Let’s do something completely nuts, and I’ll just tell you what’s been going on.
1. Penny. I’ve covered the whole 20 months old is hard and frustrating thing, right? Okay, forget all that. She’s also hilarious and delightful. She learns at least a new word a day, most days it’s two or three. And she learns them. I hand her a carrot, and I say, “This is a carrot.” And she’s like, okay, carrot. And she’ll hold it up several times and show it to me, and be like, “Yo, here’s a carrot,” to show off to me that she now knows that the hard orange thing that she has FUCK ALL intentions of actually eating is a carrot. And she smiles proudly. And now she knows – that’s a carrot. She knows it forever.
Words learned in the past two or so days: bird, pretty, thank you (on top of the previous “thanks!), carrot, apple (to actually refer to clementines, which we just bought for the first time EVER – how about THOSE THINGS, AM I RIGHT? PEELING RIGHT OPEN!), taco, pop (for ice pop), and, I don’t know, world peace.
She’s also started calling her collection of blankets “naps.” It’s wrong, but it’s adorable.
I want to tell you all of the words she says, but I’m not going to, mostly because I didn’t write them down, but also because there’s got to be over a hundred at this point. She said her first sentence I don’t know how many months ago, and has been asking questions and holding simple conversations for a while now, too. Sometimes I forget that I’m the only one who hears her so perfectly clearly, but a good percentage of her words are easy for just about anyone to decipher.
Oh, and she also made up this song, which is no big thing, kids do that, but the same little tune and nonsense words were repeated so often over the next few days that we actually all sing it now.
Try not to be intimidated by my perfectly staged, perfectly lovely, perfectly perfect mommyblogger home and life.
Zap-oh-dee, zap-oh-dee, hey, Penny, do you want to sing zap-oh-dee? Zap-oh-dee in the shower, zap-oh-dee while I’m cooking dinner, zap-oh-dee while we were doing annoyingly cliche adorable family walking through the little local wildlife zoo together over the weekend.
The membership to the Wildlife World Zoo & Aquarium was Penny’s “big” Christmas gift from Phil and I. Since she is young enough to still fall under “free,” the membership technically only covers me. It came with a one time free adult admission, which we used for the family visit pictured above to get Phil in, so we only need to go once more before it’s nearly paid for itself. It’s close to the base – only 5 miles – and parking is free, so it’s hardly a huge loss if we head over and she loses her baby mind and I have to haul her back home. Or, to go over and just visit her current favorite things. The zoo has a petting zoo and playground, carousel, kangaroo walkabout, four aquarium buildings which she liked quite a bit (and which I imagine we’ll visit quite a bit in the Arizona armpit months), a baby animal nursery, a train, and, I don’t know, animals.
When we were in the petting zoo, I was taking pictures of Penny while Phil let her feed some of the pushy goats and deer some pellets, and an older couple was talking to each other, saying, “Look at that deer, eating that lady’s sweater! Look! That deer is just eating the lady’s sweater!”
Eventually, I heard them and was able to rescue the pocket of my FAVORITE FRUMPY OLD MAN CARDIGAN from the mouth of the world’s pushiest deer EVER, but geeze, people, THE LADY was standing right there and clearly distracted by her adorable child’s first face to face encounter with stinky tame wildlife. A little “Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude, but I wasn’t sure if you were aware that there’s an animal eating your clothing” wouldn’t have been amiss.
Honestly, I’m not as mad about the deer backwash all over the pocket of my sweater as I am about the opening left for my husband to say later, “They didn’t have to fawn over you, but a little head’s up would have been bucking nice.”
Don’t worry, I killed him, and it was painful.
Things are good. It’s not perfect. I told him, my words exactly, “I am not completely miserable,” and he knew exactly what I meant, and he is familiar with me, and familiar with my situation – both mine and the general condition – enough to know that we’re at a good spot. I’m very pleased, compared to where I was last April, or last summer, or even last fall. If I thought everything could be perfect, I probably wouldn’t have accepted an appointment 6 months out to just check in, but then, I don’t get the feeling he would have offered that, either.
