noideadog: (monkey!)
The day before we got on the plane to Miami, where we are now, Elizabeth started pulling her ears.

This has happened twice before and twice we've had this conversation with a doctor:

"The ear's a little infected, but it may clear up on its own. Come back in two days."
"In two days we'll be on a plane."
"We'd better not risk it. Antibiotics."

But this time two molars have just appeared, with another on the way, and that would make anyone pull on their ears, wouldn't it? It must be the molars, we said.

It wasn't the molars. So here we are on the morning of day three of our five day trip to Miami, planning a visit to a doctor. I grab an appointment with the nearest pediatrician on the map at zocdoc.com, just a couple of miles away, and Joel rents a car and a car seat to take us there. But actually, when I look closer, I realise that the address doesn't match the map. Same street address; different city. We're booked a doctor in Homestead, a city fifty minutes to the south-west, beside the Everglades. That works: we'll go to the doctor, then see some alligators.

Joel texts from the car rental place asking me to pack a bath towel and my heart sinks, because I know what that means: the car seat is the Terrible Bolt Upright Baby Hating Car Seat, a model we've had in rental cars before. With a sufficiently fluffy towel, you can make it recline a few degrees, but not enough to sleep in. These things are also hell to install. After a lot of practice and some YouTube videos, Joel can usually do them in fifteen minutes.

Skip forward and we're finally in the car and we're late. The traffic got worse: the 50 minute drive is now 65 minutes and we didn't have any to spare. I pick up the phone to tell the doctor we're late and, as I find the number, Elizabeth abruptly throws up breakfast berries, yoghurt, tomato soup and something gelatinous I don't recognise. There's a lot of it. We're on the motorway.

I mop up what I can. I pet her hair. I get through to the doctor. No, they can't postpone the appointment by 20 minutes and actually the doctor is leaving now, 17 minutes before we're even supposed to be there. Can we come tomorrow instead? No we can not.

E would really like to sleep now and the TBUBHCS prevents that, so I set my arm up as a headrest and futz with Zocdoc on my phone with the other hand. No morning appointments, but I accept a nearby 3pm, then call the doctor's office (still one-handed: phone under my chin as I fumble in my bag for a pencil) to see if they have anything earlier. Nope, actually the doctor has left early today. Well.

We abandon Zocdoc and park outside a pharmacy where Joel starts cold-calling pediatrians in the area and I go look for wet wipes and a plastic bag and scrape the rest of the vomit off the car seat and the baby. Joel is having the kind of painful conversation that you always do with doctors' offices (repetition, clarification, polite incredulity), but he eventually finds an office that will see us in half an hour. Elizabeth chucks again.

Half an hour later. I'm in a small but very crowded waiting room, filling out paperwork ("Does the patient drink coffee?" "Not... directly?") while Joel is in the car attempting to hose down the baby. He changes her too, but the nappies are in my bag, so he uses one designed for swimming in. That's important later on. That's a gun that goes off in a later act.

Joel goes off to buy a car seat that reclines and isn't covered with vomit. Almost everyone in the waiting room is speaking Spanish. We read My Many Colored Days five times. We read Oh The Thinks You Can Think six times. Elizabeth's name is called and I shuffle through the door, walking cautiously because I left the hotel without my belt this morning and for the entire day I've been preoccupied with making sure my trousers don't fall down. The administrator asks some questions and types some information about us. She doesn't ask my demographic; I see her choose "non-Hispanic". True.

Another hour. I find a place to dispose of the bag of vomit I've been carrying around. (What, you think I left that in the car?).

Joel returns with a Kiss Me I'm Irish shirt in toddler size. E finds some babies to play with. At first I try to police whose hands go in whose mouths -- we're in a doctors office -- but it's futile. She catches whatever she catches and shares whatever she shares. She also falls and raises a welt on her forehead and I hope the doctor doesn't think I beat her.

The doctor comes in. Elizabeth, sitting on my lap, pees effusively. The swim-diaper doesn't even try. I am now wearing vomit and urine. Today is going well.

The doctor diagnoses infections in both ears. Antibiotics, see our own doctor in a week, don't fly. Luckily we have train tickets home.

It's now 5pm. I've eaten one croissant, one cappuccino and a piece of cheese that I stole from the child. I am splashed in vomit and liberally soaked in pee, my trousers are falling down, the small child on my hip is bellowing and I don't think we're going to the Everglades today. At least Joel has installed the better car seat.

