Growing Like a Weed

So I wrote this a couple of days ago, waiting to post until I had a picture or two to share. But I haven't gotten around to that. I figured it was better to post sans pics than not to post at all.

The Liliputian is officially playing catch up. She gained 8 oz in seven days and is now officially out of her 0-3 month clothes and into the 3-6es! I probably could have eked a few more days out of the 0-3es, and in fact do have a few bigger items still in her drawers, but for the most part they're packed up. It was just getting too hard to try and guess which particular items were likely to fit and which weren't. I didn't think we could possibly accumulate more clothes for that child than she had in the 0-3 size, but the dresser is just as full, if not more so with this next size. She's quite the fashionista. Of course she's still swimming in most things, mainly because they balloon out around her middle; she's all arms and legs.



And this clothing size transition happened so suddenly. Obviously, I was just last week worrying about how little she'd grown...and just this morning thinking to myself that I really needed to replace the spare outfit I carry around for her in her diaper bag in case of messes, the one I've never used. Guess who needed it today when she peed on our friend (still can't figure out how she managed that one; and she preceded it with a warning cry, odd) at lunch. Way, way, way too small. The onesie was stretched near to popping the snaps and her little pants were a bit pinchy at the waist. A day late and a dollar short on that one.



At this same lunch today with friends, she started fussing. We took her out of her carseat. Fussing turned to more serious complaints. We tried to feed her a bottle. Complaining turned to crying. We stood up and walked her around the room. Crying turned into shrieking. I tried nursing her at the table. Shrieking turned into an all-out wail-fest with a new brand of crying the likes of which we had not yet heard or seen. Short, staccato full-on freak-out fest of "I am so far beyond pissed that I am opening the closest thing to a can of whoop-ass that my not-quite-3-month-old body is capable of on all y'all!" The Husband and I were in states of barely controlled panic. Our friend who works with infants daily reminded us that she was fine, not hurt, not hungry, not cold or hot, not tired, just mad; all of which we know, but there's that chemical response that parents can't help but have when their baby is howling and they can't figure out how to fix it. The Husband finally took her outside for fresh air and later reported that the instant he opened the door she shut off the waterworks and was totally calm and happy. Dim lighting. Apparently our daughter has no appreciation for ambiance or mood lighting. She stands behind her convictions, I'll give her that.