throwback, 'first date' edition

As far as I know, this was the first picture ever taken of Matt and I together. It was January of 2006. We had been coworkers for about 5 months, and it was safe to say there was some mutual crushing going on. On this day, we'd been at a work-related conference and decided to spend the lunch break at a local playground with our mutual friend Catherine.

We didn't officially begin dating for another month, but I remember how nervous and excited and happy I was to be spending time with Matt (with the safety net of Catherine, of course!), to ride in his disgustingly nasty Honda, to see how gleefully he played on a kids' playground. 

And God bless Catherine for spending the afternoon with two crushing goobers.

 I thought Matt was so cute. Ohmygosh. And despite his obvious hunk status (I mean, at any given time, he was dating one girl and had 14 girls not-so-secretly lusting after him from afar), he would go to a playground and goof off on the monkey bars? Swoon.

The great thing is, eight years later- he isn't so different. He dresses a lot better (gee, I wonder who we can thank for that?). He drives a significantly less smelly car. He gets most of his exercise done in a gym and not on a park playground. 

He still spends many afternoons hanging around (upside down or otherwise) with me and Catherine.

I still think he's the cutest guy ever, and I still can't believe he picked me.

For no particular reason except that I came across the pictures and they made me smile-- happy Thursday, Mattie. I think going to the playground for our lunch break that day could have been one of the most important trivial decisions we ever made.

And this picture was taken about a month later. This is a face he's probably much more accustomed to seeing from me. ;)

I may be Not Amused, but I couldn't love him any more.

bring out the clowns. again.

So now that Labor Day has passed (and a very happy belated Labor Day to all my American comrades...and now get back to work.), obviously it is Halloween. I mean, according to every store I've stepped in lately...once they sell out of the back-to-school three-ring binders and pencils, I guess they just feel like the best thing to do is to just bring out the costumes and orange-and-black candy. Never mind there is actually about two months to go...just...whatever. 

So since we're all supposed to be getting in a costume-y frame of mind now, and I'm sure that my Pinterest feed is about to start prominently featuring ridiculously elaborate DIY costumes, it seemed like a good time to share a blog PSA I did a few years ago that still stands true today. Just in case you're starting your Halloween-costume-planning early, I hope that you will bear this in mind as you go...and enjoy having a laugh at 10-month-old Erika's expense. (Also, do yourself a favor and check out the 'what were my parents thinking?!?!?!' link I reference...trust me on this one.)

From the archives of October 2011, I present to you a repost of one of my personal favorite blogs: Babies Should Not Be Dressed Like Clowns.

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 Hello and welcome to the creepiest-ever edition of Way Back When-sday: Children Dressed like Clowns.

I would like to thank my parents, Paul and Jacky, for making this blog possible. And for instilling in me a lifelong fear of clowns. And when you see these pictures, you're going to feel scared, too. Just warning you.

In general, I am all for dressing up. I'm a huge fan of costumes and dressing up for Halloween. I'm a big fan of babies dressed up for Halloween.

I am not a big fan of clowns. I don't really know anyone in my generation who is.

But at the ripe old age of ten-and-a-half-months-old, I didn't have much say in my Halloween costumage (that's a word, stupid red underliner thing). I'm told I was an opinionated child, but obviously I wasn't opinionated enough to make it clear that I DID NOT WANT TO BE A CLOWN FOR HALLOWEEN THAT YEAR. Or ever, for that matter.

And really, for the record, I'd like to say that I think my parents did an excellent job parenting. I have no qualms or questions about how they raised my siblings and I. Looking back through the photo albums, there are very few instances that caused me to think what WERE my parents thinking? (EXCEPT FOR THIS ONE!!!!!!!! LOLOLOLOL!!!!!!!!!!!) But I'm gonna have to say...Mom and Dad, what were you thinking, dressing your only child up like a friggin CLOWN?!?!! What's with the creepy face paint??!! Why would you DO that to your beautiful daughter??!!!

Well, I won't hold you in suspense any longer. Bring in the clowns (har har har)...

Umm...yeah. Do you see how they painted a mustache on me?? I know this was the early 80s and all, but I'm pretty sure mustaches on baby girls has never been trendy.

