That's what you call a six and a half month old baby who is still nowhere near doubling her birth weight. My little Punky Peanut.
She had her six month checkup (a little late) this past Thursday. She is a whopping thirteen pounds, ten ounces. She is still almost a pound shy of doubling her birth weight, and dropped to the fifth percentile. She did grow two and a half inches in two months though, and is now twenty six inches long.
For the first time, she cried with the vaccinations. She even cried with the oral one, so I think it was more her new found fear of strangers than the fact that it hurt. The doctor looked at the rash behind her knees. We didn't know if it was heat rash or eczema. I was hoping for heat rash; doc thinks it is eczema. She also found some fluid in her ears, so she said there is a chance she has allergies. Great. So much for nursing. The main thing it is supposed to help prevent is the development of allergies. Now I really wish my body wouldn't have let me down so soon; I really wish she could've nursed longer.
Other than that, the doc was impressed with her development. She was pleased with her balance while sitting, and was surprised to hear she is crawling. And the fact that she has been pulling herself up to standing for months already really blows her mind. What a little go-getter I have. Doc wants to see her again in a month to check the fluid in her ears to make sure no ear infection develops. Then she'll see her again at nine months.
I saw her run in her walker today. And she's trying to pull herself up on the furniture. I held her hands and let her walk all over the house today. All she needs is a bit more balance and she's going to take off. At this rate, she may walk before eight months.
I can't believe how fast the time is flying. Six short months ago I had this tiny newborn baby in my arms. I can't believe how quickly they learn and develop. It just amazes me every day I see her do something new.
All in the last week, she mastered sitting, crawling, and holding her bottle all by herself for more than just a minute or two at a time. She crawls over to me when I lay on the floor with her, and she puts her hands on top of me and pushes herself to standing.
When I get home from work these days, I can really see the excitement on her face when she sees me come in the door...eyes so wide and bright, smiling ear to ear, giggling, even jumping up and down sometimes. It brings a tear to my eye every day. And when I pick her up, she grabs my shirt and pulls herself in close and gives me a big hug. She loves her mama.
I hope I never forget the little things, all those special tiny moments she was able to melt my heart. When we would nurse, she would take her little hand and hold my thumb. The night she learned to give raspberries and had me laughing so hard I almost tinkled. The way she insists on stuffing her hand in her mouth after almost every bite of food. As soon as I move the spoon, the hand goes in, and if not she just licks the side of the highchair instead. Strange kid sometimes.
Then there is also the way she would snuggle up to me at night, and the way she falls asleep on me in the rocker before bedtime. I love those moments when she just dozed off and I quietly rock and cuddle her. Her beautiful little head is just close enough for me to kiss it and smell that wonderful baby bath stuff. Sometimes it's a struggle to make myself get up to put her in bed, especially now that she has been sleeping in the crib. I just want to sit and rock her all night long.
And then there's the smiles she gives as soon as she wakes up, either from a nap or in the morning. What a pleasant baby. I know how lucky I am.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
While She Lays Sleeping
I stay out late at night and play my songs…
Naw…I just lie next to her and stare in amazement. That beautiful little face, adorable smile, cute ears, and strong little body. She’s perfect. An absolutely perfect, happy, healthy, precious little baby girl. And she’s mine.
My mind drifts to the past. I see images from my pregnancy, reliving the fears and the joys in my head. I remember the instant the stick flashed “pregnant.” I remember the ambulance ride to the hospital after my fall. I remember the ultrasounds that offered a sneak peek at our little Punky. I remember when my labor began. I remember them saying “she’ll be born any minute.” The memories stream like a movie, and I can’t help but smile.
Even with the worries, I really had a great pregnancy and I loved every minute of it. I think about life the past six months, how much she’s grown and changed already, how I may finally be starting to feel like a mom, how she developed her own distinct personality now, how I still may want another one…
Then my mind jumps to the future. What will she look like ten years from now? Will she do well in school? Will she be a girl scout, a soccer player, a gymnast, a pianist, or maybe a dancer? Maybe none of the above. Maybe all. What will she be when she grows up? Will she be successful? Will she be a responsible adult, a contributing member of society? How do I ensure I don’t screw her life up for her? I mean, shrinks always blame the mother, right?
Anyway, I love to just watch her sleep. Whether I am holding her, lying next to her, or watching her nap in her crib, I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts as I watch my little angel. With co-sleeping, I am able to end every day like this and drift off happy once I know she is settled and in a good sleep.