I feel like this is probably vague, like a weird update on a chapter I haven’t actually written, but whatever. Aren’t you kind of glad I haven’t made my head thing into my thing? You know what I mean. It’s been a thing in my life, and in Phil’s life, but ugh, aren’t we all glad I haven’t made it my thing.
Anyway, so this chapter I haven’t actually bothered to write is mostly closed, except that to get to this point that is good but not perfect, I take some medication at a higher level than I used to, and I liked the old level because it didn’t work too well, but didn’t have any side effects and I thought that was a good balance. But now I take the higher level that works quite well, but does have some side effects that I don’t really care for, one of the main ones being that while I have a lot to say, there’s a lot more wild hand gesturing and frustrated face pinching-upping to get my point across, and things like calling the oven “the onion” and saying what I almost mean, which works pretty fine when you’re talking to someone near you, or to your husband who isn’t particularly big on nuance anyway, but not particularly great for blogging.
So, like I said. It’s good, but not perfect. There’s not really a way around that.
And to be clear, I’m not offering that as an excuse for not blogging as much. I’m not saying, “Oh, I haven’t been blogging as much because I take a medication that makes it harder for me to blog.” I do take a medication that does make it harder, but I’m not making excuses because I don’t feel I owe anyone any. It’s a small distinction, but it is one, because I hate when people apologize for not blogging, because, come on. Do it or don’t, it’s okay. It is. You can stop for as long as you want to or need to, and then you can start again, and it’s always okay, okay? You don’t need to apologize to anyone, ever for letting one or two or twelve or a hundred days go by without writing a blog post. You can have reasons, you can say where you were, but you never have to apologize. I JUST WANT TO MAKE SURE THAT PART IS CLEAR.
3. PJs! Oh, gosh, you guys, PJs is coming. I’m equal parts excited and exhausted already. I’ve got plans in place already this year to make it easier on me and less stressful than it was last year, and I’ve already got my eyes toward next year with tiny tweaks to prevent things that are tiny wrinkles in my plans this year. Last year, I thought I was doing a one time thing until right afterward. This year, I’m already thinking about next year before anyone even gets here.
The thing about PJs that makes it fun for me is that it’s my party. Whenever I find myself getting stressed out and a little freaked out about what if people hate this or what if people don’t like that or how will I possibly please everyone, I just remind myself that it’s my party. I’m not putting on a blog conference or facilitating a bloggy get together, I’m throwing PJs at TJ’s, which is my party, and I can be a good hostess and make sure my guests are comfortable and fed and reasonably accommodated, but when it comes down to it, I’m having friends over to come to my party. When it’s reframed like that, it suddenly shifts back to being fun to plan and I get all refreshed and enthusiastic again. I recommend everyone throw their own parties.
4. We’re MOVING. We’ve outgrown our house. I guess I don’t really have anything more to say than that. We’re not leaving Arizona, we can’t do that, we’re going to be at Luke until the end of time, probably. I don’t mind. This isn’t a bad place to live at all, and when Phil is out of the military and we eventually head back to the east coast, it will be with no small amount of bitter on my part.
We hope to be out of here as soon as March. I want to throw away everything we own and move with nothing. Not really, but I want to shed a lot of crap. Things we don’t use, things we have just because we think we’re supposed to have it, things we mean to use “someday,” things with misplaced sentimental value, BABY THINGS. I want it all to go. Anywhere. Not here. Not with us.
5. ONE LAST PENNY THING. She’s learning to dress herself. She goes into her bedroom and chooses a shirt and puts it on, but she doesn’t know how to put it on, not really. So she comes back out of her room “wearing” the shirt she’s chosen on top of whatever else she’s already wearing. She pulls the shirt over her head until her face comes through the neckhole, like a hood, or a scarf around her face, like CORNHOLIO, you know? And the sleeves just dangling down uselessly. And then she just GOES ABOUT HER BUSINESS with her toys and stuff. Completely seriously. I have no pictures, because if I get the camera, it tips her off that something isn’t right. You have to imagine it. IMAGINE IT.