I feel like I'm majorly bashing my folks here, so I do want to point out one positive thing I see in the picture above. If you look really close, you can definitely see a toy behind me (and my toy clown). I'm like 98% sure it's a toy truck (dump truck, maybe). At this point in my life, I was an only child (and a girl). I would like to thank my forward-thinking parents for not gender stereotyping me with only 'girl' toys. I'm sure that helped form me into the well-rounded person I am today. Maybe that's what they were going for with the gender-neutral costume, too...but I think that's just crossing the lines. Clown costumes are not gender-neutral. They are inappropriate for all forms of human beings.

Parents: If you love your children, you will choose SOMETHING OTHER THAN A CLOWN to dress them as for Halloween. 

This is a Public Awareness message. It has not been endorsed by anyone except for all thinking humans.

foreshadowing

On Saturday night, after a day full of niece-lovin' and photo shoots, Matt and I found ourselves back at my parents' house with a few hours before bed to kill. It occurred to me that it'd been awhile since I'd dug out my old baby books and 'school days' books (grade school equivalent of baby books...my mom dutifully recorded the highlights of each of our lives well through middle school, as well as collecting pictures, report cards, and various other artifacts in these books. WELL DONE, Mom!). I braved the dust bunnies and mothballs and found my books and was consequently highly entertained for several hours. Then I realized that if I took pictures of what I was seeing, you could be entertained too! So...you're welcome.

My main conclusion is that you can tell a lot about what a person will be like as an adult from how they act/perform/what they like as kids. I'm a prime example of this. I'm basically just a taller version of my 4-year-old self. But let's get some evidence, shall we?

First, a fairly irrelevant but cute class picture of my pre-k class. I helpfully pointed to myself. Tallest one in the class already! Please note that at this time ('87 or '88, according to the thing at the bottom) I had cute hair. It sort of looks like my hair now, really, from what I can tell. But remember that it's cute. This won't always prove to be the case, looking back....

After preschool I embarked on the major journey of kindergarten. Which according to all sources, I totally rocked at. But don't take my word for it. Here's what my mom had to say:

Please raise you're hand if you're surprised to learn I was the best speller, most enthusiastic at music, followed all the rules, and was suspected to be gifted?

Like I said. A five-year-old version of...me.

Never change, cutie. Except that smile. Open your mouth up a little. And maybe consider cutting your bangs straight next time.

But wait! There's more! Still from kindergarten:

This whole loving school, crying when summer came? That continued for most of my life. I liked summer and all, but I LOVED SCHOOL. 

But sweating? Psh. That's for the birds (and we all know how I feel about birds). I have many distinct memories of pitching fits about being forced to wear anything-but-a-dress. I freaked out when I sweated. I hated P.E. Hate hate hate hate hated. I took gymnastics. I took dance classes. These are both acceptable (and AIR CONDITIONED) forms of exercise that did not involve sweating (at least at the five-year-old level).

So that was kindergarten. It was amazing. First grade was much the same. Second verse, same as the first:

Isn't it great that the MOST MEMORABLE thing about me, the thing deemed MOST WORTHY of being noted in the memory book, was my disdain for sweat and pants? I rather like that. It explains why I am naturally drawn to the (rather extensive) dress side of my closet each morning. It explains why I typically decide I'm done working out once I notice myself sweating. It does not explain why I'm attempting an outdoor triathlon in Georgia in August anyway. I guess 25 more years of personal growth have helped me come to terms with sweating and wearing pants. A little bit.

By second grade we'd started standardized testing. High five for the ITBS, anyone? Here's what I remember about testing weeks in elementary school:

LOVED THEM.

Sitting down for hours in the silence, filling in little bubbles, making sure you finished fastest and best? That was my JAM. We can consider this foreshadowing of the future, perhaps to the year 2006, when I decided (a year after graduating college) that it would be fun to take the LSAT after studying for a few weeks. Why? Because I freaking like taking tests, that's why. 

I won't brag about my LSAT scores. I'll brag about my 2nd grade ITBS scores, though. Check it out, yo.

