Easter

Or a moment of failure as a mother.  M had an Easter dress, and we went to church (where she behaved beautifully, except for a moment of fussiness when the priest poked her),* and then we went and had lunch with Leo's family.  Did I take any pictures?  No.

So I'm posing one of her with a rabbit that in general she's not allowed to have because she will almost certainly ram it down her throat and commit suicide with it.  I wonder about a world where we worry about infant suicide by stuffed bunny.**

(So I wrote this post before I took the pictures, and when I did take them, I got a nice progression of pictures that shows burgeoning leporiphobia.)****

First (Just woken up): Hey, a rabbit.  Cool.

Second (a bit more alert): Wait a second - a rabbit?!?

Third: Hey, how did its arm get up there?  I don't think I like this.

Fourth: Oh, I moved the arm over my mouth with my arm, because I am a suicidal baby.

*Poked her a little while blessing her, not poked her like a gorilla.***  Though I'm not sure that she will ever wear her dress again, since dresses on babies are not particularly useful as clothing.  But if she goes to any garden parties . . .

**Of course, if it looked like my childhood stuffed bunny, all yellow fur and demonic red eyes, one could imagine that it would induce thoughts of suicide.  But it doesn't look like that at all.  It's a very nice rabbit (thanks Lori and Jane!), and as soon as she's allowed to have it, I'm sure she'll become incredibly attached to it and I will have to pry it from her grubby hands at night to wash it.

***I'm footnoting my footnotes.  This is not good.  For those of you who are unaware of the minutiae of my past, I had a traumatic experience at about age 2 with a man dressed as a gorilla who poked me.  I refused to wear the jacket I was wearing at the time ever again, which is a shame, as it was a rather cute little green jacket.

****Not to be confused with leperiphobia, which would be something quite different.