Merissa's official due date is in two days, which is interesting to consider. She does look much more like a newborn and less and less like a preemie.
She is also starting to act more like a newborn, including finding her voice. Before, she didn't have the energy to wail.
Her voice has two stages.
First, there is a warning wail, which Keith and I have dubbed, "The Protest." She is then usually referred to as "The Protestor!"
This is said with all three syllables exaggerated and with great enthusiasm.
For example, "Oh, The Pro-tes-tor has spoken! Oh, she Pro-tests!"
If The Protest is not acted on immediately, then full blown, tongue trembling, red faced squalling will ensue.
Due to the time constraints of... well, life, I sometimes find myself narrating her wails for her when I cannot hop to it quickly enough to forestall them. This helps me maintain my sense of humor while in the baby hot seat.
"I protest the choice of these tiny pink pants! I say no to these tiny pink pants! How dare you presume to dress me in the tiny pink pants! The indignity!"
Today was her due date.
Today, she is wearing a little shirt that fastens to the side, oriental style, printed with tiny adorable pandas, rainbows and hearts, and trimmed in pink. I put a tiny pink cap on her and dubbed her "Zen Baby."
"Oh, Master Zen Baby," I asked her, "if a baby cries in the nursery and no one hears her, does she still make a sound?"
"The nursery is an illusion," Zen Baby replies. "There is no nursery. There is only the baby. Tend to this baby and you will achieve nirvana."
This is how I entertain myself lately.
Here is Zen Baby without her cap.
How could anything so cute prevent me from dressing, eating, drinking coffee and cleaning the baby bottles until eleven in the morning, you ask?
Zen Baby rules the roost around here, that's all I have to say about that.