I feel like I've been remiss in my mama-blogging duties lately, not updating grandparents and any others out there keeping track about the fact that Genevieve has indeed finally started to talk in a significant way--sentences and everything, entire conversations, as well as singing along from the back seat of the car in her little baby hum to "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year," her favorite Christmas tune. Sure, no one else may ever actually hear her, since she refuses to talk or smile in the presence of anyone other than our nuclear family, but trust me: she talks now. And she's not always as grumpy as she appears. Much of the time, yes; but not always.
And then there's her sleeping: after eight straight months of 30-60 minutes of screaming at just about every bedtime, she's gone to sleep with vastly reduced crying for several nights recently. Being good for Santa? I don't know, but it's surely an improvement.
And what of her constant overnight waking? Well, she's back on acid reflux medication after more than a year without, and whether that's helping calm some unknown stomach pains or whether she's simply turned a toddler corner, Genevieve is almost sleeping through the night again. She cries out occasionally, and sometimes needs help retrieving her covers or being assured that her teddy bear is nearby, but she's actually sleeping for most of the night again, after 3-1/2 months of severely disrupted sleep. I think I speak for us all when I say THANK GOD BECAUSE WE WERE ABOUT TO LOSE THE LAST VESTIGES OF OUR MINDS. If you recall, all that baby-crying actually raised my famously low blood pressure (and I'm not speaking figuratively), so it's a good thing things are getting better before I suffered a heart attack.
On another note, thanks to my parents' generosity, both girls are taking toddler tumbling this winter. Our classes began last Tuesday, and during the brief respite in our cold symptoms, we trundled off to the gym at mid-morning. Julia, for the first time, is in the "preschool" (four-year-old) class, which means she and a handful of other children go off with a teacher for directed tumbling, while Genevieve and I rock the "Tiny Tumblers" class for babies/toddlers and parents, which amounts to unstructured free play among the gymnastics mats, tunnels, tramps, and balls. (Julia's been in this class in the past.) We had great fun last week and are looking forward to class again this Tuesday before a two-week Christmas break.
And lastly, what I learned today is that I should have made only HALF A RECIPE of homemade fudge for the party I'm group-hosting tomorrow night for my volunteer job. Just for the record: a full recipe of fudge means you will have enough for your entire Christmas-tree-shaped party platter, to supplement your tins of sweets for friends, colleagues, and neighbors, and you will STILL be drowning in it afterward. Uh, no one needs this much fudge. No one.