Baby Steps

So, here’s my entry into the world of blogging mommies. How weird is that? I don’t even have a cell phone.

I’m not so sure what to expect; I just hope I have more success at this than my previous attempts at chronicling my daughter’s life.

When my now 15-month-old Ladybug was born, I tried to write her a weekly letter - nothing formal - just a here’s-what-you-were-doing-when-you-were-two-weeks-old recap written on teddy bear stationary I bought when I was about 10 years old. After about three weeks, it became a monthly letter. After about three months, it became a nonexistent letter.

So I decided I’d try scrapbooking to highlight the big moments of her life - first teeth, first haircut, first Mardi Gras (this is Louisiana after all). I clipped a half-off coupon out of a craft store flyer, packed Ladybug’s diaper bag and stroller into the car and headed out.

I found a beautiful scrapbook, and best of all, it was an all-in-one kit with paper and accessories. I took it home and sat it on her dresser, ready to start documenting the milestones.

The first tooth came in. Then the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and half the eighth. Ladybug had her first haircut propped up in her high chair, a drop cloth around her shoulders, my husband trying his best to snip here and there. Now, as her bangs flirt with her eyelashes, it’s time for another.

We went to Ladybug’s first Mardi Gras parade. My parents came into town, and my mom got into the groove, jumping up and down and yelling, “Beads for the baby!” We got plenty of beads and stuffed animals and krewe coins. I put a stack of the coins on the buffet to decorate the pages of her scrapbook and forgot about them until I moved the dining room furniture last weekend and found them on the floor. And all this time - seven months - the scrapbook sat on Ladybug’s dresser, unopened, no milestones documented.

I finally admitted to myself that the scrapbook wasn’t going to happen anytime soon and packed it in Ladybug’s “memory box” - a big plastic container that contains her first pacifier, the furry pink Winnie the Pooh outfit she was supposed to wear home from the hospital, and the summer onesie she ended up with instead after the temperature climbed past 80 degrees that early February day.

I guess until I can find time to write those letters or start that scrapbook I’ll just keep snapping plenty of pictures. I have several hundred so far.

Now I just have to get them printed.