Look Who's Talking

Were you hoping John Travolta would be in this post? Sadly, no, it is just another post about our baby. Feel free to gag, we know--we're obsessed.

Lately this one has been very vocal. Every night when dad gets home from work, she carries on long conversations with him about her day. She doesn't talk as much to me; perhaps I don't have as sympathetic an ear as Chris. Or, maybe she is just annoyed with his constant poking and prodding...I can relate.

Untitled from Erika Herman on Vimeo.


But, it may just be that she is clearly a daddy's girl. Look at that adoring gaze.

A name and a blessing

Now, one in her "natural" habitat.

On April 17th, we were lucky to have Britta receive a name and a blessing--in the same blessing dress I wore as a babe--in church. The best part was that we were able to have both sets of grandparents in town for the event. We were all worried that Chris would pull a spur of the moment name change on us, in particular the nickname "Large Marge" had become one of his favorites. Thankfully my silent prayers were answered that "Large Marge Herman" did not become her name on the records of the Church.

It was a wonderful day and two wonderful weeks of sightseeing and family time. Chris and I have to admit that we are lonely now that everyone has gone home. More visitors are welcome at any time. :)

Somebody found her hands...

And this hasn't stopped since.

Chris hates it; he thinks she is going to develop a thumb-sucking habit. I doubt something as small as a thumb could interest her; it clearly seems she is more interested in the whole enchilada, if you know what I mean.

Lovers in the Park

This weekend

This weekend we took it easy as a family of three.

We mostly just hung out on the couch and enjoyed each other's company.

We did get all gussied up today and got ourselves some religion though.

Most of all, we just tried to contain our excitement for both sets of grandparents to come visit in the new couple weeks. Chris and I were able to successfully keep this excitement bottled in; Britta, however, failed miserably.

Seriously?

The other day I asked Chris to put some socks on Miss Britta so we could go hang out with some friends. This was the result...

Really? Tucked into the pants? He wasn't trying to be funny either.

Here is his version of putting her pajamas on. It was much more obvious when she was smaller, but he likes to hike her pants up as high as they will go. No worry of drafts here.

Needless to say, he will not be on the committee for choosing her first day of school outfit or picking out her prom dress.

One Month

According to her grandpa, this one is "a regular fatty" and we wouldn't have it any other way.

At her one month check up she measured in the 75th percentile for weight at 9 lbs. 12 oz. Funny that at five weeks she still doesn't weigh what they thought she would at birth. I have very little faith in the accuracy of the ultrasound machine.

Being as the newborn stage slipped away from me before I could get any real pictures done, I made a last-ditch effort to take some myself. They are largely pathetic, but a few were cute.

International Traveler

When Chris announced that he had another business trip to Canada last week, this mother-daughter duo put our heads together and decided that we weren't about to sit at home alone. So, we loaded up the car and gave this munchkin her first taste of international travel.

Our week consisted of a lot of this:

Sitting in hotel rooms. But, hey, we figured we might as well sit in a room someone else would clean every day rather than sit in our own filth at home.

I made Chris take me to Niagara Falls and that is about the only really interesting thing we did since he had to work late pretty much every night.

Britta could not be bothered to leave her cocoon of comfort to see this world wonder.

As stupid as it seems, I was really glad to return to the good old U.S. of A. Canada's got nothing on us.

I really love these.

These feet, that is. I just can't get enough of these bad boys. I want to nibble them all day. Why is that totally normal because she is a baby, but the thought of nibbling Chris's hobbit feet is not so appealing?

I mean, just look at those little toes. 

And yes, she is addicted to the pacifier. Chris calls it "the plug." The best part is that she insists on always touching her face and half of the time she pulls it out and then screams, of course not realizing that she is holding it in her hand (not that she could figure out how to get it back in her mouth even if she knew she was holding it.)

When she isn't in a sucking mood, she is also quite content to chill in her swing. And I am very content to let her.

My goal for the week is to take some pictures of the two of us together and maybe even a family picture before she leaves the newborn stage. She is quickly plumping out and looking bigger every day...

First Outing

On one of the last days before my Mom left we decided that we just had to get out of the house. The sun was shining and I had been couped up too long, so we went to lunch. I know I am probably crazy for taking a ten day old out in public like that, but we sat in the back of the restaurant and she slept through the whole adventure.

Not so happy to be shoved in the car seat. I, on the other hand was loving being showered and dressed for the first time in two weeks. I had to document it since I don't think it will happen again for the next three months.

Then she discovered her love for the car and slept soundly for the next three hours. Doesn't she look like she could tell you your fortune or read your palm in that headband? Ha!

One thing I have decided I like about New York is that pregnant ladies and babies are a big deal here. In Utah, I rarely got any comments or congratulations for being pregnant. Here, I couldn't take out the trash without someone rolling down their window to congratulate me on my burgeoning belly. When we went to lunch, every table we passed asked if we could stop so they could see the baby. And they fawned over her--I felt like a celebrity. It was awesome.