Hey, this is Penny
Her mom is lazy
She wrote this blog post
Hey! Penny is eight months old! A while ago! But she’s not nine months old yet, so… victory!
So, my daughter. What a delightful little asshole she is. Let me tell you about her.
Movement: Can still only roll back to belly. No locomotion.
Firsts: Christmas. Plane rides. Waves.
Loves: Riding in the shopping cart, obvs. Collecting adoration from retirees in the Commissary.
We shop a lot, okay?
Food-based likes: Noodles, apples, bananas, puffs, waffles, banana toast, broccoli, chicken noodle soup, chili, whatever you are eating right now what’s that you got there I want it.
Music-based likes: The Rocky Theme, 90s summer hits, anything with the word “Penny” in it, any song that can be altered to be about Penny. Dashboard Confessional.
Hates: Having her nose touched.
Annoying features: The two fisted punch of teething and travel-related sleep disturbances. Weird raspberry/spitting thing.
Weird-ass features: Squawks. Shrieks. Shakes with excitement over just about anything, but mostly approaching food. Bounces while laying on her back or while being held. I don’t know, you’ve got to see this shit to believe it. She’s an odd one, this Penelope.
Finds hilarious: Fake sneezes. When an adult mimics her weird-ass bouncing. Sheldon. Attempts to “eat her belly.” Weird jokes that only she understands.
Finds terrifying: Other babies.
Anyway, Penny hasn’t really made any super developments over her last month. We were really busy with the holidays, of course, and she did great. She was perfectly content to be passed around strangers and was a champion flyer. She cleaned up at Christmas, gift-wise, and loves every single present equally. So she thinks. I have not yet broken out the parachute.
I’ve thought this before, but I think it again this last month – it seems like we’re really figuring this stuff out. She started out this shrieking mystery of unnamed needs, but at this point, we know at a glance what’s up with her. We know when she’s tired, when she wants to eat, how much she’ll probably eat, how to calm her down, how to put her to sleep, how to handle her in public, how to distract her when she’s about to lose her mind, how to make her laugh, how to entertain her. It wasn’t that many months ago that I didn’t think that any of that would ever be possible.
I know that eventually we’ll hit some terrible phases, but at the moment, we continue on the uphill climb that started when she started smiling. Which she still does. All the time.
And she also waves, which is hilarious, because while at first it looked like she was waving “hi” and “bye” appropriately, now it seems she waves to signal that she’s tired or cranky or wound up. She definitely waves, she just doesn’t exactly get when she’s supposed to.
She also recognizes Phil as “daddy,” but hasn’t quite put together yet that I’m “mama.” I don’t really refer to myself that way – you know, “Mama’s here,” or “Mama’s got you,” or “Mama is going to put you in the closet if you don’t can it.” I probably should, but while I talk to her ALL DAY LONG, talking in that way doesn’t really come too naturally to me. Phil’s great at talking to her and playing with her and reading to her. I, on the other hand, basically talk to her all day like she’s a girlfriend come to visit and hang out while I do laundry. She’ll probably call me “Hey.”
Whatevs. That’s fine. We know we’re buds, and that’s what counts.
You know what month eight really was? The month it started boggling us how different she’s become. We can’t believe it. We say, “Remember when she… ” and “Remember how she looked when… ”
It’s not that she’s gotten so big, exactly. It’s more like… was she really ever that SMALL?
Can no longer be counted on to just LEAVE THAT BEAR ALONE FOR TWO SECONDS I JUST NEED TO TAKE ONE PICTU– COME ON!