First stop: Walmart for shorts and t-shirt. I change in the car on the way to the second stop: food. I'm hungry enough and the options are limited enough that I declare that Joel can pick any crappy chain place and I won't be obnoxious about it. He doesn't believe me and turns in to a Burger King to prove the point. Ok, I won't deny that I wince. Starbucks provides a protein plate: egg, cheese, peanut butter and fruit, and I don't need to order anything when Joel stops at Wendy's for a chicken sandwich.

An hour later. Almost home. Do we miss the exit for Miami and need to take a circuitous route? Of course we do! Is the kid screaming the entire way? Not quite: she stops when I read to her. We read My Many Colored Days another four times. She's been saying "duck" at the page with the blue bird, and over the four readthroughs she adds a convincing "horse" and "fish". The rate at which she picks up vocabulary right now is unbelievable. I should probably stop swearing around her soon.

South Beach! It takes a couple of pharmacies before we find one with a pharmacist and I join a long queue of people waiting to fill prescriptions. The woman in front of me is on the phone loudly bemoaning the morals of people who cut in line to ask the pharmacist a quick question and then stay ten minutes. The man behind me is not on the phone so he loudly tells me about it instead. The woman who is at the front of the queue pretends not to hear and stolidly continues her conversation with the pharmacist.

The prescription will take 40 minutes. We drive to a fancy hippy organic smoothie and sandwich shop and I run in to get us fancy hippy organic sandwiches. On the way back we take a wrong turn and accidentally get on the bridge back to Miami. I find this impossibly hilarious.

Back to the pharmacy. They've got the antibiotics but the nausea drug the doctor prescribed doesn't exist. They've faxed for clarification. It's 8:30pm. We'll do without the anti-nausea drug. The pharmacist says that flat 7up will do the same thing anyway. I always thought that was an Irish thing, like whiskey for toothache and poitin for everything.

Hotel, oh thank god. Milk and drugs into the kid. Sandwiches into everyone else. Joel and E are asleep before they're fully horizontal. I open a beer and tell the internet about my day.
noideadog: (natural dancer)

Baby in being a person shocker. Today e was a full member of the household twice. Our Sunday mornings predictably involve two lattes and two quiches from Smith Canteen. This morning we got three quiches. She doesn't get a latte yet.

This evening Joel put up coat cooks: his coat, my coat, e’s coat, all hanging in a row.

Maybe this is why today we realised that we’re going to need a dining table that sits three people. She’ll graduate from a high chair at some point.

It turns out that babies are people. Or at least they turn into people at some point. It’s very strange and I like it.

noideadog: (coffee)
Baby update. Baby steps

It's not the first step, but it's a first step. I have a bunch of six second videos of her looking like she's going to walk and then sitting down, diving for a handhold, or smoothly turning it into a crawl. Come on, Fizzbuzz, you can do this.

She's talking all the time now. Every day we get a few moments where she says "nana" to a banana, "god" to a dog, "turta" to her turtle, or "boo" when uncovering the bear in the peekaboo book. "Did that happen?", we ask. "Was that a coincidence?" Unclear. Either way, her babbling sounds like English now and she has a lot to say.

Her little paws are getting good at manipulating objects. She puts things into other things and gets really excited when they fit neatly together. She waves at people all the time too. She's ridiculously social. My parents took care of her for all the time we were in Zurich and got very used to saying "No, sorry, we don't speak any German" to people she waved and smiled at. She has zero stranger-danger and currently would go home with anyone. This is kind of alarming. Joel and I are still all stranger-danger all the time, so we don't know where this gregarious small person came from.

She thinks books are great. She thinks phones and things shaped like phones are amazing. This is because bad parenting. She's cheerful of disposition and it's very easy to make her smile, but it's hard to make her laugh. You can do it, but you'll work for it.

She likes soup and ramen and cheese and crab and crackers and corn and fish and sometimes egg, if you get her in the right mood, and enchiladas and chile rellenos within reason. We've mostly managed to avoid sugar so far, though we'll see how long we can keep that going. We'd like her to not be a picky eater, but a bunch of people have told us that no matter how epicurean your one year old, a two year old will suddenly refuse to eat anything other than pasta and cheese, and you can't do much about it. I hope it's not true.

