Misty Garrison » Gathered Fragments

Since the day this crazy baby was born there have been two camps concerning who everyone thinks she looks like. Amazingly enough the camps are NOT divided between my family and his family. Meaning there are people on his side of the family that swear she looks just like me and people on my side that swear she looks like Steven. Uncle Cha Cha and Aunt K in Cali have always been positive that she is a little Steven. Aunt Birdie (my sister, Robin) said from the very beginning when Emmylou is angry, sad, sleepy, etc. that she is the spitting image of her Daddy.

But then as she got older, she began to look exactly like some of my baby pictures (sorry no digital pictures of me to compare). That being the case, I figured she was going to end up looking like me. Because of this phenomenon, I have always been confused at what to say to people when they ask the question, “Who does she look like?” I would usually just say, “Herself.”

The moment I snapped this picture the other day, all other evidence and opinions seem moot…..


I think it must be those eyes, the furrow of the brow, and the crooked half smirk.

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As you can see, Emmylou has been ready for football season for quite some time now. Even cuter than these pictures taken in April is the sound of her voice when she hollers, “touchdown.” Saturday afternoons are going to be so much fun around our house. We can’t wait. Boomer Sooner, baby!

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  • EGG's Dad - 3rd from the left is my favorite, don’t know what it is but I laugh every time I see it.ReplyCancel

At least 10 times a day, Emmylou begins chanting what sounds like, “patsy, patsy, patsy,” which is her signal that she wants us to start singing the song linked above. We can count on her signing “up” and “down” at the appropriate spots, sometimes with more exuberance than others (meaning both arms instead of just one). She just loves it. Nevermind that her life experience has yet to introduce her to the true meaning of “taxi.”

We have been forced to console ourselves with these tricks along with her frightening vocabulary considering that she has shown no more interest in walking or even standing on her own.

I am considering a couple of options to help force the issue. First, I plan to ask the pediatrician at her 18-month appointment (yes, I said 18-months) about the possibility of some sort of baby physical therapy. Surely there is some contraption out there for children going through rehabilitation that might be just what we need for this obstinate child.

If that does not work, the next step will be enrolling her in full-time daycare. It does not seem to phase her that she is the ONLY member of the extended family, not to mention all the kids her age and younger in the nursery at church, music camp and swim lessons, crawling around on all fours. Perhaps peer pressure and public shame on a more regular basis will accomplish what our love and encouragement have been unable to do so far. Time will tell, time will tell.

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Earlier in the day, cousins Nicky and Joseph had been popping various firecrackers. Whenever Emmylou heard the loud “POP,” she would clap her hands together one time trying to mimic the sound. Thinking this was a sign that she might actually like fireworks, I was in a positive frame of mind as we headed to watch the dislay that evening. But alas, she fooled us all. She was not a screamer, per se, but she was definitely not a big fan of the pretty lights in the sky and the loud noises they made. However, when we were making our way to the car for an early departure, she began smiling, laughing and clapping her hands to mimic the BIG firecrackers. Go figure.

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