The arrow is pointing to the column that tells the percentage that the student (ME) got correct. My favorite part about this whole spelling/language section is that while overall I did  very well, indicating an early love of reading and writing, please note the section (starred) I performed the most poorly in: overcapitalization.

Foreshadowing to being a True Blogger one day? HAHAHAHA. Everyone knows you're not really blogging unless you randomly capitalize words, right? I mean, who knew 2nd grade standardized tests could be so correctly predictive of the farrrrrrr away future??! Blogging wasn't even a Thing then!

Alright. Enough about what a smarty-pants second-grader I was. The rest of elementary school looked about the same (hates pants, loves school), but my hair got progressively worse. Flash forward to seventh grade and you have this:

Uhhhh...yeah. And I thought I was hot stuff, yall. But you must know: I wore glasses. I just took them off for this picture. And they were ugly glasses, too. But that shirt was from the Limited Too-- LEGIT.

I won't bore you with more. For me, the stuff in my baby books was rather correctly predictive of my future. But don't worry-- that's not always the case! Please examine Exhibit B: my sister-

My precious Sarah, who spends her days bringing light and laughter into the lives of everyone lucky enough to know her, who is a talented hair stylist that quickly draws a devoted clientele in whatever city she moves to, who was the embodiment of the popular high school cheerleader (well, the positive embodiment) and is still the beloved 'baby' of our family...well, it looks like she got off to a rough start. When I was busy loving dinosaurs and hating pants, Sarah got this:

"not very friendly to strangers- stares at people and won't smile...not friendly to people she doesn't know."

And I had to crack up because I would never ever in a million years have guessed those words were describing my sister. They far more accurately sound like me, to tell you the truth! But not Sarah!

So don't worry. Maybe your kid will grow up to be an older, taller version of whoever they are now. Or maybe they'll be totally different. Either way-- record it in their baby book (or your blog, as the case may be) now so that they can have a hearty laugh at their own expense later.

Sarah, upon receiving the news that she was a baby snob.

some things never change

Happy Fourth of July! Yay America!!

Matt and I don't have any big plans for today...celebrating on a Wednesday is just a bit strange if you ask me. But I'm sure we'll find something fun to keep ourselves occupied...and as I looked through some old pictures last night, it occurred to me that not a lot has changed in the last 27 years.

Apparently my lifestyle in July 1985 (age 2) was a pretty good indicator of what my life would be like in July 2012. Check it out:

1. Festive and Patriotic Clothing and Crafting (see: streamers and balloons on my sweet ride. If that's not crafty, I don't know what is)

 And I would be remiss to not point out that apparently baby-wearing with me was such a smashing success, they've dusted off and busted out the carrier for another go with my infant brother, Jake. Saaaweeeeet!!!! (OK, seriously, my family (minus Sarah, who was not even a thought in anyone's mind at this point...so weird...) is SO STINKIN CUTE in this picture it makes me want to squeal)

  2. Laying out

Don't judge me for my genetic predisposition to love the sun. Obviously I cannot escape it. And also, why in the past 27 years has no one bothered to improve the ubiquitous uncomfortable-but-necessary plastic lounge chair?? Someone needs to get on that.

3. Engaging in frequent Flower Walks...while properly accessorized, of course.

OMG. Could I BE any cuter?? Seriously now. Also, more evidence that I am a clone of my mother (or at least her interests): laying out...growing beautiful flowers...dressing my family in coordinated outfits...LOVE MY MOM. 

 

Ahem. Well...about this last picture. Let's hope I have actually evolved a little through the years and am more appreciative slash less terrified of soldiers. After all they go through, fighting for our country...and then some punk kid's gonna make horrid faces and pitch a fit for them? That's just disrespectful, and I want to apologize, seeing as I was that kid and all.

Actually that's my uncle, not that that's a good excuse for acting a fool. But I'm guessing no one was offended, since there are like 25 pictures of basically this same shot...and that's saying something back in 1985, when you actually had to pay money to buy film AND to have it developed to see a picture. Multiple shots are a rarity...so this must have been fun times for everyone (except me & Raggedy, obvs)!

