The Diagnosis? Short, Round and Ridiculously Cute.

Tori had her four month doctor's visit today. And you know what that meant. More shots.

But first, she set about charming everybody in the whole place. Her  500 watt smile is quite the conversation starter. Thanks to her insistence on smiling and giggling at every last stranger, I made about 15 new friends before the doctor called us back.

One guy even told me his whole life story. It involved 5 zillion kids, 6 ex-wives and 3 million run-ins with the unemployment line (I might be exaggerating, but only slightly). My reaction? Proves I am a bad person. Because while I felt really sorry for him, I couldn't help but fixate on his lack of teeth. (He only had two top teeth. And they were in the back of his mouth).

I wanted to give him the name of my dentist. But I'm sure he didn't have insurance. Those against Obama's health plan? Should talk to this man and his family.

How did he get six wives with those teeth? I know, I know, I'm a bad person.

Anyway, eventually we waved good bye to our new found pals and headed back to the exam room. Once there, she started blowing raspberries at the nurse, and kept trying to grab the poor woman's nose while she was trying to measure her.

That, of course, made the nurse laugh. And then, of course, she had to pick Tori up and play with her. Even the doctor was delighted by her. She was all business when she walked in, but by the time she left, she was grinning from ear to ear.

Heck, even the shot lady felt bad about making her cry.

I swear, that kid is going to make me far more popular than I want to be. I am an Introvert. Notice the capital "I." That means I am really not a fan of talking to strangers. At all. But she? Never met a person she didn't love.

And when you're attached to such a happy baby, you become the center of attention by default. And everyone assumes you're an equally happy, friendly person. It's kind of a problem...

Anyway, it turns out that Tori's still only in the 10-25th percentile for height, but 75-90th for weight. So she's well on her way to inheriting my body. Poor kid.

But short and round is great for a baby. And with that smile? The world will forgive her anything.

The Evolution of Date Night

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, in a time known as B.T. (before Tori), Friday night was date night.

I'd come home from work, redo my hair, fix my makeup, put something pretty on, and out we'd go. Dinner at a restaurant was mandatory - but the fanciness of said eating establishment depended upon our budget. Sometimes it was cloth napkins and (semi) expensive wine...but more often, it was bar food and beer (well, I had beer. my hubby doesn't drink much).

Then, more often than not, we'd find something else to do. Stop in at a local bar, go down to the lake and watch the boats, or head to the bookstore (my favorite activity). Whatever it was, we made a night of it. It was lovely.

And now?

Well, we still refuse to cook our dinner. But instead of going out, we get takeout. And, generally speaking, we have to reheat it, because as soon as we sit down, Tori decides to fuss. And then she needs a diaper change. And then she needs to eat. And then...well, you get the picture.

Our after dinner activities generally include walking the dog, feeding Tori again, changing some more diapers, playing with Tori, and of course, ooohing and ahhing over how dang cute she is.

Then I put her to bed, Brian goes on the computer upstairs, and I turn on my laptop to talk to you, my dear readers.

Then, eventually, we collapse together on the couch, serenading each other with our snores. It's a different kind of life, that's for sure. But as much as I miss our old freedom, I wouldn't trade the driving force behind this new kind of date night for all the fancy restaurants in the world.

The World From a Three-Month-Old's Perspective.

She can't walk yet. She can't talk yet. But Tori is definitely waking up to the world. Everywhere she looks, she's discovering something new, and it's great fun to watch.

Her latest discovery? Trees. Every night, we go for a walk around the neighborhood, and the streets are lined with trees - there's one about every twenty feet or so. As we pass underneath, she looks up at the leaves and her face absolutely lights up. Sometimes she even squeals with delight.

This happens every single time we walk under a tree. It never seems to get old.

I can't help but wonder, what is she thinking? Why are trees so incredibly fascinating? Is it the way the branches rustle in the wind? The pretty colors of the leaves? It's impossible to tell.

It definitely makes our walks more entertaining. And it forces us to slow down and appreciate the world a little more. A low hanging branch is no longer an annoyance to be brushed out of the way and grumbled about. It's an object of beauty to be examined and appreciated.

Now, instead of spending that twenty minutes worrying about work, or complaining about some small injustice, we look for things we can point out to her, just so we can see her face light up again.

It's a great way to end the day. And yet another reason to be grateful for the presence of this wonderful little person in our lives.

Yep, She's a Page, Alright.

To say that my husband's family loves to eat is a gross understatement. I've never seen a family that likes to eat as much as they do. In fact, we jokingly call our get togethers The Search for More Food.

As soon as breakfast is over, lunch plans are made. And the discussion at lunch? Often revolves around dinner. Then, no matter how ridiculously huge our supper was, the call goes out for dessert.

Portions are big.

Seconds are almost mandatory.

Diets? It's best not to mention a diet.

Now, this isn't a bad thing. It's kinda fun. I like eating that way for a while, knowing that when the party breaks up, I can safely go without meals for a few days.

But there are limits. Just this past weekend, my in-laws were in town and we  had dinner at this restaurant that was featuring a buffet. An all-you-can-eat buffet.

So, of course we all ordered that.

Folks, it was awful. Easily one of the worst meals I have ever eaten in my life. I picked at my plate, filling up on green beans (which were the only tasty item on the buffet).

But the rest of the family? Went back for seconds and even thirds, moaning about how horrible the food was the entire time. But still, it was there, and it was all-you-can-eat, so they were determined to get their money's worth.

I was flabbergasted. And amused. And wondering how they could find the room (it was sitting like a rock in my stomach).

But you know what? I think it's genetic. My daughter loooooves to eat. In fact, she likes her bottle so much, she screams when you burp her. Because, you know, you've got to take the bottle away first.

This is her, throwing a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums mid-burp. But as soon as I put her back down and re-insert the bottle, the tears disappear without a trace, and the screams are replaced by coos.

So there's no doubt that she's her father's daughter. I only hope that I can convince her that when the food's bad, it's perfectly alright to leave some on your plate (that way, there's more room for ice cream).

The Magic of a Baby's Smile...

Tori's smile has truly magical properties. It doesn't matter how crabby I am, or how much I'm hating my life at the moment - one glimpse of that silly little gummy smile that takes up half her face and my spirits lift.

I remember the first time I saw her smile (I should. It wasn't that long ago). She was a little less than a month old. I'm pretty sure it was morning, but I'd been up so long I couldn't really tell you for sure. Anyway, I was heading for the couch, bottle in hand, and crying (yet again) over my inability to breastfeed her when she flashed a full-fledged grin, face crinkling and gums showing.

It definitely wasn't gas.

I couldn't help but smile back, knowing that whatever I thought I was doing wrong, she was feeling pretty okay about her life.

These days, she's smiling all the time (except when I pull out a camera to attempt to capture it). But it hasn't gotten old yet. Nope, every time I see it, I can't help but grin in return.

Even at 4 in the morning when I'd rather be in bed.

Or at 3 in the afternoon in the aftermath of one of her nuclear meltdowns.

It even works when it's accompanied by projectile spit-up or an explosive diaper.

It's not just me, either. Yesterday, my husband came home in a foul, foul mood. I was sure I was going to have to spend the entire evening walking on egg shells, trying not to aggravate him further.

But as soon as he walked up to Tori to say hello, she flashed her most adorable grin. Within seconds, he melted into a puddle of goo at her feet. Next thing I knew, he was sitting on the couch reading her a book, his bad day already ancient history.

Those smiles are magic, I tell you. If I could put them in a bottle and sell them, I'd make billions of dollars. Anyone want to work with me on that?