Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down

Almost three months into the baby adventure and I am definitely still developing parental sea legs. The ground possesses unreliable solidity at the same time it demands much more faith than I am used to giving out to anything or anyone; and then my scope eventually narrows down to our daughter's little face, either in repose, or delight, or a frightful wail. I know this shifting scope is good for me, and essential for the three of us; but a strange journey, even so.

A couple weeks ago, pain landed me in urgent care; after which I wasn't permitted to breast feed. This utterly confounded baby, who at one point licked the center of my chest before peering up at me intently. Why have you forgotten the rules?? More frequently, she slammed her forehead* against my shoulder, and shoved the bottle nipple around in her mouth before fitfully sucking on it. Meanwhile, the electric pump was giving me fits several times daily. Now, we are a few days past it and at an uneasy peace. Our former rhythm seems lost, but is hopefully only temporary.    

*hard! noggin!

This weekend's rain has been heavy enough to merit flash flood alerts; the backyard's a swamp, and water has snaked into the basement. Last night it was wonderful to fall asleep to, today a bit gloomier, though I looked out this afternoon just in time to see a rainbow moments before it shimmered away.

While I have yet to establish my new artwork groove, I have snuck in a bit of printmaking.

Here's the test print of Cakeasaurus, spying the cake-laden home of Quimby:

Pretty simple, not too much carving for the night scene, but I am pleased at its overall effect. I will do some "neatening" carving before I venture out to Maestra's studio to use her press, but it's 95% of the way there. I also pulled a handful of partial prints of the "floating" cake, for use in some woodblock cards. We'll see how those work with my current batch of decorative papers.

Also dropped off some more blank cards with Literati

Bookbound is also carrying a small selection of larger cards

Mammoth Baby: Attack!

Mammoth baby, silhouetted, lurches through the townscape, all the more dangerous for inconsistent muscle control. She startles: her arms shoot out and above, batting airplanes from the sky. The planes tailspin and nosedive; her fingers flutter, arms lower. Her gurgle poses a question, but one the townspeople have yet to decipher. Their answers are suggestions that go ignored. Mammoth baby peers around using her right eye while she gums a Fiat 500 meditatively, only to abandon it in favor of one juicy, dimpled hand. The smarter members of the populace seize the opportunity to flee to neighboring burbs. The escape attempt is shorter for some than for others, as low-riding cars stall out in pools of drool at freeway on-ramps. 

Those who remain witness classic infant magic at a grand scale: within moments, Mammoth Baby morphs between Gerber logo, Truman Capote, Chairman Mao, a kewpie doll, and Orson Welles. Baby scream-squeals, shaking the plate glass of storefronts, and vigorously shakes her head back and forth, sneering with full, drool-glossed lips. Her displeasure mounts like gathering storm clouds, until she is distracted by an inflated, beflagged elephant bobbing inexplicably by a thoroughfare. She woozily grasps the elephant's neck and wrenches it from its rope moorings, as the car dealership owner calculates another loss for the month.

She emits another squeal, this one heralding more pleasure; and with that she shrinks back to normal baby size. Ten pounds and counting, with "extremely impressive" neck muscles. People exclaim over her tiny-ness, but they do not realize she defies physics: she is denser, more substantial, than a being of her size ought to be. She has force. She sighs in her sleep, and then snores with the softest, tiniest wheeze; each exhalation sounds like a small, melancholy question mark.