So! Yesterday, Penny was 4 months old. Up until now (she says, as if it has been ages of predictable and reliable behavior), I’ve managed to post her month update on the day, but I told you long ago to not expect too much from me in the way of regular monthly updates and in all honesty, I feel like a day late is little to sniff at when I have kept it up for FOUR MONTHS NOW.
I didn’t get to make the post yesterday since Penny had two medical appointments – her four month check up and a follow up on her hospital stay with one of two specialists she will need to see. Also, we’re expecting house guests, so we’ve been busy. Penny will be meeting her great grandmother for the first time, and we didn’t want our neglected house to take away from the full Penny sensory experience.
Entirely too much of this month looked like this:
In fact, it was pretty much exactly at three months that we took Penny in to the doctor on suspicion of a severe drop in awesomeness, so Penny’s health has basically been the focus of this entire month. Two weeks were spent going back and forth to her pediatrician, trying to work out what was going on, five days were spent in Phoenix Children’s Hospital, and the last two weeks have been working on getting back to normal.
Stressful, yes, but one of the reasons we took Penny in to see the doctor in the first place was that she just wasn’t the same. I feel like an asshole saying this, and everyone says you just jinx yourself if you do, but we always had such a good baby. Smiley, happy, only cried when she needed something. And she just changed. She was so unhappy, all of the time. I felt like a moron going in to the doctor with the complaint that my baby cries, and I have to admit that I was worried that the happy Penny times were just a phase, and the upset, crying, miserable baby times were the new normal.
Well, two weeks out of the hospital, and I am relieved to say that misery does not seem to be the case.
She went to breakfast with us on Sunday morning and we brought along her Bumbo seat, since we’re working on helping her to regain her strength and muscle tone after what was likely 4 or 6 weeks or more of a brutal infection. Not only did she set a new household record for Bumbo sitting, unseating Phil from the top of the charts, she also charmed the hell out of our waitress with her smiles and general goodnatured baby-ness.
Anyway. Four months old!
Special skills: Bumbo sitting, obviously. Also does these weird, kind of creepy sit ups when she’s swaddled and in her bed at night. OH, also? Sleeping in her own bed at night. Deadly accuracy with hand into gross, drooly mouth. Still not laughing or reaching out for things, but does make a weird quacking noise and will hold some toys if they’re placed in her lap. Gaining weight like a… well, she eats like a hog.
Most annoying features: We have so many bibs and for three months I was all, “Well, I guess the bibs will go the way of the newborn caps, because our baby just doesn’t need them.” And then? Drool. Also? Spitting up. She’s all, “Hey, I just unloaded half my bottle into your lap, so I’m going to require another half of a bottle.” Undisturbed by her own grossness, just suddenly hungry again. In short, it’s bib-city over here. Has also LEARNED HOW TO WHINE AND IT IS SO AWFUL.
Most adorable features: She just smiles all. the. time.
And look, I don’t like to brag (yes I do), but her cloth diapers are pretty damn adorable as well and if you think I’m not going to talk about them soon, you are NUTS, especially considering that this just came in the mail from PinkieBling:
Yeah, that’s a detachable lettuce ruffle, no big. EXCEPT, NO, YES BIG.
She also makes a lot of sounds, the way that babies do, that makes you think that they think they’re actually talking to you. So Phil and I spend a lot of time doing the standard, “Oh, yeah?” and “Is that right?” and “What next?” and “And then?”
And since we’re obnoxious people of a certain age, it is inevitable that as soon as an opening is overheard, someone will shriek, “NO AND THEN!” from wherever they are in the house.
Dislikes: When no parents are in sight. When Sheldon crowds her space. Being naked and also being dressed, as has been the trend. This one super adorable romper she has that just sends her into a RAGE whenever I try to make her wear it. Being wiped clean. (Also? Thank you to everyone who suggested Mustela wipes for the unshakable baby-cheese smell. Because, gross.)
