Once upon a dream!

I know there are a lot of people who do not let their children watch Disney movies, for a lot of different reasons. Some are against the company for supporting gays and lesbians, and some don't like the movies, because they support rebellion against parents and immodesty, or teach girls to be weak and rely on men. And even if I don't agree, I have nothing against the people who believe that. Their children, their decision.

I will say that I am fully a fan of Disney movies, and I had the entire script of The Little Mermaid memorized by the time I was 2. And in perfect pitch (which I don't have anymore. Well, close. But not perfect. Music is the one thing I know I can do.)

But I realized something the other day. Mike and Katie and I were having a staying-in night while everybody else was away at their various activities, and we decided to watch Sleeping Beauty because neither of us had seen it in a lot of years. And it was beautiful and classic and I quite enjoyed it. But I realized that the Disney movies I watched as a kid have really affected the kind of person that I am.

For example: my favorite Disney movies are The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Mulan, and Tangled. All the rebellious, strong-willed girls who (at least try to) stand up to the men around them. I don't know about you guys, but I'm not really a sit-back-and-watch-somebody-else-do-things kind of a person. Ask my freshman roommates how I felt about not having a career and getting married young and staying home with a bunch of babies (even if you all know that my views on that subject have since changed.)

But I also really like Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. And they're the movies where the title character just put her head on her desk to cry and then got saved by a fairy godmother or handsome prince or both. My idea of what love should be like is rather old-fashioned, and I wonder if this is why. I think boys should ask girls on dates and open doors for them, and I think it's super romantic just when Mike kisses my hand.

And I think I've turned out pretty well, so I'm definitely going to let Katie watch movies about princesses.

Not to mention she's already seen The Little Mermaid and Tangled with me once or twice, so it's too late. Buaha.

Don't stop me now!

'Cause Katie sure is having a good time.

Well, it's official. She's crawling. Still sort of like a robot, and she really has a hard time on linoleum and tile with her little leggings on, but she's doing it. The other day, Sarah had a glass of water with ice (which Katie totally loves) and we decided to see how fast she was. Sarah gave her a sip, then put the water on the floor on the other side of the kitchen. Katie took, like, 3 1/2 seconds to get there. So Sarah would give her another sip and put it on the other side again. Etc.

It was minorly funny at several points because Katie has a tendency to fall on her face sometimes in her efforts to go too fast, especially on slippery floors, but still. When did my baby grow up so fast?

She kind of began it this weekend, when we went to visit Mike's sister Kliss and her husband, Brett. (Notice my skillful use of restrictive and nonrestrictive modifiers in that last sentence. It's all in the commas, man. All in the commas.) We went to their cute, well-decorated, non-expensive apartment and hung out this weekend. It was secretly supposed to be about dropping another sister off at college, but mostly it was not. We made sugar cookies, went on a walk, experienced church that was full of babies, and just hung out. It was so great! We really needed it to be able to de-stress and feel like real grown-ups for a while.

Unfortunately, I began to break the tenth commandment, as my dad would say. See, when we had our own apartment (ah, the good 'ole days!) it was both cinder block and way too expensive. Kliss's apartment is lovely drywall and is like half the rent than we used to pay. My jealousy is still raging.

Can you imagine? A dishwasher, a washer and dryer, and a stove that's big enough for a full-sized cookie sheet? Sigh . . .

Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't Katie.

I've made a few observations about my baby recently.

The first has to do with a baby shower I attended last week. As most of the people attending were moms, there were also several babies in attendance. One such was baby Nora, who is only a month older than Katie, and we discovered that they have similar interests. They seemed to have trouble sharing the plush basketball, though there were lots of other toys, and they both seemed rather intent on gouging the other's eyes out. (It was slightly more of an ambition for my baby. Sorry, Nora.)

But most of all, I noticed a big difference between Katie and the other babies there. Including the two-week-old for whom the shower was being held. And it had much to do with the color of their hair.

Blondies are baldies.

It's true! The other babies there were all brunettes, and even the newest ones had a little tuft of hair that was at least close to ponytail worthy. Their luxurious locks would probably have been blowing in the wind had we not been in somebody's living room. But Katie, my little blonde angel baby, has a slight amount of fuzz that is nowhere near visible from any kind of distance.

And looking back at my ward in Provo, where we were surrounded by babies of all shapes and sizes, I realize that it is true! There were plenty of brunette babies who had more hair than me, and there were little blond babies who couldn't even work up a good solid bedhead until they were two! Oh man, it's a good thing the Katie lets me stick bows and flowers on her head.

Another observation I have made about my baby is that she is much bigger than I had planned on her being already. She's going to be eight months old on Sunday. Doesn't that freak you guys out? She's a big 'ole chub-a-lub baby. (Which is weird because she always used to be the skinniest kid around.)

Also, she would much rather walk than crawl. We've been painstakingly putting things she wants just far enough to make her try to crawl, but she always gets impatient and just scoots on her bum. I know she can crawl, but she refuses to do it. Walking, on the other hand, she thinks is the bees' knees. She's always pulling herself up to standing on whatever she can grab--bookshelves, the bar underneath my rocking chair, my pant leg, etc. And she thinks it's hilarious when I hold her hands and let her walk to somebody instead of just carrying her. I think we're not far from it.

Mike even had to move the crib mattress down so that she can't jump over the side because, oh boy, she is definitely tall enough to do it.

STOP GROWING UP SO FAST, BABY!!!