Anyway, Happy Fourth! Hope your day is filled with all of the above (minus the tears), plus food, fireworks, and at least 10 emotional renditions of God Bless the USA.

april: 2009 vs. 2012

I was looking back through pictures, seeing if anything would inspire a Way Back When-sday post today. That's when I happened upon April 2009 (because I organize my photos by year/month). The pictures started dredging up some old memories, so I cross-referenced with my blogs from April 2009. And then I very quickly realized-- even though so far this April is pretty lame (hemorrhagic cyst and a week of bedrest, anyone? Fourth consecutive April of wanting and not having a baby? Pick your reason that this April is lame)...it definitely kicks April '09's ass.

Because in April '09, we were buying a house. This house, actually. And it was terrible. And it reminds me of why I'm SO GLAD I BLOG HONESTLY: so that I don't remember things incorrectly and make stupid mistakes, like thinking about ever moving and buying another house. I had almost forgotten how awful homebuying was. My memory has started to gloss over the stress and the agony of it all, and I just have a vague remembrance of signing lots of forms and then owning a house that needed a LOT of work to become habitable. I had almost forgotten the misery of it all.  

And misery it was. In April 2009, I was stressed. I was over it. And I was being stalked by people in San Antonio.

And so even though April 2012 hasn't really been anything worth writing home about so far, I am now simply content to know that it could be way worse. It could still be April 2009. Or something like it. And it's also nice sitting here knowing that it worked out. The stresses of April '09? They resolved. We got the house. It all got figured out. And so what seemed like a hot and never-ending mess in 2009 has now faded to a dim memory a mere 3 years later, as I lay in the house I fought for and stressed over. And somehow this gives me hope that one day I will be able to look back at all of this-- the struggles of this day/era-- and maybe the pain will have faded, the struggles will all be counted as 'worth it', and I'll be thankful for old pictures and blogs to remind me of what I've come through. Because right now I can't really imagine a time where the sadness and hurt of infertility won't permeate every minute of every day. But back then, I felt the same way about buying a house. And even though it's not the same thing...it still gives me hope. 

And now I'm about to go REALLY cheesy on you and drop a QUOTE out-- but seriously, I don't even have to look this one up. It's a quote my friend James (husband of Kristina) used to say/write all the time, and he wrote it on the mat of our engagement photo that people signed at our rehearsal dinner, which is hanging on the wall of my room...so I read it frequently. The quote comes from The Shawshank Redemption, and I'm not bothering to go look it up, so if I'm slightly off then you'll just have to forgive me.

Hope is a good thing, maybe one of the best things. And no good thing ever dies.

MY heart will go on...

It's been awhile since I've participated in Way Back When-sday, but I think that shortly you will be agreeing with me: it was worth the wait.

No cutesy logo anymore, since Allison decided to stop hosting. Like her, I was finding it difficult to find inspiration/pictures/time to scan stuff every week. But then there are those times that inspiration just jumps out and bites you. Inspiration so strong that you deem it worth the trouble of crawling up into the attic, fighting through all of the Christmas decorations you haphazardly threw up there a few months ago, digging out the giant Tupperware tub of "old stuff from Mom & Dad's house," and rifling through 25 photo albums ALL so that you can find The Picture.

The other day, I mentioned my excitement about seeing the Titanic preview before Hunger Games started. I also mentioned that back in the day, I saw the movie a half dozen few times in the theater. Luckily, I was rewarded with several comments affirming that I am not the only one cherishing such fond memories of the Titanic phenomenon-- nor am I the only one excitedly anticipating the re-release next month. I was thinking all of this through, when suddenly it all came back to me.

The Obsession.

You know how sometimes your memory blocks things out because if you remembered them all the time, it could be really embarrassing or humiliating? But then sometimes your brain will let you remember them, just so that you can congratulate yourself on how far you've come as a human and how super not-lame you are now. Well thankfully, The Obsession normally lies dormant somewhere in my subconscious. Until now. When I'm going to share it with you. And then I'll need you all to forget it and never bring it up again, thanks.