We still haven't officially shortened Elizabeth, but sometimes she's Liz and sometimes she's Fizz, and daycare calls her Lizzy, which I like. She's Baba and Babacakes and Caca Baba and Baba Milis and Elizabeth J Reilly Votaw the Third even though she's not really the third anything.

She is so great. I can't even really communicate how much fun she is, and she gets even better every day. She's a reasonable dinner companion now. I can go to a restaurant with her, just the two of us, and we can sort of hang out and have a good time. She's relaxed and curious while travelling: you can tell that airports try her patience, but she's less grumpy than we are. I can't wait until we can talk properly. We're going to do some cool stuff together.

A year of pictures is at hhttp://whereistanya.smugmug.com/Family/.
noideadog: (coffee)
Elizabeth, E, Seamus, EJ, LJ, Kidface, Eliza, SpaceFrog, Lizabiz, Liz, Fizz, Spud, Piglet, Bald Cat, Grumpkin, Poppyseed. Our many-named baby is six months old! It's been the nicest time and the most exhausting and the most terrifying and the most fun. I guess everyone says things like this, because getting a kid comes with useful brain damage that makes any road-not-taken comparisons very suspect, but I'm so glad we did this. So glad! Is it objectively better? It _feels_ like it is, but it's impossible for me to tell.

At six months old she looks less like a bewildered baby and more like a small kid. She talks a lot, using words that sound like a language we don't know. She laughs. Oh my god it's so good. I hoist her up into the air on my knees and she grips my fingers and makes these big capital-D smiles and laughs like this is the funniest thing that ever happened. She laughs at stupid faces, at nonsense words, at falling over. Sometimes she laughs just because someone else is laughing. How does she know to do that? I don't know!

She can't crawl, but she has invented a ridiculous mode of perambulation where you push your face into the ground, brace your legs to make an arch, then flop. It hasn't occurred to her to use her arms for any part of this operation; the face does the heavy lifting. It works: she no longer stays where she's put. I have woken to find her looming over me, jaws wide, two tiny razor-sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight, gigantic baby bobble head moving jerkily around as she searches for something to chew on. It's a little unsettling at 4am.

She likes the baby in the mirror. She's just discovered how great it is to kick the water in the bath. She thinks peas are amazing and carrots are weird. She loves the bright pictures in The Snowy Day, but is also fairly attentive when I want to read Dr Seuss. When she thinks really hard, she looks cross, but isn't, just like Joel does when he's thinking really hard. I like to watch her contemplate things. I wonder about what she decides.

People in work say "How's the baby?" and I can feel myself light up as I think of a hundred things I want to enthuse about. I say "She's amazing :-D" and "She just did this new thing, let me tell you!", and honestly, I do know that other people's babies are not intrinsically interesting, and I try to rate-limit myself, but, dudes, she's so cool. I really enjoy having her. She's a great baby.

Here's a bunch of pictures.
Elizabeth 4-6 months.

Elizabeth, May 19, 2013
noideadog: (monkey!)
Our baby's a month old! At this time on December 7th, my water had broken while I was coding[1] and I was wondering whether I'd have time to submit a half-working version of the project before we had to go to the hospital. Nope! At midnight the contractions started and eight hours later we had a little Gollum lookalike of our very own, all covered in birth-goop and yelling the place down.

A month already. Without unusual events or notable weekends to demarcate time, it doesn't feel like weeks are passing. We feed and clean the baby. We do small recreational things that don't take a lot of brain power. We go out for breakfast. We marvel at how much we adore this small person and discuss minute changes in her abilities. I pump milk. Joel does laundry. He introduces her to Dave Brubeck ("Listen for the change in time signature here"). I take her for walks around the neighbourhood and tell her about being a New Yorker ("Don't make unnecessary eye contact, but it's always ok to compliment people's dogs"). We've figured out a pretty good schedule which gives both of us some time off. It'll get much harder once work and real life come back into play, but for now it's fantastic to just watch her booting up.

Babies don't change that much in the first month and at the same time the difference is remarkable. She's growing rapidly, which is a relief. She no longer feels fragile. She reacts to sounds and she now sometimes looks at things and can track slow-moving objects. She grips my finger while I'm feeding her and makes me feel like the best person in the world. She sprawls out on her belly on Joel's chest, arms and legs hugged around him, and falls into her most contented sleep. Humans are her favourite furniture.

