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Dorky Dancing

DorkyDancing1.jpgSo this chilly morning, I wake up, don my plush winter robe and Ugg Boots, grab the baby and shuffle out to the kitchen to make some hot coffee. I grab a cup and head out to the bright living room and put the baby in her play gym.

After batting at Mr. Munkey a short while, Mak starts to fuss.Touching her tootsies, I realize they're cold, so I grab the little boots that Deb gave me, and stick them on her too-small feet. She still fusses.

DorkyDancing3So I bust out my most recent secret weapon: Bob Marley's Legend. I put on some bumpin' reggae, stick her in the Bjorn and we dance around the living room, singing our lungs out to "Every Little Thing." She immediately quiets and gets the coveted Happy Baby Face.

Any unapproved stoppages of either dancing or singing, even for a second - say, to take a sip of coffee - are met with a squawk of protest, the baby equivalent of "Dance, fool, dance!" I feel like Dixie Wetsworth's Pool Boy.

DorkyDancing2It's not until she settles into mellowness that I look into the mirror and realize that:

 

  1. The living room blinds are wide open.
  2. The baby and I are dressed like twins.
  3. I look like a drunken bag lady with Tourette's in the middle of an epileptic seizure. 
  4. There is an old guy with his dog outside, stopped mid-stride, who's staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

 

DorkyDancing_HelpMe.jpgBut then, after looking at these photos (which The Varmint generously offered to take to "re-create the beautiful moment") who can blame anyone innocently out for a walk and subjected to this horrible spectacle from some neighborly peeping Tommery?

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I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >