This was left, literally, in the hands of her Big Daddy. There was no way I was holding our tiny, slippery, wiggly baby over the hard sink and granite countertops. So his job was to bathe and my job was to take pictures and say "oooo, careful!" every two minutes.
The party was close family, all celebrating my birthday, but let's be honest- no one cared, least of all me (and that's saying something- I think we all remember stories of birthdays past). This was an excuse for everyone to get together and see Dory.
This is pretty much what people did the entire time. Someone held Dory and the rest of us stood around them talking about how beautiful she is.
First Grocery Store Visit:
I popped her in the baby sling and off she and I went. No pictures though. People gave me funny enough looks carrying her in sling. I think if I'd been walking around trying to take pictures of us at the same time, we might have been asked to leave.
First Adult Beverage:
Mine, not hers! After eleven months (OHMYGOD that's almost a year) of living the life of a teetotaler, I decided, around her four week birthday, I was chancing a drink.
I nursed her, handed her to Big Daddy (maybe The Hubba's new blog name- it's what I'm now in the habit of calling him), and partook of about ten ounces of one of his home-brewed beers. A red. Delicious. Mind you, I didn't have long to enjoy it. I actually drank it at light speed, assuming the faster I got it into my body, the faster it left my body, and therefore wouldn't influence her next feeding. So, in some ways, even the first adult beverage was about Dory.
I know it won't be this way forever, this complete and total focus on one little person. But for the time, I love it. I thought, when I was pregnant, I'd be glad for the baby to get here so we could start talking about something else. Small backfire there. All we really seem to want to talk about is her. Sure other stuff creeps in. Dave Matthews Band and their sad news. The dogs. The house. The upcoming football season (starts tonight by the way! Hallelujah!). But somehow it always comes back to Dory.
Who probably thinks she's found herself in the house of the most boring conversationalists EVER.