Swang

One of the best things about moving into our own house is having all of our things out of storage, where we can take them out of boxes and hug them and not put them away. Like our books and movies. Seriously, I’ve watched Once three times in the last week. And pants, it’s nice to have pants that fit. And non-maternity underwear. Anyway.

We also finally have all of Asher’s things with us. We only had the bare necessities at my in-laws, but here we have more stuff than I know what to do with. Toys and blankets and clothes and keepsakes and Bumbos and Boppies. And his swing. Which he LOVES. He’s content to just sit in the swing for hours, smiling up at the swirly birds and butterfles, looking at his reflection in the mirror mounted above.

He’s already two months old. Nine weeks yesterday, actually. I can’t believe how fast he’s growing, or how beautiful he is, or how his smile makes me lose my mind. If you listen really close, you can here him mouth-breathing. Who’s mommy’s little bulldog? Who is it? That’s right, it’s you! You’re mommy’s little bulldog! Squee!

* Please ignore the chic bed sheet window covering, because if you focus too long on my impressive interior design ingenuity, your head might explode. I’m only thinking about you here.