Splendor in the Grass
At six months old, Farrah is no longer content to lay in the buggy and gaze. This is unfortunate not because my baby is growing up, but because now I have to do this to mow the grass:
Oh well. Totes adorbs right? She’s so cute. Let’s see her again, different expression:
And speaking of cute, those headphones are Arlo’s and he calls them his telephones.
Very amused and feeling full of myself I was thrilled when a passerby walked up our driveway, forcing me to turn the mower off and you know, talk to another adult. Squeeeee! Surely she is about to compliment my baby AND my bad-assery of getting.it.done, I thought, and say – she’d probably be delighted to take a picture of the whole scene for me!
She did neither those of things. She stopped to talk about my glass bottle border, Neck Deep. Very complimentary BUT DO YOU NOT SEE THE POLKA-DOTTED PERFECTION ATTACHED TO MY CHEST? We’re mowing the lawn together? She’s wearing telephones? Oh well, I say again. One woman’s baby is another woman’s bottle border.
Lucky me, I have both.