Likes: Songs about babies named Penny. Singing along. The bath, a longtime favorite. The diaper changing song. Waking up in the morning. Watching nerd-television with her dad. Being told exactly what is going on at all times. Her steves, especially Steve Canada, a gift from Lara.
Most desirable features: Sleeping from 7:30/8:oopm until 4:30/5:30am. Really, that pretty much rules. As long as her last feeding is timed perfectly, we can set ourselves up for a solid night of sleep. Too early, and she’s squawking at 3am. She’s also easy to put to sleep. Bottle, bath, diaper, swaddle, bed with someone sitting next to her for 5 – 10 minutes, maybe one return for a pacifier retrieval, and that’s it. She also wakes up smiling at anyone who comes to get her.
However, it is important that we RESPECT the BEDTIME.
There’s a lot of awesome about Penny, but at four months in with a hospital stay behind us, the sleeping thing is pretty much at the top of my list of things that rule.
So. That’s Penny. Her stats at 2 months put her right about average in length and head, and at about the 30th percentile in weight. A few weeks ago, she had dropped down to 8 lbs, 15 oz and right off the growth charts. At four months, she has worked her way back on to the curve.
Weight: A colossal 11 lbs, 5 oz!
The doctor picked her up and I was all, “Doesn’t she weigh a TON?” and the doctor was all, “Oh, honey… no.”
Woo, 3rd percentile all around!
Well, except for that melon. Sub-10th percentile body, totally average head.
Here’s Penny and the Bears, at four months old:
– I’ve realized that having a kid hasn’t really left me with no time to blog, but has dramatically increased my reliance on “here’s whole bunch of unrelated points” kinds of posts. I like to write posts of 1000, 2000 words – you know that by now, Internet, and I appreciate your tenacity as you cling and determinedly troop through the most meandering and excessively EMPHASIZED paths I take to make what ends up being a very simple point.
But to write those posts, I start out with said very simple point, intending to make it very simply, but as it goes along I get more and more EXCITED about what I am saying and so DETERMINED to make myself clear that I just keep going and going and the tips of my fingers start to hurt because slamming the keys will obviously be translated and I imagine myself with my hair getting all stand uppy and maybe a little drool coming out one corner of my mouth. Blogging is not glamorous, people, except for those who make a lot of money from it and then I am pretty sure it is kind of glamorous.
So I get on these key-thumping, flailing-for-emphasis-even-though-you-can’t-READ-a-flail rolls, and it’s hard to generate such fervor and sustain it when you have to get up every 5 minutes to sing songs about butts and return pacifiers to mouths and say, “What-what-WHAAAAAAAT do you WAAAAAANT?”
– I lost my train of thought right here for a second because I had to go sing a song about butts. Also, I’ve been working on another song to the tune of “Mandy” by Barry Manilow. I sing it to Penny while I work on it. It’s about her being an only child and how I’m going to live out my dreams through her and expectations are going to be really high and good luck.
– Speaking of incredibly long blog posts? I have the August issue of Cosmopolitan sitting in front of me, you guys, and I have high hopes for tomorrow. (TJ’s Cosmo Cliff’s Notes: November 2009, December 2009, January 2010, February 2010, March 2010, April 2010, May 2010)
– You see the ad in the sidebar there for Perching at Home? I think you should check it out, and I am in no way obligated by the ad being there to tell you that. I could just take the money and say nothing, you know. But I’m not. Because I REALLY think you should check it out. Especially if you’re planning some adorable newborn pictures for your present or impending baby.
I also think you should check out the crib rail covers, because I think they’re brilliant and perfect for the type of people who have actually made a nursery for the baby, with a theme and a talent for decorating and all.
BUT NONE OF THIS IS MY POINT. And I have two points. They’re not actually points. They’re just some things I want to say.
I was talking on Twitter about the lamentability of adorable footie pajamas having such a limited lifetime, and several people suggested just cutting the feet off, except I didn’t WANT to cut the feet off. I don’t know how to brush Penny’s hair. Having the jorts of the pajama world on her is just too far into unloved ragamuffin territory for me, what with her hair frizz-waving on one side of her head and sticking straight off the other. So, Beth offered to de-feet them for me.