She searches her surroundings for sources of milk, mouth open to the air like a baby bird. I hold her upright to make her burp and she flails a little sticky, milky face against my collarbone in case I'm hiding a spare nipple there. She doesn't cry yet, but she makes furious frustrated animal sounds when we're slow about feeding her. She has feeding frenzies. We call her Captain Sharky.

We swaddle her in a sheet and it looks like a toga and she throws one arm above her head (about an inch above her head: she has stubby arms) and we make impassioned speeches to the Roman senate on her behalf ("Friends, Romans, fellow babies. How long must we wait for the milk we have been promised?"). Music makes her calm. She likes voices. I've discovered that I like reading out loud (it's likely correlated with a love for the sound of one's own voice) and she and I read classics like The Great Railway Bazaar and Happy Pig Day.

It's _lovely_. I like it so much. Part of me can't wait for major developmental milestones -- all of the smiling and gurgling and moving around -- but mostly I don't want this time to end. Real life can back off for another few weeks.

If you like baby pictures, here's an album of the first month in chronological order:
Photo & Video Sharing by SmugMug
Elizabeth First Month


[1] Approximate next thoughts: "oh god, the new sofa!... oh, come on, I _just_ figured out how to write this, can't it wait half an hour?... I should call the doctor".
noideadog: (natural dancer)
Last night I read kidface her first book, Owl Moon by Jane Yolen. It's a beautiful story about a little girl going out at night with her dad to look for owls. The writing perfectly evokes the stillness of a snowy night and the companionable silence between two people who understand each other, and the pictures are gorgeous too: it won the Caldecott medal for children's book art in 1988. It's a delight to read out loud. It may also be nice to listen to, but Elizabeth's opinions on it are hard to interpret. She mostly stayed awake.

The other first for yesterday evening was our first time giving her a sponge bath. Afterwards I wrapped her up in her towel-with-a-hood (grr.. it has trains on it, so the label describes it as "boy towel"; how the hell can a towel be gendered?) and put her to bed, whereupon she explosively crapped, chucked milk down her front and into her neck folds, and then peed over any parts of her that she'd inadvertently missed. She was clean for two whole minutes. Because we are ridiculously enchanted by everything this kid does, it was more endearing than anything else, but I bet that changes over time :-)

Today I achieved the ambitious two-part goal I'd set for myself: 1) I wore clothes that weren't pyjamas. 2) I left the house. We're definitely making progress! Tomorrow I'd like to do those things again and also brush my teeth before 5pm, but this may be trying for too much.

It's surprisingly easy to be contented with this lifestyle. I mean, not forever -- I hope we'll get some structure soon and that I'll do non-baby things again -- but there's something nice about having a single, well-defined goal and working towards it. I'm enjoying getting to know this excellent small person.
noideadog: (monkey!)
Well, we made a baby and she is fantastic. Elizabeth James Votaw was born at 08:28 on Saturday, December 8th, 2012 and came home to Brooklyn on Monday evening. I've been waiting for ten uninterrupted minutes to write about her here, but it's looking like she'll be in college before that happens, so I'll link to the gplus post I wrote during the last uninterrupted ten minutes and leave it at that for now :-)

elizabeth

PS: parenthood is terrifying and also the happiest thing ever.
noideadog: (meerkat)
We have no hospital! As I mentioned before, NYU flooded and they moved us to Mount Sinai. That filled up, so we moved again to Downtown. And now Downtown is overcrowded, so we're getting bumped again. Our doctor says that the Manhattan hospitals are not exactly throwing their doors open to refugees, and we may end up somewhere in Brooklyn. That would suck terribly for the NJ patients, but it might be ok for us. The other way around would be less ok: my kid is not getting born in Jersey. (Sorry, Jersey.)

It's funny that I spent so much time comparing hospital philosophies and facilities at the start -- I picked our doctor based on her connection to NYU Langone, not the other way around -- and at this point we'll be happy if we don't have to present ourselves to A&E at grubby LICH.
noideadog: (coffee)
Fifteen more hours of on call and then I'm on maternity leave! I waver between finding this ridiculous and feeling that it's actually about time: on one hand, I'm still chipper and energetic most of the time and The Company could get another couple of weeks' work out of me; on the other, I'd prefer to spend these days walking a lot and taking naps instead of sitting in an office chair and defending my belly on the subway at rush hour. On the other other hand, I have to go find food for myself now? What do people eat when they don't have five Google cafeterias and a coffee bar catering to their every whole-food-organic culinary notion? Do I know how to cook anything that isn't breakfast? I don't have the right life skills for a staycation.

