granddaughter is growing like the proverbial weed. She is the most photographed person in the house, and rightfully so as her adorableness MUST be sealed in perpetuation.

Naturally as the proud grandparent that I am, am about to subject you with yet more photographs of the little baby that has stolen all our hearts. Just don't say I didn't warn you


Yes, you are seeing this correctly. That is an official San Diego Chargers cheerleader's outfit. Never mind that the wearer is only two months old, has no idea who the Chargers are playing, or even what football is. The cuteness of her bemused expression is perfection.



She makes funny faces all the time these days.


Aren't those cheeks just so cute??




That is the two of us. She is actually kinda sleepy there.

Have a peri Meno pause

Ok any male readers may want to avert their eyes for this blog as I am going to be discussing womanly things. More specifically the goings ons of the neighborhood that includes my vagina.

I am having to accept that being 20 is a thing of antiquity and the 30's are fast approaching light years of distance. I am approaching the halfway mark of my 40's and my body is starting to show the signs of approaching (gasp) middle age.

The latest sign is the little fact that my monthly cycle has become more bi-monthly like. Every 2.5 weeks, I get a redo of that event that many women dub "aunt Flo". It wouldn't be so bad if it were just spotting for a couple of days, but NO. That pesky aunt makes a complete 7- 10 day visit along with her cousins "bloat" and "cramp". So what is a young, nubile, girl to do? I don't know, cause I'm neither all that young any more and nubile? Snort. Only in my fantasies.

So instead I make an appointment with my friendly neighborhood Gynecologist. This guy I like. He does a complete pelvic exam including a pap smear in about five minutes. I barely have enough time to get embarrased before he is done. He has prescribed low dose birth control to see if that evens things out. What I am experiencing is completely normal, he says for women approaching menopause. JOY!

Hopefully the pills will help. If not, then its more tests to see if anything has decided to go skewed further inside my girly parts. Getting older does have it's drawbacks.

more baby picks

I think the cat is jealous


all tuckered out

clean diaper and an full tummy!

Poopariffic!

Ah the joys of infant-hood. You have nothing to do in life except, eat, sleep, look absolutely adorable, grow and poop. My granddaughter at five days old and counting has become a poop expert already. She has in her short lifetime discovered ways to render her parents to shouts of horror when they discover either the timing or the capacity of what she is done after she is completely finished with her milk.

Before she left the hospital, she was demonstrating her expertise in baby waste management. Ten minutes after she was born, she was "decorating" the bassinet while the nurse was cleaning her up from the birthing process. The paper with her little footprints will permanently bear the mark of that event. She managed to fill three diapers in about 10 minutes a day later, soil herself and every cloth item in contact with her wee body, and reduce her mommy and daddy to tears of laughter.

Tonight her daddy was changing her. He was getting ready to remove the dirty diaper from under her little bottom when the baby decided to show daddy that she wasn't done yet. I could hear his protest from across the house. I walked in, saw the mess, the satisfied look on my grandchild's face, and turned right around and walked out laughing.

If its any consolation, we can rest assured that her digestive system works, exceedingly well. She goes for her first check-up in the morning. And we'll get assurance that little Helene' is perfectly healthy, and sometimes a tad stinky.

Hello little darlin

Stevie Wonder wrote a song honoring the birth of his daughter. "Isn't she lovely, Isn't she wonderful" the words say. I can related. The birth of my first grandchild has been one of amazement and joy. I can't get enough of her. We all stand over her crib and watch her sleep, oo-ing and awe-ing over every facial expression. Because I'm such a proud granny, I just had to share in this blog.

Mommy, Daddy and me, think that's my new bed behind us.

My first car ride. SHHH...don't tell, mommy wept tears of joy all the way home.


Setting a new trend in infant hairstyles.


my first outfit.
zzzzzzzzz


Daddy and me saying hello. He showed me that its ok for grown men to cry, cause he was all weepy when I showed up. I wuv my daddy.



Hewo mommy



She's only a few minutes old in these two pictures, finally having calmed down after being poked prodded, weighed and measured. Mommy and little Helene' are getting acquainted.

The double exit version

Here's a bit of advice. Every home that contains people younger then you should be equipped with a full body environmental suit sized to best fit the person in that home who is deemed primary care taker, or in simpler terms the mom. Why this recommendation? Because of how I spent the last couple of days.

My youngest, who is usually a vibrant enthusiastic young lady, woke up at 3 am the other morning. She started by moaning loud enough to wake her sister in the next room, who then bellowed loud enough to wake me at the other end of the house. I tried to ignore the noise. Too late. I next heard crying and discovered that my youngest had found herself in full throes of the Stomach flu, the double exit at once version. I got the girl some water to sip, and folded up the ruined bathroom rug, trying hard to get the vision of its contents out of my brain.

10 minutes later I hear moaning again. Crap, so much for sleep. I get up and go to her room. "I feel like I need to throw up mom!" She says pitifully. "Then get up and go to the bathroom." About this time the older sister, ever the compassionate one, Walks to her door, let's out a growl, and slams her door. The sickly one shows no sign of moving, so I drag my sleepy butt back to bed.

For about five minutes. The next thing I know, this child is by my bed. "I threw up." She said. I didn't have to guess, she hadn't made it to the bathroom. So into mine she went, while I got up and pulled off her bedding to add to the bathroom rug, and YES climbed back in bed beside her.

I got her clean linens for her bed a couple of hours later. Got her stuff to sip on and Tylenol. Within 48 hours she was fine. Just in time for me to get sick. I am now pretty certain I can about determine how much the average human intestine can hold. About 12 hours worth of stuff, if you dole it out in 15 minute increments. My husband, the intrepid trucker, came home the day after his daughter got sick, and now is in his second day of this gastrointestinal adventure.

It shouldn't be too hard to guess when I should have donned the enviro-suit that I have yet to purchase.