I KNOW I could have just cut the feet off. Just so we’re clear. I just didn’t WANT TO.
You guys – they came out SO STINKING ADORABLE.
She’s only crying because she loves them SO! MUCH!
I love these pajamas. Having them de-footed definitely extends how long she’ll be able to wear them, and stops me from going to Carter’s and buying them in the next couple of sizes, like I did with a certain dress. Also, it is kind of hard to make excuses to go to Carter’s for new clothes when it has been made very clear that the baby hasn’t grown at all.
Also, shorty pajamas are perfect for Arizona. I don’t know what you non-Arizona people would do. Socks, maybe? I am the terror of old ladies everywhere – I basically never put socks on the baby.
Look, I KNOW that YOU just cut the feet off. And that’s FINE. But should you ever NOT want to cut the feet off, but still WANT THE FEET OFF, can I suggest having this done? I told Beth when she offered to do it for me – this should totally be a service. There are neurotic people everywhere who would rather have their pajamas de-feeted than cut them or buy bigger ones. If I am that neurotic, SOME OF YOU ARE, TOO. Thus, valuable service.
BUT THIS IS NOT ALL. Beth sent along a gift for Penny as well.
I’m not saying anything else about it because I already made a REALLY good yet somehow totally underappreciated joke about it here and I don’t feel as though I can top myself right now.
I was not in any way obligated or paid to say any of this. But look. The crib rail teething covers are just beautiful. She made my baby’s head resemble a Fraggle, which makes me feel pleasantly nostalgic in the way people who grew up in the 80s and 90s like to do (and someone inevitably, ALWAYS ALWAYS, chimes in with “hey, remember slap bracelets??” Yes. We all remember those. And yes, they were banned at my school, too. And then it ALWAYS devolves into people just making lists of random shit they recall “Popples! That waffle cereal! Hypercolor!”). AND she catered to my neurosis by de-feeting pajamas. I’m not OBLIGATED to say crap. But I wanted to. Seriously. Go look at her shop, and come back and tell me what the most awesome thing you found there was.
– Last night, when I was indulging my “stories about in laws” habits (you can indulge yours here and here), I came across yet ANOTHER incident of someone telling a pregnant woman, “Oh, you won’t care once you’re in labor” with regard to having people in the delivery room.
Internet, I heard that a lot. And you know what? I CARED. My mom sat in the waiting room almost ALL DAY for TWO DAYS. She came in when I was on Stadol for an hour or so, and she came in for a good bit of Friday when I had the epidural. The idea is that the pain will make you not care about anything else, I guess, but I was NOT comfortable being observed while I was in pain. The pain absolutely did NOT make me forget – in fact, it just made me want to be left alone all the more intensely.
Even once I had the epidural and was feeling much better, I STILL didn’t forget. I had my mom leave the room for EVERY check. I woke up from a brief drifting in and out kind of nap to find her talking to the nurse and even snapped at her for talking about my medical information. Being in labor did not make me suddenly forget what a private person I am and how much I wanted privacy during labor. It only made me MORE privatey.
So if you’re pregnant and you’re telling someone how you don’t want anyone in the room, and they laugh blithely and say, “Oh, I’m going to be in there. You won’t even care once you’re in labor!” or some woman who has been through it tells you, “Honestly, you won’t care once the time comes,” you should know that those people are CONFUSED. What they’re SAYING is, “I didn’t care once I was in labor.”
And they seem to have gotten a little mixed up and ended up thinking that what happened to THEM is what will happen to YOU.
One of the most frustrating things of first time pregnancy, I think, is the number of people telling you how you WILL feel and what you WILL do and how things WILL go, based on their personal experiences alone. And it can be so aggravating to try to make your case in the face of that – to say, for example, that you KNOW that you don’t want anyone in the room – because they’ve been through it and you haven’t and they take on an annoying, smug air of “Oh, you’ll see.” And it SUCKS having to defend your points from that position. It does.