This part of Brooklyn is baby-oriented enough to be able to support a new pregnancy mailing list every month. December2012babies is full of activity right now, with a few early babies, a lot of anxiety and tons of exhausted teachers and hairdressers and other doers of real jobs who'll be working right up until their due dates and even afterwards. I'm staying quiet: I can't really admit that "Yeah, we get four weeks off in advance, but I was really enjoying my project so I only took three", can I? Poor teachers, especially. I can't imagine.

Anyway, on call ends at 1am and the kid can come when she wants after that... though we do have Billy Connolly tickets for Thursday, so no rush.

Of course we're likely still weeks away, but things are definitely shifting around in there and every day brings new and exciting phenomena. I can mostly tie my own shoelaces again! Sometimes I snore while awake! It's a time of great indignity. Strange biology too: at 2am I was losing at Go against my phone and wondering whether this new kind of intermittent twitchy back pain that had arrived was going to develop into something interesting. Spoiler: it didn't and my secondary on call didn't get a late night "tag, you're it!" phone call. So a regular Sunday morning it is.
noideadog: (shutup)
What a cranky and difficult day. Nothing was good today and everything went wrong and there was no obvious reason for any of it. Joel says "It's because you didn't light box yesterday" and I say "No, it's because every goddamn thing is stupid." I'm medicating with Bach, a purring cat and a lot of pillows. (Joel: "the Pillow Of The Month Club called; they wondered if you meant to take out that third subscription.". Oh, Joel's on a roll today.)

Today was a day of technological failure, hanging browsers, crashing IM clients, wedged phones, laggy infrastructure, upgrades that didn't and -- really, this seemed a bit unnecessary -- an adjustable desk that chose today to stop adjusting. Seriously, desk? You too? That said, the fax I needed to send this evening went out on the first attempt, so maybe this was some sort of technological karma: you need to build up a lot of broken crap to balance out a fax machine that does what you want it to do.

But even the reason for the fax was annoying! Our baby-delivering hospital, the sleek, modern NYU Langone, got flooded in the storm, and we've been bumped to the less salubrious NY Downtown. Right, lots of people had actually bad storm outcomes and we're going to not whine about it (apart from right now, when I'm absolutely going to whine about it, but then it'll be out of my system I promise), but it does seem to be a step down in terms of facilities and attitude. It'll be more 'hospitally', I think. Well, we'll know more when we take a tour, but for now the most visible impact is that we change from sending off crisp downloadable pdfs to badly photocopied faxes. I filled out the labour and delivery admission form today and was bemused to note that after the blurry lines for "Name", "Address", "Date of birth", "Race" and "Gender" (which, in itself, is an interesting question to see on a maternity form), the next question was "Mother". What? Whose? I added a cover sheet to the fax, like it was 1994 or something, and included my email address for any followup questions.
noideadog: (natural dancer)
We had our childbirth class today. The nurse got us to practice Lamaze breathing exercises and made sure we understood that everything we'd learned from tv was wrong. "If you breathe like they do on soap operas, you'll just be dizzy. We're going to do long slow breaths, with short breaths for the peaks. Do they work? No, of course they don't work! They're just to distract you." I appreciated the honesty.

We talked through all of the ways things could progress and watched as a (largish) plastic doll made its way through a (smallish) plastic pelvis in several unlikely ways. Nobody fainted, but we were all a bit quiet and thoughtful by the end of the day. I mean, I guess I already knew most of this stuff, but I knew it in the interesting theoretical way that you can know things that are on the internet. It's different when the things are supposed to apply to you in some way. And in the next six to eight weeks, most likely. Surely not.

The hospital instructions form doesn't have a checkbox for "all of the drugs please, and also a martini and whatever you're having yourself", but I think they've left room to write it in.

