An update to my previous blog: Happy Birthday (literally) to Kira.
I have met this wonder little cherub. I squeezed the beejesus out of her, in my mind of course, and fell in love. I'm not quite sure how to describe her. Perfect. Ten little fingers. Ten little toes. One HUGE head of hair. If my brother and his wife would have allowed it, I would have stuffed her, ever so gently, in my purse and taken her home with me. She is one super cool little baby.
I think she might have been the first newborn I've ever held. She was a trooper with my awkward movements. "Support her head" my brother said. Well duh, Reid. I've seen "A Baby Story" on TLC. I know what you're SUPPOSED to do. But in the moment, I fobbled nervously and looked at DyLon for the "you're doing great" look. Background knowledge: DyLon had a BAZILLION foster brothers and sisters growing up. Plus he has a son. Plus he's the oldest of 5 children. Baby handling comes naturally to him. The only thing I've ever held close to a newborn is pets. And my husband. Same thing, really.
When I was holding her I looked down and laughed at her hair. "Are you wearing a wig?" I asked. She looked at me and did something I will never forget. Something that solidified she's a Jonasson for sure. She farted. Not just a short little toot, mind you. It was a ginormous blast as if to say "lame joke Auntie Brooke, you'd better work on your humor until the next time I see you. Now hand me to Daddy."
I love this little peach. I can't wait until the next time she farts on me.
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