Then came Friday.
I woke up sick. Sinuses draining, sore throat, aching body, low fever. By Friday night, I felt like I was hit by a bus. I loaded up on cold meds, which made my head all fuzzy, and in turn made me second guess co-sleeping with Punky that night. I was worried I would go into a deep sleep and not hear her, or feel her, and that’s not a good thing when co-sleeping. You need to be alert, sleep lightly, just be in tune overall with your baby to keep her safe. I didn’t feel like I could function that way Friday night.
I put her in her crib to sleep.
Talk about mixed emotions. I felt like I was abandoning her, even though I slept on a cot in her room. Yet, I also knew I was doing the best thing for her given the circumstances. She naps in her crib all the time, so it’s not totally foreign to her, but she’s never spent the night in it and I expected her to wake up crying for me. I assumed I would end up taking her into bed with me after I had a few hours sleep.
Nope. She slept all night. No crying. No fussing. I woke up many times to check on her, since she loves to bury her face in the bumper and scare me half to death. Twice I had to grab her by the hips and drag her back into the center of the crib. That didn’t even wake her up.
One time I heard her awake and rolling around for a few minutes. When co-sleeping, I just pull her close to me and snuggle her and she falls back to sleep. I laid there waiting for the cry. It never came. She put herself back to sleep.
My baby doesn’t need me anymore. More mixed emotions. I know it’s a moment many parents dream of…baby sleeping all night and being able to self-soothe if awakened. It’s a hard thing to accomplish for some. Maybe I can’t fully appreciate it because she has slept really well for a long time now, or maybe part of me is just being selfish. I’m not ready. I don’t want to stop co-sleeping.
I only get to see Punky about 4 hours a day during the week. Sleeping with her, watching her sleep, cuddling her, soothing her, and making sure she’s safe, are all ways I can have bonding time with her since we don’t get much during the day. I don’t want to give that up; I don’t want to lose the bond we’ve developed.
In a way I wasn’t surprised she did so well that night. With all of the traveling and changing routines she’s experienced these six months, she’s developed into a very adaptable baby. She’s always pleasant and seems to have a “go with the flow” attitude. I guess I’ve done a good job with her so far since she’s a confident, independent, well adjusted baby. But I want her to still need her mama, too. She’s only six months old.
Still feeling a bit crappy, I decided to attempt it again on Saturday night. This time she did wake up crying. Yes! (I know, that’s terrible of me). But I resisted the urge to pick her up and attempted to just soothe her by rubbing her back like I do when we co-sleep. It worked. She was out again in no time. Sigh.
Sunday night, Grammy came up and was obviously thrilled at this news. She never supported me on the whole co-sleeping thing. Anyway, Punky spent yet another night in her crib with Grammy on the cot in her room. She was still breathing in the morning so all went well.
I can’t say this is how it will be from now on; I’m not ready for it to be a permanent arrangement. But it’s good to know it’s an option when we can’t co-sleep for whatever reason. Maybe I’ll try to co-sleep during the week, but keep her used to the crib on the weekends when I get to spend much more time with her during the day. I don’t know. This “mom” stuff is hard sometimes.
Naw…I just lie next to her and stare in amazement. That beautiful little face, adorable smile, cute ears, and strong little body. She’s perfect. An absolutely perfect, happy, healthy, precious little baby girl. And she’s mine.
My mind drifts to the past. I see images from my pregnancy, reliving the fears and the joys in my head. I remember the instant the stick flashed “pregnant.” I remember the ambulance ride to the hospital after my fall. I remember the ultrasounds that offered a sneak peek at our little Punky. I remember when my labor began. I remember them saying “she’ll be born any minute.” The memories stream like a movie, and I can’t help but smile.
Even with the worries, I really had a great pregnancy and I loved every minute of it. I think about life the past six months, how much she’s grown and changed already, how I may finally be starting to feel like a mom, how she developed her own distinct personality now, how I still may want another one…
Then my mind jumps to the future. What will she look like ten years from now? Will she do well in school? Will she be a girl scout, a soccer player, a gymnast, a pianist, or maybe a dancer? Maybe none of the above. Maybe all. What will she be when she grows up? Will she be successful? Will she be a responsible adult, a contributing member of society? How do I ensure I don’t screw her life up for her? I mean, shrinks always blame the mother, right?
