Ivy turned three months old on Wednesday, and I had every intention of writing this then. But life got in the way. (And then illness got in the way. I have some sort of sinus infection going. Or else I have pinkeye in my third eye. Blah.)
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Ivy loves to talk. She has more to say than any baby I've ever known. If I just stare at her and smile, she coos long phrases that go on for minutes and include the babytalk equivalents of semicolons and parenthetical statement. We also have long conversations that go something like this:
Her: EeeeEEEeee-aye-aye-aye! Aah-oohOOH!
Me: Aah-ooh? Really?
Her: Aye-AYE-aye! Aaaaaaaaa-OOH!
Sometimes I think she's auditioning for Rent. Or else she just wants me to take her out tonight.
At first, she looked like Rob. Then she looked like me as a baby. Over the past few weeks, Ivy has started to look more like herself. Her eyelashes popped out about a month ago, and they continue to grow longer and curlier. Her eyebrows are getting dark. She's rubbed off all the newborn hair on the back of her head—or else I've kissed it off. I kiss her head about a thousand times a day.
I think Ivy might be a brunette. (Westley was definitely a blue-eyed blond at this age.) Her eyes are still a mysterious, in-between color. They're magic. I can't seem to snap an accurate photo of them. They shimmer like labradorite.
In just a few pictures, Ivy looks a lot like Westley.
But it's working out really beautifully. Most of the time, things are good. I'm amazed by how far we've come just in the past few weeks. The 3-6 Months clothes are already starting to look too small. Nursing sessions don't go on for hours. There is something resembling a sleep schedule.
It's funny to me that I still can't believe Ivy is real. Yesterday I put her on the changing table and I was just blown away by her actual-baby-ness. All I could do was stare at her, because, Look at you! You're a baby! You're my daughter and you're really REAL!
She seems too magical and funny and strong and beautiful to be a real baby. To be my baby. Looking at her is like seeing sunlight breaking through the clouds on a gray day.