Wednesday, April 21, 2010


My grandparents came to see Scout last week and Papa did what he does best: Brandy Manhattans.

And THEN...

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Deepish Scout

Motivated by Ellie and The Emerson Show, I'm starting a blog for Scout: The Scarlett Letters. As the name suggests, it will eventually be a blog written to Scout from her mama, but for now will just be photos since her mama's brain is operating at a reduced capacity.

I hope this isn't the end of Deepish Thoughts, but until I start having some thoughts, we'll probably be on hiatus.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Daily Show

My friend John sent me this link--a hilarious, yet totally infuriating, segment on the US/Russia nuclear agreement.

Since my days consist of feeding the baby, staring at the baby, changing the baby, and thinking about how I used to shower more often, I haven't watched The Daily Show lately. But I really should.

Check it out if you haven't seen it yet. Or watch it again.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Our little man

Everyone thinks Scout is a boy. Normally it's not people who know her, but people we see on the street and in stores. "He's so cute!" they say, and I just say thank you because I'm not really in the business of gender education. But it's become clear to me that you have to cover your daughter in pink if people are to recognize her for the dainty, feminine being that she is.

I had Scout dressed in an orange Moby wrap and a green hat one day, and a cream onesie another day. Apparently, this screams BOY. Even to Rob. The other night when she was crying, he said, "What's this about? We don't cry here, Mister." So, you see, the clothes can really fool you, even if you're her DAD.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Scout's first bath

Scout takes a bath

And is eaten by a frog

She has taken several baths since this first one, and now cries only when we take her out of the water.

Friday, April 2, 2010

As if she will never eat again

Scout is occasionally convinced that she is a wild animal and must fight for her food. At these times, she uses a variety of kung fu moves that she perfected in the womb to chop and scratch at her food source: me. We call her the Ferocious Beast. In fact, she usually ends up dominating only her own wrist, which has thus far not produced milk. We then have to take several breaks before she calms down enough to realize she's really more like a farm animal than a wild animal.

She still spends most of her time asleep, probably dreaming of the hunt.