Just use this translation code from now on: When someone says “You WILL/WON’T __________,” where __________ is whatever, it’s actually just an asshole way of saying, “I DID/DIDN’T __________.” Then you can take it for what it’s worth, depending on who it is coming from.
– Also assholey? On baby forums, the response, “This must be your first baby, right?” in reply to anything deemed even slightly overprotective, from the super experienced, way laid back, “look how little I care about everything and how cool I assume that makes me in your eyes” second-, third-, etc.-, time parents. I’m not even going to go into why that’s so assholey. You should just know that it is.
– Penny had her 3 month portraits done this weekend. It was mostly a shrieking disaster just like what’s going on behind me right now. Here’s one of the pictures.
Phil went to the store for like, SEVEN MINUTES to pick up some stuff for our dinner while I was feeding Penny. He arrived home to hear my pathetic bleatings for help.
I didn’t realize that the elastic on the legs of the cloth diaper she was wearing was a little more stretched out than normal, so there was poop smell wafting, like, everywhere. Shortly after I got Stockholm Syndrome of the Nose due to the butt odor, I realized that she and her dress were kind of damp, because the insert of the diaper had slipped out of the flap in the back and allowed pee to wick all up her back. So I stripped her down and changed her and then went to burp her and she puked on my arm and also on my shirt.
Which she was wearing at the time. (Edited for important clarification: My shirt, not my arm. She wasn’t wearing my arm. I mean, she was kind of draped over it, in a way, so if anything, my arm was an accessory to the outfit. The outfit which was a diaper and my shirt – the one I wore yesterday, if we’re being specific about things.)
And then I spilled my diet Mt. Dew in her bed.
Where I was storing it at the time.
Yeah. So. Parenting. I would ask some lame question about when it got easier or when I was totally going to have this shit down, but I’m pretty sure this is how it goes forever.
You know how Elton John stole my song and rewrote it?
Well, seeing as how it was my song in the first place, we’ve RE-re-written it for Penny.
“P-P-P-Penny is the best!”
And I was just thinking how we could carry this throughout her whole life for our amusement/her embarrassment/same thing anyway.
Penny’s hungry: P-P-P-Penny wants some breast!
Penny’s in high school: P-P-P-Penny took a test!
Penny becomes an ornithologist: P-P-P-Penny found a nest!
Penny brings her boyfriend over: P-P-P-Penny has a guest!
Penny rebels and bucks the family tradition of NEVER IRONING EVER: P-P-P-Penny’s clothes are pressed!
Penny becomes interested in ancestry: P-P-P-Penny found our crest!
Penny goes to the Renn Faire: P-P-P-Penny at the fest!
Penny discovers the song “Cadillac”: P-P-P-Penny enjoys Mest!
Penny discovers the word “why?”: P-P-P-Penny is a pest!
Penny becomes especially cranky at the continued abuse of the combination of her name and Elton John songs: P-P-P-Penny needs a rest!
Penny asks for a microplane grater for Christmas: P-P-P-Penny wants to zest!
Penny gets in big trouble: P-P-P-Penny got arrest… ted and then also grounded and in some SERIOUSLY DEEP SHIT, MISS.
Penny takes up WoW: P-P-P-Penny rolls for chest!
Penny has that toddler naked phase: P-P-P-Penny won’t get dressed!
Penny grows up to be as serious an adult as she is a serious baby: P-P-P-Penny doesn’t jest!
Penny wants to go out boating with some friends but can’t swim well: P-P-P-Penny needs a vest!
Okay, I enjoyed that so much that I already forgot that it’s 10:30am and Penny’s already puked on me, wafted foul scents at me, pooped down her own thighs, peed up her own back and somehow? In the night? Managed to wet MY pants.