Anyway, I love to just watch her sleep. Whether I am holding her, lying next to her, or watching her nap in her crib, I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts as I watch my little angel. With co-sleeping, I am able to end every day like this and drift off happy once I know she is settled and in a good sleep.
Then came Friday.
I woke up sick. Sinuses draining, sore throat, aching body, low fever. By Friday night, I felt like I was hit by a bus. I loaded up on cold meds, which made my head all fuzzy, and in turn made me second guess co-sleeping with Punky that night. I was worried I would go into a deep sleep and not hear her, or feel her, and that’s not a good thing when co-sleeping. You need to be alert, sleep lightly, just be in tune overall with your baby to keep her safe. I didn’t feel like I could function that way Friday night.
I put her in her crib to sleep.
Talk about mixed emotions. I felt like I was abandoning her, even though I slept on a cot in her room. Yet, I also knew I was doing the best thing for her given the circumstances. She naps in her crib all the time, so it’s not totally foreign to her, but she’s never spent the night in it and I expected her to wake up crying for me. I assumed I would end up taking her into bed with me after I had a few hours sleep.
Nope. She slept all night. No crying. No fussing. I woke up many times to check on her, since she loves to bury her face in the bumper and scare me half to death. Twice I had to grab her by the hips and drag her back into the center of the crib. That didn’t even wake her up.
One time I heard her awake and rolling around for a few minutes. When co-sleeping, I just pull her close to me and snuggle her and she falls back to sleep. I laid there waiting for the cry. It never came. She put herself back to sleep.
My baby doesn’t need me anymore. More mixed emotions. I know it’s a moment many parents dream of…baby sleeping all night and being able to self-soothe if awakened. It’s a hard thing to accomplish for some. Maybe I can’t fully appreciate it because she has slept really well for a long time now, or maybe part of me is just being selfish. I’m not ready. I don’t want to stop co-sleeping.
I only get to see Punky about 4 hours a day during the week. Sleeping with her, watching her sleep, cuddling her, soothing her, and making sure she’s safe, are all ways I can have bonding time with her since we don’t get much during the day. I don’t want to give that up; I don’t want to lose the bond we’ve developed.
In a way I wasn’t surprised she did so well that night. With all of the traveling and changing routines she’s experienced these six months, she’s developed into a very adaptable baby. She’s always pleasant and seems to have a “go with the flow” attitude. I guess I’ve done a good job with her so far since she’s a confident, independent, well adjusted baby. But I want her to still need her mama, too. She’s only six months old.
Still feeling a bit crappy, I decided to attempt it again on Saturday night. This time she did wake up crying. Yes! (I know, that’s terrible of me). But I resisted the urge to pick her up and attempted to just soothe her by rubbing her back like I do when we co-sleep. It worked. She was out again in no time. Sigh.
Sunday night, Grammy came up and was obviously thrilled at this news. She never supported me on the whole co-sleeping thing. Anyway, Punky spent yet another night in her crib with Grammy on the cot in her room. She was still breathing in the morning so all went well.
I can’t say this is how it will be from now on; I’m not ready for it to be a permanent arrangement. But it’s good to know it’s an option when we can’t co-sleep for whatever reason. Maybe I’ll try to co-sleep during the week, but keep her used to the crib on the weekends when I get to spend much more time with her during the day. I don’t know. This “mom” stuff is hard sometimes.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
People Don't Change
I have decided not to attend my high school class reunion.
Eighteen years. Why eighteen? We didn’t have a five, ten, or fifteen year reunion, so I don’t think it would have been a problem to wait two more years for twenty. But the who’s-who apparently decided on eighteen.
When I first received the invitation, my gut response was not to go. Then I debated a bit, but landed back at no.
For one thing, it’s falls on a weekend that’s not particularly good for making the trip home. We will be there weekend before, and to go back down the very next weekend is a lot of travel and hassle with the baby.
Second, it’s expensive. They are having it where we had our prom. It’s a fairly nice place, but there are definitely better options in the area that would be much more affordable. This place is just way overpriced, and with his recent job loss, I have better ways to spend my money.
Third, there are really only a few people I care to see again, and it would be my luck that those people wouldn’t come. With a class size near four hundred, I never knew at least half of them. Of the remaining two hundred, I would probably only remember half. Of that hundred, I probably never really liked at least a quarter of them, and don’t care to ever see them again. Of the remaining seventy five, at least a third were solely casual acquaintances. We were never really close to begin with, so why bother catching up? Of the last fifty, I’m sure at least half won’t come. So that leaves maybe twenty-five people I may enjoy seeing again, and with all of the socializing going on, I’d be lucky to sneak in a five-minute conversation with half of them. Hardly seems worth it for 12 and a half people.
Fourth, I’m fat. Yeah, I know no one has their eighteen year-old bodies anymore, and I’m sure there are many people in much worse shape than I am, but still. I can use the “I just had a baby” excuse, but with her now over six months, I think I’m pushing the limits on that one. I really don’t think I look all that bad now, but I know going to the reunion would bring out the same self-esteem issues and insecurities I had in high school.
Through social networking sites, I have already “caught up” a bit with many people from high school. From what I’ve seen thus far, the old adage is true. People don’t change. The funny ones are still funny, the smart ones are still smart, the snobby ones are still snobby, the nice ones are still nice, etc… But, I’m not the same person I was in high school. I’ve changed.
Well, nope. I guess not really when I stop to think about it. I was shy in school and I still am. I was studious and serious when it came to schoolwork, and I am still that way with work in the adult world. I had many acquaintances in high school, but only a handful of close friends…still that way today. I still love to do the things I did growing up over the years. Essentially, I guess my true personality is exactly the same as it was back then. I haven’t changed.
Wait a minute, I’m a mom now. And that changed everything, remember? My view of the world is entirely different now. I’ve posted about this before. I’m still struggling to figure out who I am six months later. Or am I? On one hand, it appears I truly haven’t changed a bit…yet on the other hand I feel like I’ve changed so much with Punky that I don’t exactly know who I am at times. Hmmm…
Suddenly I feel like I’m on an episode of The Twilight Zone. Which is it? Have I changed or haven’t I? If people don’t change, I must still be the same. Maybe the core is the same, but the outer layers are different. I mean, you change your clothes over and over again, but underneath is still the same naked person. You carry the scars from the past with you, and deep inside you store your hopes for the future. Wearing a pink shirt one day doesn’t change the fact that you never really cared for pink. You know where I’m going with this so I will stop myself before the rambling gets worse.
My hasty conclusion? People don’t change. Except for me. I’m special. And even if they have changed, it’s not worth paying $65 a person to attend the reunion to see it. Seriously, I’m way too cheap for that. I may have been persuaded for $25.
Eighteen years. Why eighteen? We didn’t have a five, ten, or fifteen year reunion, so I don’t think it would have been a problem to wait two more years for twenty. But the who’s-who apparently decided on eighteen.
When I first received the invitation, my gut response was not to go. Then I debated a bit, but landed back at no.
For one thing, it’s falls on a weekend that’s not particularly good for making the trip home. We will be there weekend before, and to go back down the very next weekend is a lot of travel and hassle with the baby.
Second, it’s expensive. They are having it where we had our prom. It’s a fairly nice place, but there are definitely better options in the area that would be much more affordable. This place is just way overpriced, and with his recent job loss, I have better ways to spend my money.
Third, there are really only a few people I care to see again, and it would be my luck that those people wouldn’t come. With a class size near four hundred, I never knew at least half of them. Of the remaining two hundred, I would probably only remember half. Of that hundred, I probably never really liked at least a quarter of them, and don’t care to ever see them again. Of the remaining seventy five, at least a third were solely casual acquaintances. We were never really close to begin with, so why bother catching up? Of the last fifty, I’m sure at least half won’t come. So that leaves maybe twenty-five people I may enjoy seeing again, and with all of the socializing going on, I’d be lucky to sneak in a five-minute conversation with half of them. Hardly seems worth it for 12 and a half people.
Fourth, I’m fat. Yeah, I know no one has their eighteen year-old bodies anymore, and I’m sure there are many people in much worse shape than I am, but still. I can use the “I just had a baby” excuse, but with her now over six months, I think I’m pushing the limits on that one. I really don’t think I look all that bad now, but I know going to the reunion would bring out the same self-esteem issues and insecurities I had in high school.
Through social networking sites, I have already “caught up” a bit with many people from high school. From what I’ve seen thus far, the old adage is true. People don’t change. The funny ones are still funny, the smart ones are still smart, the snobby ones are still snobby, the nice ones are still nice, etc… But, I’m not the same person I was in high school. I’ve changed.
Well, nope. I guess not really when I stop to think about it. I was shy in school and I still am. I was studious and serious when it came to schoolwork, and I am still that way with work in the adult world. I had many acquaintances in high school, but only a handful of close friends…still that way today. I still love to do the things I did growing up over the years. Essentially, I guess my true personality is exactly the same as it was back then. I haven’t changed.
Wait a minute, I’m a mom now. And that changed everything, remember? My view of the world is entirely different now. I’ve posted about this before. I’m still struggling to figure out who I am six months later. Or am I? On one hand, it appears I truly haven’t changed a bit…yet on the other hand I feel like I’ve changed so much with Punky that I don’t exactly know who I am at times. Hmmm…
Suddenly I feel like I’m on an episode of The Twilight Zone. Which is it? Have I changed or haven’t I? If people don’t change, I must still be the same. Maybe the core is the same, but the outer layers are different. I mean, you change your clothes over and over again, but underneath is still the same naked person. You carry the scars from the past with you, and deep inside you store your hopes for the future. Wearing a pink shirt one day doesn’t change the fact that you never really cared for pink. You know where I’m going with this so I will stop myself before the rambling gets worse.
My hasty conclusion? People don’t change. Except for me. I’m special. And even if they have changed, it’s not worth paying $65 a person to attend the reunion to see it. Seriously, I’m way too cheap for that. I may have been persuaded for $25.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Great Outdoors
We went camping Thursday through Sunday. Well, sort of anyhow. We had a cabin at a campground. With electricity. Twenty feet from a bathroom. Punky and I came home every night to sleep because it was too cold for her at night. Not exactly roughing it, but it was camping nonetheless.
All in all it was a nice trip, just absolutely exhausting. Between caring for the baby and amusing the three and a half year old nephew, sitting for more than five minutes was impossible. Even though I took the baby home at night, we were still out late (after midnight two of three nights), and up early to head back to the campground. Not to mention all of the walking we did. And swimming. I am tired today, even a bit happy to be back at work where I can sit down and relax. I think I may be getting sick. My sister developed a cold during the camping trip and I think I may have picked it up. Great.
Punky had some firsts this weekend. Of course it was her first time camping, but she also had her first ride on a carousel (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a train (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a real swing (a big boat swing and she really, really wasn’t impressed). She has never gotten carsick, but she hates her swing at home, and it was almost as though she was getting sick on the rides this weekend. I know she’s only a 6-month old baby, and she was probably scared on all of them, but her dad gets bad motion sickness and I really hope she doesn’t take after him. Only time will tell I guess.
She also saw her first fireworks display and…you guessed it…she wasn’t impressed with that either. She actually did well at first. She would jump with some of the loud bangs, but she was looking up at the sky and watching the colors. She seemed content while her aunt held her, then with Daddy as well. But then Mommy held her and the tears started and wouldn’t stop.
I know she was absolutely exhausted by that point and once she saw me she cried so that I would get her a bottle and comfort her to sleep. And of course I left the fireworks and walked back to do exactly that. Now some may have stayed and let her cry herself to sleep, but I do not believe in the “cry it out” method. To me it is cruel. My baby needs something, I do it. I comfort her. I take care of her. It is not spoiling her; it is loving her. And I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it.
I wanted her to have her first experience swimming this weekend, but the water was too cold. I jumped in the pool and it took my breath away for a few minutes until I swam a few laps and warmed up a bit. I didn’t want her to scream at the cold water and make her afraid of it in the future. She loves water, she loves her baths, and I know she would’ve expected the water to be nice and warm. I decided not to shock her. There will be other pools. Hopefully, we’ll get to take her swimming yet this summer.
As a kid, my family camped often. My parents had a small pop-up camper, and we went all over the place. My aunt and uncle had one as well, and we would go together much of the time. I have some fond memories of those days long ago, and this trip helped bring them to the forefront of my mind.
As I watched his thirteen year old son making new friends and crushing on a girl, I drifted back to a campground in New Jersey…I was twelve. My cousin and I spent our days following a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Although I can no longer remember his name, I can still see his face. He was a cutie. I wonder if she would remember his name…
That was also the trip when Granny threw my blanket in the fire and burned it. On purpose. I used to sleep with it tucked up under my chin. She thought I was too old to have it, so she burned it. And to think I would go on to name my child after her.
Anyway, things were different at a campground. It was safe. Back then, there really weren’t any fears about child abduction and such. We could stay out late and wander around in the dark with flashlights. Our parents didn’t need to know exactly where we were every second. As long as we stayed in the campground, nothing was off limits. And we really had fun. Chasing boys, going to the camp dances, meeting new people...it was almost like being an adult. We were able to roam free, as long as we checked in from time to time.
And then there's the marshmallows and pizzas done over the fire. Yummy. It's been years and years since I've had those treats, and each bite reminded me of camping trips from years past. Don't even get me started on the coffee. There is no better coffee in the world than camping coffee, freshly perked in the early morning hours while the smell of smoke still lingers in the air from the previous night's campfires.
As much as I don't want Punky to grow up, I think camping will be easier as she gets older. This weekend was a lot of work, and frankly, I am exhausted. It was worth it though.
All in all it was a nice trip, just absolutely exhausting. Between caring for the baby and amusing the three and a half year old nephew, sitting for more than five minutes was impossible. Even though I took the baby home at night, we were still out late (after midnight two of three nights), and up early to head back to the campground. Not to mention all of the walking we did. And swimming. I am tired today, even a bit happy to be back at work where I can sit down and relax. I think I may be getting sick. My sister developed a cold during the camping trip and I think I may have picked it up. Great.
Punky had some firsts this weekend. Of course it was her first time camping, but she also had her first ride on a carousel (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a train (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a real swing (a big boat swing and she really, really wasn’t impressed). She has never gotten carsick, but she hates her swing at home, and it was almost as though she was getting sick on the rides this weekend. I know she’s only a 6-month old baby, and she was probably scared on all of them, but her dad gets bad motion sickness and I really hope she doesn’t take after him. Only time will tell I guess.
She also saw her first fireworks display and…you guessed it…she wasn’t impressed with that either. She actually did well at first. She would jump with some of the loud bangs, but she was looking up at the sky and watching the colors. She seemed content while her aunt held her, then with Daddy as well. But then Mommy held her and the tears started and wouldn’t stop.
I know she was absolutely exhausted by that point and once she saw me she cried so that I would get her a bottle and comfort her to sleep. And of course I left the fireworks and walked back to do exactly that. Now some may have stayed and let her cry herself to sleep, but I do not believe in the “cry it out” method. To me it is cruel. My baby needs something, I do it. I comfort her. I take care of her. It is not spoiling her; it is loving her. And I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it.
I wanted her to have her first experience swimming this weekend, but the water was too cold. I jumped in the pool and it took my breath away for a few minutes until I swam a few laps and warmed up a bit. I didn’t want her to scream at the cold water and make her afraid of it in the future. She loves water, she loves her baths, and I know she would’ve expected the water to be nice and warm. I decided not to shock her. There will be other pools. Hopefully, we’ll get to take her swimming yet this summer.
As a kid, my family camped often. My parents had a small pop-up camper, and we went all over the place. My aunt and uncle had one as well, and we would go together much of the time. I have some fond memories of those days long ago, and this trip helped bring them to the forefront of my mind.
As I watched his thirteen year old son making new friends and crushing on a girl, I drifted back to a campground in New Jersey…I was twelve. My cousin and I spent our days following a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Although I can no longer remember his name, I can still see his face. He was a cutie. I wonder if she would remember his name…
That was also the trip when Granny threw my blanket in the fire and burned it. On purpose. I used to sleep with it tucked up under my chin. She thought I was too old to have it, so she burned it. And to think I would go on to name my child after her.
Anyway, things were different at a campground. It was safe. Back then, there really weren’t any fears about child abduction and such. We could stay out late and wander around in the dark with flashlights. Our parents didn’t need to know exactly where we were every second. As long as we stayed in the campground, nothing was off limits. And we really had fun. Chasing boys, going to the camp dances, meeting new people...it was almost like being an adult. We were able to roam free, as long as we checked in from time to time.
And then there's the marshmallows and pizzas done over the fire. Yummy. It's been years and years since I've had those treats, and each bite reminded me of camping trips from years past. Don't even get me started on the coffee. There is no better coffee in the world than camping coffee, freshly perked in the early morning hours while the smell of smoke still lingers in the air from the previous night's campfires.
As much as I don't want Punky to grow up, I think camping will be easier as she gets older. This weekend was a lot of work, and frankly, I am exhausted. It was worth it though.
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