Random Catch-Up

I know.  Over a month of Abby's life has gone undocumented in cyberspace.  It's not my fault.  More on that later.

I decided to cut my losses and post pictures from the summer, unedited and without explanation.  Imagine that each shot has a great story to go with it, even though you won't get to read about it.  Hopefully, October will bring more timely and organized posts.

Here's a random story that has nothing to do with the pictures that follow.  It's called "Yet another reason parents hate battery-operated toys."  Feel free to bypass it and head straight to the phots of the adorable child.

The other night Abby carried her Tickle-Me Elmo upstairs for bedtime.  We shuffled into the bathroom and I turned on the water in the tub.  I went briefly to the sink for something and when I spun back around I found Elmo taking a bath.  Sigh.  Abby was thrilled, of course.

Twenty-four hours later, Elmo was still drip-drying in the bathroom.  I put Abby to bed last night and was ready for bed myself at 8:45 PM.  Greg was out of town on a business trip, so I wouldn't get sucked into TV time.  Yes!  Sleep!  I couldn't wait.  When eleven-thirty rolled around I was wondering why nature was playing this cruel trick.  I was exhausted but wide awake.  

Eventually, I did drift off only to be awoken by 

"Ha ha ha.  
Ha ha ha.  
That tickles.  

Ha ha ha.  
Ha ha ha.  
That tickles." 

In my dazed state I first thought Abby was crying.  Then I thought she was playing with a talking toy.  Then I remembered she didn't have any talking toys in her crib.  It was pitch black, I was alone in the house with a baby, and there was an eerie voice laughing at me from the next room. . .over and over again.   Scary thoughts, scary thoughts.  

OK.  It's just Elmo.  He's probably pissed about the bath.  I went into the bathroom to turn off the evil laughing red doll, but, unfortunately, you can't turn it off unless you have a mini-screwdriver to open the battery case.  My mini-screwdriver lives downstairs, too far away to travel in the middle of the night.  So I shook the battery case until it stopped laughing, wrapped it in a towel and left it on the floor.

It took a while to fall back to sleep, having had an adrenaline rush.  It seemed no sooner than I was asleep that I awoke to a muffled 

"Ha ha ha.  
Ha ha ha."  

Adrenaline rush #2.  Child crying?  No.  Child playing?  No.  Evil battery-box laughing on its own from the bathroom?  Check.

I took the box wrapped in a towel down the hall, into the study and shut the door tight.  Once again, sleep eventually came.  And five minutes later, Abby was up for the day.

A little of what Abby was up to this summer. .