8 months

Something in her smile looks like the Shadow Creek Johnson's family. It's grapefruit season in the desert. Valley yards probably have enough crop to feed the country, but most end up rotting on the ground, or being eaten as sustenance by the valley roof rats. These came from Nadine's coworker/boss's house. There's nothing like free freshly squeezed white grapefruit juice in the morning. Getting ready for our Silent Sunday ride at South Mountain with the Shapiro's. Once a month no cars are allowed in the park, only bikers, hikers, skateboarders, and anyone seeking mountain silence in the city. Selah's biking theme is the motto from the Terry bike company: ride like a girl. She shook her snowman rattle all the way down the mountain.

The new gruntish laugh.

Vocal play: blowing raspberries.

Everyone stay... in a state of panic.

The Old Spanish Trail in Tucson. Leads into Saguaro Nat'l Park, but we weren't allowed in with the baby situated in her bike trailer the way we have her.

Outside the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson. El Presidio Historic District of Tucson. Historic hotel in Tubac, AZ, a Valentine's Day surprise. We'd spent the night before at a nasty Days Inn in Tucson, where we all caught a cold. Selah had croupe, and had a really hard time staying asleep. So... Phoenix Children's Hospital, a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. We went to urgent care hoping to get some medicine that would help the baby sleep that night. The urgent care doctor freaked out when he saw Selah's breathing, and called 911. He put on oxygen mask on her and gave her several kinds of medicine without telling us what they were first. Fire-fighters and EMT's showed up, causing the baby to panic even more, making her breathing really strained. We took an ambulance ride to the emergency room with needles, oxygen masks the whole way. We were pretty angry about the panic that the doctor had caused. It made Selah start to panic, which made her breathing more difficult. Once I finally got her to calm down, it was obvious that there had been no need to freak out like that. I did two things correctly, I stayed calm and I did not let the nurses take Selah away from me once we reached the hospital. I just wish I would have nursed her to calm her down back at the urgent care, but they wouldn't let me. Anyways, eventually she woke up from her calming snooze, and began to get a feel for her surroundings. She pulled off her oxygen monitor relentlessly. It just didn't make sense to her that her oxygen should be measured through her own big toe. We sat here for nearly three hours trying to keep Selah happy. Nowhere to crawl, nothing to chew on except nasty cords and linens. I think about a dozen people made up the medical "team" that kept popping there heads in once an hour. Nurses, doctors, techs, billing staff, etc. When we told the story to one group of people, indicating that we really didn't understand the emergency, the tech replied that at least what we went through meant job security for them. Yep, that was like pouring salt on an open wound.

I took this video as a kind of evidence, thus my factual-sounding narration.

Doing stuff

Doris with the baby at Lola's.

New sippy cup.

Trying her hand at puffy pops.

A little dancing.

Dadadada.

Bouncing in her old boppy - that's all it's good for anymore.

Eating poof daddies.

Pull-ups

Downtown Phoenix on a Sunday morning.

A great shot that accents that flowing golden hair.

Whether she's being tickled or watching you do sit-ups, that girl can laugh.

I came in from the kitchen and FOUND her like this. Of course I helped her down when she let go. On Tuesday I asked someone at the church nursery if you're just supposed to let them fall down and they said yes. So, to demonstrate, she fell down from some play table in the nursery, hit her head, and screamed. Another lady picked her up, but I asked if I could hold her for my own sake. Is it a coincidence that starting that day she now follows me around the house everywhere I go and often cries when I leave the room?