. . . her first correction (or rather, babymama's)

Babymama has been politely informed that Big Bird is not a chicken. While he is commonly thought of as a canary, he is, in fact, a Golden Condor.

Thanks to Ty's Mommy for the insight. Babymama apologizes for this mistake, and for any confusion it may have caused for any reader of this blog. Babymama most profusely apologizes to baby-adorable, who may have permanent animal-confusion due to mama's inability to differentiate between chickens, golden condors and other fowl-like members of Kingdom Animalia.

*In mama's defense, this doesn't look anything like this. *

. . . the bird

Babymama doesn't like chicken all that much, but baby-adorable definitely does . . .


What on earth would a bird-lovin' gal do without her very own baby Big Bird? Luckily, baby-A-O-K doesn't have to know the answer to that one, as her Mississippi Auntie made sure baby-plays-a-lot would have one several months before she was born. That same Auntie also included baby Cookie Monster (babymama's favorite), and mama is soon to purchase Baby Elmo. Now all baby-cutest needs are everyone's favorite nursery pals, and she's good to go.

Just close your eyes and make believe . . .

. . . the wings, y'all

With four exceptions, babymama has always disliked chicken. Unless that chicken was hanging out after being barbequed, fried, stuffed between the halves of an onion roll or prepared as a courting specialty a-la-daddy, it was not, repeat N-O-T, getting anywhere near mama's tummy.

All that changed when baby-cutest came along. After the initial months when babymama only ate a few foods (most of which were fruits), mama experienced a conversion if you will, to the church of chicken, denomination 'Wings, y'all'. Mama could not get enough of them. Grilled, fried, rubbed, barbequed and dipped into some heartburn inducing hotsauce, those wings made their way bite by dripping, delicious bite right into mama's mouth and baby's tummy. (On a side note, this made babydaddy really happy, because he was getting quite tired of eating mexican and BLTs every night).

The best wings of all were (and still are) babydaddy's wings - rubbed with love and spices and grilled to perfection right in our backyard. Babymama still asks for them, and wing-lover that he is, babydaddy is always happy to oblige.

It should come as no surprise, then, that baby-hotsauce still enjoys the wing experience, and while she can't as yet ingest them herself, she loves being as close to those wings as she possibly can. Sometimes that means watching from the window while daddy grills 'em up at home. Other times, like a recent outing to Sticky Fingers, she just wants to be as close as possible to the eater.





Incidentally, baby-sweetheart's blues name is "Fat Liver Parker" . . . but babymama takes the liberty of changing it to "Baby-fat" . . .




**BLOGGER'S NOTE: although this post says June 17th . . . that's only the date babymama tried to post it. It's actually taken 10 days to get a moment to put in the photos, so it's really going online on the 28th.