Learning the right stuff
He doesn't play the "how big is baby" game.
He won't point to nose or ears yet.
He's reluctant to high five.
He doesn't refer to us as "Mama" or "Dada" yet.
But he can quote Doc Brown from Back to the Future!
He doesn't play the "how big is baby" game.
He won't point to nose or ears yet.
He's reluctant to high five.
He doesn't refer to us as "Mama" or "Dada" yet.
But he can quote Doc Brown from Back to the Future!
(I recovered surprisingly well after Zumba. Looks like I have a new exercise plan)
We got home Sunday afternoon. The blast of hot dry air on the bridge off the airplane made me miss the cool ocean breezes already. Jack has been sleeping a lot, trying to make up for the sleep he missed from having too much fun.
I posted all of my photos on flickr here, and I see Amanda has done the same.
I'll take you through some favorites. Disclaimer: they are kind of crappy, all from my phone, and mostly of Jack.
We arrived! We're on the beach!
Back from vacation, feeling fat and bloated. Last night after work I trolled the internet for dance classes and found the Wheat Ridge Rec Center, the gym I've been using since Miranda's postpartum days, offers a zumba class at a convenient time today. ("Zumba! Ditch the work-out, join the party!")
Possessed with self righteousness and a fervor like it was January 1st, I lay myself at the feet of Kris, our zumba instructor. Super tanned with a belly ring, spiky red hair with blond highlights, neon green mini skirt, and a Britney mic, she whipped me for an hour. Twenty minutes in I looked in the mirror and saw that I was lobster-red and dripping sweat. I don't know how I made it through all of class. Kris bounced over after class and invited me to keeping coming. I told her it depends on whether I wake up paralyzed with muscle ache tomorrow, or if I can manage to grunt my way through my shift. Zumba!