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After a big adventure culminating in the purchase of groceries for us and a snowsuit for Emma, the warmly bundled baby settles in for a little nap with her favorite book.

Kiska knows she should not be sleeping on the changing table, but jealousy causes her to do naughty things. Emma takes advantage of the situation by giving the rarely-accessible catten a hearty cheek-pinching.

Emma has finally beaten her cold, and had a 4 month visit to the pediatrician this week. She is now just shy of 15 pounds, and is 26 3/4 inches long. That puts her in the 98th percentile for length, a big jump from her last visit. It also means that she is just about to outgrow her car seat, which is only approved up to 29 inches. She had another round of vaccinations but seems to have handled them better than last time. And, as you can see below, she no longer hates the bath.

Look at those ham-hockies!

Emma’s got a pretty nasty cold, meaning no one in the house is sleeping well. (Although the cats have managed to grab a nap here and there in spite of the yelling.) I’m up with her while Christine tries to get a little rest. Here’s Emma a few moments ago asleep on my chest:

Today is Emma’s first halloween. She wore her pirate onesie in honor of the occasion (there’s something counterintuitive about the use of “pirate” and “onesie” in the same sentence). Although she was not able to indulge in the real deal, her evening milk may have been flavored with a hint of butterfinger…

is a long time to be out in this world, and Emma is adjusting quite well. She’s finding her voice, especially in the mornings when she entertains us with very loud accounts of the previous evening’s activities. Last weekend she visited with Aunt Julie, who was in town for the football game and was not disappointed (everyone needs a win now and then).

Some hats are not winners.

Emma had an awful night, barely sleeping more than 20 minutes in a stretch. Andrew and I had a worse night, taking shifts with a mostly happy, mostly awake baby. The rivers of drool pouring from her mouth suggest that perhaps teething is to blame for this backwards slide into insomnia. In any case, I wish I had a picture of Emma at 5 this morning–sitting on my chest, roaring merrily at her feet as she doubled over, trying to pull them into her mouth. Your own mental image will have to suffice.

The bare feet, the elephant dress, the peals of laughter. The only thing that puts a damper on this game is the camera–Emma’s expression turns serious as soon as she spies it.

Emma thinks Grandpa’s lap is the perfect place to curl up with a delicious book.