|MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER AND HER ADORABLE BABY, PIGGLY WIGGLY, who has apparently just spied something edible off in the corner there ...|
My wee Piggly was 5 pounds, 2 ounces at birth, as tiny and dainty and perfect as a porcelain doll. Her mother immediately went into full-blown tigress mode and began taking care of that baby within an inch of its life. Diaper changes, clothing changes, baths and burpings all occurred with military precision and mind-boggling frequency — but that was nothing compared to the amount of times in a day Piggly enjoyed feedings. "Gorgings" might more accurately describe what is going on here; during my few days with the little family this week, I've noticed that conversations typically go like this:
Piggly's Dad: "Hon, the baby's cr..."
Piggly's Mom: "She's hungry!"
Piggly's Dad: "I think the baby's awa ..."
Piggly's Mom: "Go get her! Quickly! She's hungry!"
Me: "Where do you guys keep the coffee?"
Piggly's Mom: "Coughing? She's coughing? Omigod, she must be hungry! The baby's hungry! SOMEBODY GET THE BABY!"
The end result is the pudding-cheeked plumpkin you see here, and if the enthusiastic mothering doesn't slow down soon, I think we can fully expect Piggly to make 50 pounds by spring.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Heheheee...
MY NOTE: What are you tittering about, you corn-fed eejit, you?
EDITOR'S NOTE: It's just ... I can tell from that glass of wine in the background that you must have been there when this picture was taken.
MY NOTE: Really? Well I can tell from that glass of wine in the background that you are fired. Because I specifically asked you to crop that out. I'm a grandmother, for fuck's sake. I have a reputation to uphold!