The other thing that's going on right now is that we're insulating the icebox that is our living room. Last months' bathroom renovation was my first ever big house project, and this is my second, and I'm noticeably more comfortable with the process this time around. I'd hire these contractors again. Well, I should wait until it's all done before I pat myself too firmly on the back, but so far I have high hopes... and, of course, much less money than I started with.

Painting is the next thing. I had no good ideas, but people on gplus made good suggestions and we have five kinds of light grey paint to start splodging on walls tomorrow.

So, childbirth, insulation and light grey walls. Are these the riveting topics I expected to be talking about at age thirty four and three quarters? Would you like to hear about how we're changing health insurance providers at work too? Aw, I might be feeling a bit wistful for what I was doing this time last year, because I ended up spending hours on art.com looking at pictures of train stations. Don't you just want to go whereever this lady is going?

I got a print of her, and one of this, and they'll keep me going until it's time to travel again.
noideadog: (Default)
Something very exciting happened to me today. I was playing Words With Friends and I suddenly realised that I had the word LAQUER, and that I could put the Q on a triple letter square and then have the whole word cross a triple word square and get all of the points. Holy mackerel! Later, when I remembered that LAQUER isn't a word, I was a bit disappointed. That is how life goes.

Hello Livejournal! It's been a while really, hasn't it? How are you? I'm well. Life's pretty good. Here's a surprisingly good pictorial summary of what I've been up to for the last few months: https://plus.google.com/u/1/photos/109395676149872736665/posts?e=-RedirectToSandbox

I guess the biggest thing to mention is that I'm 30 weeks pregnant. Mental, huh? We're making a small girl who is currently known as poppyseed because we found out about her when she was very small indeed. We're looking forward to meeting her, but for now I'm also enjoying pregnancy a lot. It's very pleasant! Should I be stressed? I'm really not. Is that because pregnancy hormones? If so, they should bottle it. This is a good brain-state.

I think we're pretty prepared. We've seen a couple of daycares, which were both fine, and we've bought most of the baby-related gear we're going to need. No, that's such a lie, we've bought the Big Book of Trains and nothing else, but people have given us some clothes and things and I expect we'll get her somewhere to sleep and some other stuff as we realise we can't do without it. We're fighting the good fight against things that are pink and/or frilly, and our families are mostly on board with that. I'm sure we won't be able to protect her from the evils of gender normativity forever, but at least she can have baby clothes that aren't made for delicate flowers.

Is she likely to be a delicate flower? I doubt it, but who can predict what a new human will be like? She's probably doomed to inherit hay fever, shortsightedness and a tendency towards depression, but in return, she should get a geeky brain and a tremendous capacity for liking things. Are any of these things even genetic? We'll see.

Other things have been moving along pleasantly. I went to Ireland for a wedding, Aruba for some snorkelling, Baltimore for a conference, and Chicago to meet Mark and V and to kayak while looking at skyscrapers. I planted and tended some vegetables which grew spectacularly until the first heatwave, then all fried. We'll try bigger pots next year. Our cats are well. Alex is now distinctly a teenager. Lucy is exactly Lucy. They still don't like each other much.

I did this great algorithms class with Coursera and now I'm doing their equally great compilers class. The quality of these free online courses is quite astounding. The format's perfect too: it's easier to learn when you can to speed up or pause the lecturer as appropriate, and of course it's refreshing to do a course where nobody can ask "Is this on the exam?". Learning for fun is the most enjoyable kind of learning.

We've been working on de-chaosing our house, getting rid of clutter, making an easy place to live. We just finished a bathroom renovation -- the proper-sized house project I've ever owned! -- and have learned quite a lot about how to hire contractors, what things to clarify in writing, and (crucially) what things we like. Joel's been working on something much bigger -- a plan to gut most of the main floor of our apartment -- and has worked out a fairly ambitious plan with a local architect. It's a plan that we won't have time to implement this year, but it's there and I think it'll be good when we do. In the meantime, we'll try to get some insulation in before poppyseed arrives, because New York gets cold and our upstairs exterior walls might have been designed to be perfect thermal conductors.

Work is a lot of fun right now. I'm doing a bunch of things I really enjoy, and will be sorry when it's time to go on leave.

And, oh, lots of other things, but this is already too long. It feels good to write here though. I should do this more.

Profile

noideadog: (Default)
noideadog

February 2014

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112131415
161718192021 22
232425262728 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 27th, 2017 02:27 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios