It's official.

Skipper has a Social Security card!

thoughts

When I told Cook about my propane-in-hair-products discovery, he looked it up and discovered that propane is allowed in food. Like cheese. Then, of course, he had to do some research, and found out that it serves the purpose of "propellant." Then he went into a brief and happy reverie, imagining cheeses and other foods flying silently over our homes at night, headed to grocery stores all over the world. Then we decided it probably meant cheese in spray cans.

I think we were all pretty disappointed.

First, Skipper's hair clip.

Next, the bun.
This is what we started with.


Midway through.
The final product. "I look like a porcupine!" said Dutch. We definitely have to find a hairnet somewhere.

Untrained

I don't style my hair. I don't wear makeup. I don't know how to do those things. I am woefully ill-equipped to be Dutch's mom. Not only is her Fanciness Standard way way higher than mine, but she chooses activities that require skills I do not have.

For her ballet performance next week she is supposed to wear "stage makeup - earth tones only!" and have a perfect bun "with no wisps." Dear lord. She doesn't even have long enough hair to make a bun! And nobody in the world except ballerinas and long-haired cooks wears hair nets anymore, so it's impossible to find them at, say, your neighborhood drugstore. And should I ever be able to find a hair net, I will then have to make a no-wisp hairdo out of it. I can barely remember to brush my own hair in the mornings.

I took a first step today and went to the drugstore where they did not have hairnets, where I also looked for styling gel or hairspray or whatever normal people use to style hair. I was just going to buy the cheapest and smallest container, but then I made the horrible mistake of looking at the ingredients list, which went more or less like this: "Gives you cancer, probably compromises your fertility, screws up your lungs, and then kicks you in the head when you're lying in the hospital bed." Why, I'd like to know, would anybody put propane in a product that people put on their skin?* So I had to go to Whole Paycheck and buy something else, which cost almost twice as much but doesn't have any death in it.

Anyway, I told her she's not wearing makeup. She can wear the tinted lip balm I accidentally bought. And we'll have to practice the hairdo all week. I'll post a photo!

*If you'd like to figure out how to find products that make you Fancy without putting your health at risk, check out Skin Deep.

My neighborhood reputation

The other day I was walking Dutch and Skipper home from Dutch's evening ballet class, and we stopped along the way at the grocery store to get some desperately-needed items. Skipper started yelling inconsolably (I did try to nurse her as we walked around, but she was not buying it, and just kept screaming with the nipple in her mouth), and I got all sweaty and people were staring and muttering, so I decided to abort the mission and abandon the groceries. I told Dutch that we weren't going to be able to stand in the long line to check out, and were just going to go home. She looked at me with an expression of mingled horror and excitement and said loudly "You mean we're going to STEAL the milk?!?!"

So now the people who frequent our friendly neighborhood grocery store think I'm not only a terrible parent, but also a thief.

Not the same

Skipper is not like her sister. This is something of which I have to remind myself every day. We were parenting blank slates when Dutch was born, and we picked up on her preferences. This time, we assume we know what Skipper wants (ie what Dutch wanted), and we're thus slower to catch on to what she DOES want.

She often wants to be held away from the holder's torso, so she can look at us (and the ceiling, or something else totally random but apparently fascinating). Sometimes she actually wants to be just put down and left alone. I'd read about this phenomenon in various parenting books, but it was definitely not the case with Dutch, who wanted nothing more than to be snuggled up ALL DAY LONG, and was always the sort of baby who molded herself to your body. So I assumed it was parental fantasy, like that alleged "fussing" that babies were supposed to do. Today I got home from an outing with Skipper, who was grumpy and crying when we walked in the door. I put her into the Chair of Doom so I could put away groceries and wash my hands, and she almost immediately stopped crying. She sat there happily staring at furniture for about 15 minutes before announcing that she was done ("Eh! EEHHH!! EEHHHHH!!!!!!!"). I don't recall Dutch EVER stopping crying spontaneously after being put down. Ever.

Also, Dutch started smiling responsively in her 4th week of life, and Skipper has yet to give us any social smiles at all, well into her 6th week. When I look back at Dutch's infancy, in the brilliance of hindsight, I can identify things - crying as an immediate response to a problem, interest in interacting face-to-face, snuggliness - that are consistent with her personality - lack of resilience, desire for interaction, sensitive response to other people, etc. Where Skipper differs, I immediately assume it means she's going to be entirely the opposite of her sister. Hm. Maybe if I get all this assuming and generalizing and comparing out of the way now, I can provide these girls with an emotionally healthy sibling relationship...

And anyway, Skipper is truly not the stern, semi-autistic hermit I'm making her out to be. She's starting to show signs of turning into a baby-baby (you know, the sort of baby you see in commercials, all chubby and smiley) - she's just hit the 10-pound mark, and spends quite a bit of time looking around with wide eyes* and trying to make her arms obey her will. Her acne is clearing up a bit, and when strangers tell me she's beautiful, I say "Yes, she is! Thank you!" instead of "Ha! You're totally delusional, or maybe blind!"

The other main difference with this second-kid experience is that I'm having a really strong urge to put a hairclip in her hair, something I've always scorned when other parents do it. It's just... she has HAIR! Real hair! I just feel like I should celebrate it!** Also, I've got these hairclips that certain other members of the household refuse to wear because they're not pretty enough... photos coming soon.


* Not so much skeptical squinting going on. She does still look pretty worried, though.
** Dutch was practically bald for her first two years of life. She had this ridiculous mullet - about 2 inches long on top, and these long thin curls in the back, and I resisted Cook's pleading to cut it for far too long.

Dual citizenship is not permitted

I added a "Swedish" setting to our computer so I can use the extra Swedish letters... and when I changed back to the "English (United States)" setting, the computer didn't quite change back all the way. Picasa has gone entirely Swedish, so that my top toolbar reads "arkiv," "redigera," "visa," "mapp," etc. It's driving Cook crazy, but I'm kind of enjoying trying to figure out what the computer is talking about.

Bring in the clowns

unitasking

I'm currently nursing Skipper and typing one-handed. This is what I've done today since 8:30 AM:

• Schoolwork
• Procrastinated on the internets
• Nursed a lot
• Washed dishes
• Pumped breastmilk
• Washed the pump parts
• Taken out the big bag of dirty diapers
• Retrieved the big bag of clean diapers
• Prepared and eaten breakfast, lunch, and snack
• Packed a bag for my upcoming outing (to get Dutch and take her to ballet)
• Gotten the mail*

And... that's about it. It SEEMED like a lot.

*Which included a package from Sweden! (Not the whole country.) I love Polarn O. Pyret kids' clothes! Tack så mycket!

Memorial Day!