Below is a series of pictures of Simon hunting for food. He's a little Eeyore about the whole thing. I think you can tell in the 3rd picture. He's awfully dignified and almost resigned. "Sigh. You people went and lost my food again, didn't you?" Poor dignified Simon. That typifies his personality so far, I think. Not the resigned part, but the dignified bit, except for when he starts rooting around for food and snorts repeatedly. He has started to be awake more lately, and generally make more known his preferences, which are 1) "Feed me now," 2) "Get that cold washcloth off me," and 3) "I would like to be laid on you chest with maximal body heat contact, please. Thank you." Claire Helen used to like to cling to my chest very tightly with her little hands, but Simon prefers to drape himself so that as much of his body is being heated as possible. I swear we keep the house at a reasonable temperature; he just would rather live in a sauna.
My mom left yesterday, and already things have fallen apart. The dishes appear to have stopped doing themselves, the burp cloths aren't magically returning to the changing station anymore, and Claire Helen only has two measly people to play with. It's odd. There is so much to be done around here in preparation for the move- we are already looking forward to more reinforcements coming January 1 in the form of Mat's parents. So much that we are almost forgetting that in between now and then is C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s.
No, not really. I don't forget that kind of thing.
Through some sort of parenting fluke, we appear to have convinced Claire Helen not to open the presents under the tree, despite ample glittery bows and shiny wrapping paper. She knows that they are things that one can open, though, and that opening presents leads to much fun, so I am flummoxed as to how we have instilled this self restraint in her when I only barely have it in myself, but we have and so we are very much looking forward to letting her loose after Christmas Eve dinner. Which has of course already been planned out. I hope to get everybody to a suitable Santa Claus for photographing later this week, which I am assured will be singularly traumatic for Claire Helen, and I am pretty sure utterly underwhelming for Simon.
Simon has been exceedingly generous with sleep, but it is getting late, so I should go steal some. Just in case he changes his mind.