When Titanic came out, I don't think I just liked it. I didn't just enjoy the soundtrack. I didn't just happen to find myself at the theater every weekend for over a month, watching the same movie. I'm pretty sure I was legitimately obsessed. Here's my evidence:

1) Back in early 1998, I had already reached Level Ten Black Belt Ninja Warrior Internet Stalker status. Meaning I could and would search out anything my little 15 year old heart desired: and what it was desiring, apparently, was Titanic. The script. The whole script. And so what did I do? I found that movie script. And then I printed it.

All couple hundred pages of it.

Oh yes, it took a long time. And STACKS of (my dad's) paper. I had to stand there at the printer for HOURS, feeding paper into that thing! But when it was done? I had the whole entire script to the blockbuster movie, stage directions and all. It was so awesome. I carried it to school in my backpack and was the envy of a few super lame people everyone. And then my dad found out. And he was not as impressed by my dedication to Rose and Jack as I was. Spoilsport.

2) I couldn't NOT be surrounded with reminders of Jack and Rose's true love-- what if I forgot, even for a minute, and found myself whisked off to marry some rich jerk? Can't happen. So since this was before the days when I could just whip out my phone and see pictures of them, and since I apparently spent all of my money on movie tickets and had none left to invest in a Tiger Beat or something, I had to make do with what I did have: my dad's printer.

 Can you see it? It's my Titanic collage! There's Leo, right in the middle-- prime real estate. Across the top we have one of the movie banners, the "I'm flying, Jack!" scene, and our star-crossed lovers embracing. On the bottom are two more heart-wrenching close-ups. And this collage? I carried it with me everywhere. Where I went, it went. And I'm not gonna lie-- people were pretty jealous of it. I probably could have started a sweet collage-selling-side-business if my dad hadn't put his printer in a locked cabinet.*

The only thing that could make this story sweeter would be if I still HAD the collage, but sadly, I don't think I do. At some point, my brain tried to help me save a little face by destroying the evidence of The Obsession, including the collage and the script. Which is super sad, because HOW FUN would it be to still have that script and get some folks together to act out the movie??!!! I know. Dibs on being Rose.

 

*Just kidding, he didn't really lock up his printer. But I think we had to have a Serious Conversation regarding proper usage of paper and ink, leading me to believe he wouldn't want to be fronting the equipment for my new Titanic Collage Business.

the back seat of the van

Get your minds out of the gutter, folks. This is a G-rated Way Back When-sday. Aren't they all, for that matter? My past is pretty G-rated. As is my present. But my future...now that might be a different story. For another day. Of course.

So! My growing-up included a lot of lonnnng road trips. Both of my parents are from Texas, you see, and all of my extended family lives there still. So being the far-flung members of the family growing up on the East Coast, it was our Family Tradition to drive out to the motherland at least once a year. That's a long drive, people. 18 hours-- because my dad drives UNDER the speed limit, and also because having 3 kids and 3 dogs means you make far more stops than should ever be allowed. In addition to the annual trek to Texas, there were also annual trips to Florida and Tennessee...plus any other vacations we happened to be going on. Occasionally we flew, but for the most part we packed up the van (Ford Econoline with a high-top, anyone?? AMAZING RIDE.) and hit the road. This was the tradition from the time I was born until...well, the present, except that Matt and I (and my siblings) rarely are able to participate anymore. But my parents still brave the road a few times a year-- sadly, not in the van, though. It is no longer with us. *moment of silence*

Anyway, our van had a TV and VCR in it and that was pretty sweet back in '94 when we got it. We were basically the talk of the town AND the coveted van to get a seat in if my parents were chaperoning any youth group trips. I realize that now it is no big deal to have a TV (or 4) in your car, but back in the Days of Yore, it was pretty special.  Having the TV definitely helped the hours pass more quickly. But NOTHING livened up a road trip quite like that most excellent of inventions: the digital camera.

The day digital cameras got into the hands of Sarah and I was the day road trips ceased being torturous. Because we are actually (as you have probably suspected) supermodels. And also twins (born 5 years apart). And we make really awesome faces. And all of these things could finally be properly documented, analyzed, and enjoyed once the digital camera came along. Wanna know how many pictures 2 teenaged girls can take in the back seat of a van on an 18 hour drive? I could probably tell you. Or show you, as the case may be. Onward!

Today's pictures are all coming from the renowned Thanksgiving '05 photo shoot in Tennessee. 'Twas a glorious year. The lighting was perfecto in the back of the chariot that year. Our coordinating cream tops make us look even more twin-like than usual. And towards the end of the shoot, we even brought in some props that are a delightful foreshadowing of our (my) future craftiness: just wait and see!

 Above is the 'turtle face.' It's a classic in every shoot. Obviously.

  So right before this trip, I'd learned to crochet! And then I taught my sister! This did help us pass the time in the van...but not as much as photo shoots did.

 And once you start actually posing with your freshly-crocheted scarf wrapped around your head, your photographer (aka MOM) will probably start punking out on the job, claiming you are getting "too wound up" and "acting hyper." Whatever, photographer. We're just getting into the groove. And you're killing the vibe in this van. Psh.

The bottom line here is that if you are ever forced to go on a road trip to a faraway land, it will be best if you can take along with you an awesome sister (preferably a fellow supermodel) and a digital camera. And even if you happen to be a grown up (as Sarah and I were roughly 18 and 22 in the above pics), don't let your mean parents boss you around and try to separate you so that you can't sit together and be happy in the back seat. Because the back seat is where the party is. No one should stop you from being there. The end.

slothing: the good ol' days

Yup, it's Wednesday already.

This week I don't have anything in particular (or anything super hilarious or embarrassing, let's just be straight up) that caught my eye to share. I was just clicking through old photos and was overcome by the general sense of happiness that I feel when I look through all the old pictures of me and my college roommates.

Did you have awesome roommates? I must say, it was probably my favorite thing about college (and post-college) life. Living with a houseful of girlfriends is SO MUCH FUN, and at least in our case, came with surprisingly little drama. Sometimes I'm almost a little sad that I'll never get to do it again-- until, of course, all of our husbands die (in their late 80s, of course), and we (being the strong and healthy women) are left on our own...in which case we have already decided to move back in together. It only makes sense.

Anyway. I dug out a few pictures that accurately portray what life in the 115 was like. To save me from labeling the same people in every one, you can just remember that Elizabeth (no blog, for shame) is the one with red curly hair, Catherine looks like a Tinkerbell-ballerina (her life dream), and Kristina is the "ethnic" one. And I'm me. You should recognize me by now.

This is a typical evening in a house of girls (although I think this picture was actually on a snow day). This is the roomies with our next-door and down-the-street BFFs (from top of the couch: Lisa Marie, Catherine, Laura, me, Kristina, Elizabeth...Aidan the cat is creeping on the pile of pillows to our right). We did a lot of "slothing" (our term for what's going on in this picture: laying around, doing nothing, being comfortable...slothing!)

Luckily for us all, I LABELED this picture when I saved it: this would be the roomies celebrating the last season of Friends. With pina coladas, naturally. It's how we celebrated anything worth celebrating.

There were random enthusiastic trips to Six Flags for UGA Night (this is at the Superman ride, obviously).

There was no shortage of chocolate. Or laughing.

There was music and art. And I'd like the record to state that Kristina was crafty back before crafty was cool. She single-handedly provided all the wall decor for our house.

There was laundry.

There was cooking. We each had a night each week to prepare dinner for 'the fam.' It's how I learned to cook!

There were huge amounts of chillaxing in your mis-matched loungewear with silly slippers and plenty of coffee and girl talk.

And it was so much fun.

I was almost done, but then I saw the (hideous) cabinets in this picture and it reminded me of a story. When we moved in to this place, we decided to divvy up the cabinet space for each roomie. Sadly, there wasn't a lot of precious cabinet real estate to go around, and a good chunk of it was wasted on those two cabinets (you can see them) above the stove. The HIGH ONES that NO ONE can really get that much use out of?

Guess which roommate got nominated and voted to get those cabinets?

Yup, that would be me. Their reasoning? I was the "tall one."

