August 12, 2010

Fresh Out

Two days ago I was hating myself for not having texting in my plan.  Because waaaay over in Tennessee little Clara Lou was born, and she was there in all her blonde-haired glory making those tiny squeaking noises in a glass bed, but I couldn't see her because we aren't texters, and we don't get videos from our friends on our phones. Or pictures from our sisters after their babies are born.**

And, duuuuude.  I was really missing out.

Is it even fair for a kid to have such good hair, hours out of the womb?  I thought it was supposed to be all greasy and cotton candy-like. 

Look at that pout face!  Later this month I'm flying to Knoxville to see her, bite her face, and rifle through all her baby clothes.  She's the first baby in our family!  We already love her so much.

**That's right, Sis.  I linked to your blog, who's been sleeping ever-so-soundly for years.  I even poked around at Rilo Kiley and Feist, and I think may have disturbed her because she yawned at me.  Maybe it's time to shake that thing to life again with some pictures of your nursery and your baby as she grows.  And stories about giving birth and the first time June steps on her head.


  1. What a little cutie! She really does have great hair. : )

  2. I already love her as well, just from the pictures. She is munchy and deliciously delicate.
    ~mary Walk~

  3. SHE IS A SWEETHEART! And I think she has sis's face with all that GLORIOUS blond hair!! LOVE IT! And I am so glad you linked to Lollie Lane's blog b/c I just tried to talk her into the same thing earlier in the week! I wanna see more diapers on the line! Can't wait for you to get into town to love on that little darling (and of course have lunch with me)! Love you bunches Auntie Betsy!

  4. Bets-
    You are going to flip when you see her in person! I couldn't put her down yesterday! She is edible! You just won't believe how perfect she is!


Do I need to be liked? Absolutely not. I like to be liked. I enjoy being liked. I have to be liked. But it's not like a compulsive need to be liked. Like my need to be praised.