Shhh. Writering (h/t to my friend Morgan for the term) takes some work.
I know. I haven’t been posting.
At least not here, anyway.
Since discovering Instagram, I really haven’t felt the need to post long-form the way I used to. With IG it’s much easier to set up a post with pics and text all ready to go – as opposed to WP, where I obsessively format type and images for consistency. The time it takes to write, edit, backlink, tag and categorize blog posts is sometimes a deterrent.
And sometimes, the girl’s antics just don’t warrant a post of that magnitude.
That isn’t to say that she hasn’t been up to lots – but by the same token, she’s been up to nothing at all…just being a baby isn’t always that exciting, Down Syndrome or no. I do hope to blog more about what/how she’s been doing in the upcoming months (have topics lined up and everything), but for now, if you haven’t already found us on Instagram, that’s where we be. I post about her at least once or twice a week, and it’s a public account (more on that to come) for all to see.
So, swing on over and follow us. Say hi! I show Aisha every post and read the comments people leave. Sure, she’s a bit too wee to understand right now, but her enthusiasm is genuine all the same.
Lookit that face. She used to be the cutest thing going at our house.
Long before the days of Aisha, our little pup Nakita had the rule of the roost. She had three beds in the house, a million balls and squeak toys, and the undivided attention of all and any who visited. Our house rule was “please acknowledge the dog,” not because she was that important, but because she wouldn’t quit barking at visitors unless she received a rub.
When I was in the last days of being pregnant, Nakita took to lying at or on my belly, which I thought was pretty cute, and I hoped that she would be as attentive once the baby arrived.
And then the baby arrived.
Once the star of the house, Nakita was abruptly usurped as the new pink, wriggling, pooping thing quickly became top dog. Our poor little fuzzball couldn’t understand why, as with other small squeaky things in the house, she wasn’t allowed to chew on, drag or lick it. Loving words of affection and tummy rubs became “Nakita, no!” or “Stop that” and gentle shoves away when she got too close to the mysterious being. Continue reading
Reads this blog. I find it kind of creepy.
Does it extend across species?
I just read the saddest story in the Huffington Post about a baby elephant in China that was attacked and subsequently abandoned by its mother. The little one cried for five hours (just typing that made me teary-eyed), and the story made me want to gather up this giant baby in my arms and console him.
It was this sentence that started the welling of the wet stuff:
“Photos taken of the crying baby elephant, named Zhuang Zhuang, show tears streaming from his red eyes and down his face. In one shot, he is seen lying under a blanket while he appears to weep.”
The accompanying photo (not the one above) finished me. I couldn’t bear to watch the video.
Generally, I’m a hardass to the human condition, but I’m a big animal-sucky; almost any picture or video of cutelings can set off a series of “awwwwww” from me. And heaven help me if said photo or footage is about abandoned or distressed animals.
On a normal, non-pregnant day, I’m gutted. With all the hormones coursing through my veins lately, I simply cannot.