OK, sure, I'm a good 4 inches taller than Kristina and Catherine-- I'll give 'em that much. But Elizabeth?? PLEASE. I'm like maybe 1/8th of an inch taller, which you would never even know because her hair is fluffy on the top and mine is flat, which makes her look taller. But she milked that eighth of an inch like it made all the difference in the world while she shafted me with those stupid cabinets. I'm not bitter or anything...it's just we should have at LEAST gotten to rock-paper-scissors for it or something.

Whatever. Roommates. What're you gonna do? (Note: when we move into the nursing home together, I am NOT getting shafted with that tall cabinet again. YOU can climb up a chair every time you want a stupid bowl of cereal. HA!)

baby wearing (1983 ed.)

Happy Way Back When-sday! 

So it seems like "baby wearing" is all the rage these days. In the past few years, I feel like I've seen more versions of baby wraps than I ever imagined could exist, both on people I see or know in real life, and in pictures/blogs/magazines. In fact, here's what comes up if you do a Google image search for 'baby wrap': all this. It's a little overwhelming, actually...when the time comes for me to decide what kind of wrapping and wearing I'm going to want for my own kid, I'm sure I'll be completely overwhelmed and paralyzed with the many options! Yippee! And then I'll probably ask you people for advice, so go ahead and be thinking about that.

ANYWAYS. So I've always figured I'd be into some sort of baby wrap thing. Not creepy into it, you understand...like, some people seem to wear their babies 24/7 until they drop them off at pre-k. And then they expect me to be able to teach that kid? Who never left momma's side for 2 seconds? Right, thanks. But that's beside the point anyway. Some women look like they're pregnant for about 3 years: there's always SOME sort of lump under the fabric on their bellies...for awhile it's probably an actual pregnant belly; for the next few years, just a lump of a kid. Whom you never get to actually see. I'm not planning on being that into baby-wearing. Just a regular amount of into it.


Today, as I looked through an old photo album, I realized why the idea of baby wearing seemed so appealing to me. Apparently MY parents were big into baby wearing. Who knew?! But in a good number of pictures, I was appearing as merely a lump in a (really retro) Baby Bjorn-type-thing...mere head and legs sticking off of my mom or dad's torso. So apparently the desire to baby wear is genetic. And look how great I turned out! I am like a walking campaign for The Benefits of Baby Wearing. Some company (Baby Bjorn? Moby? Anyone? Bueller?) should definitely be paying me to be writing this blog right now.

So, on with the pictures! The first one is really awesome. The second two...questionable. You'll see what I mean.

The writing on the back of this one informs us that I am 2 months old and we are at Niagara Falls. (This would be my one and only trip so far this lifetime to Niagara Falls. Too bad I don't remember it.) There are so many awesome things about this picture-- namely my Nana and Poppie's spectacularly classy outfits (and pipe). Then there's my dad...rocking out some retro sneakers, with me on his chest. This is a very acceptable usage of baby wearing: walking around some touristy place. Much more convenient than having your arms get tired holding the infant, or pushing the stroller all over. Ideal usage, Dad. A+.

 A few months later, we find ourselves back home, ready for Family Exercise Hour. According to the writing on the back of the picture, "bike riding with Mommy while Daddy runs: 3 1/2 months". Ummm....okay.

WOW, do I look comfy or WHAT?!!! I think I STILL have neck pain from that experience. Also, I am a huge 3.5 month old. And also, I'm pretty sure this would be illegal in like 19 different ways in the present day. But you know what? Back in the 80s, it looks like the government had better things to do than make up rules about everything in the world, so rock on with your bike-riding self, Mom. At least our family wasn't succumbing to the obesity epidemic.

And on an unrelated note, if you will closely examine all three pictures, please compare my dad's outfit in the first with my mom's outfit in the other two. It would appear my parents SHARED their outerwear! Since they were at that time living in a Very Cold, Snowy, and Godforsaken State, one would think they had more than one coat between them...but maybe not. Ah, the 80s.


So! Thus concludes today's lecture on baby wearing. Bottom line: You should wear your babies at appropriate times, such as while shopping or visiting Natural Wonders of the World. Probably not while exercising...but then again, that could be the very thing that turned me into the fitness enthusiast I am today (HAHAHAHAHAHA), so who am I to judge?