curious.

How many rolls might he have if I didn't have a clogged duct?

*Thanks to Hollie for this great shot.

what you don't see.

Her tantrum because I won't let her investigate the port-a-potty while he sleeps in the sling.
Him crying hysterically as I try to search out a place to nurse.
The ladies wetting the front of my shirt while a field trip full of 5th grade boys look on in horror.
Her sitting down in middle of the parking lot, removing her froggy boots and demanding to be carried while I hold the following items: one 11 pound baby, one pumpkin, one diaper bag, a string cheese, one baby sling, one brown corduroy jacket size 2T.
Us successfully returning a few days later to try again (this time with more help).

30*

Dear Claire,
Before Mr. Baby was born, I worried about how it would be for him. To be compared to his sparkly big sister. I wondered if there would be enough love (there is), and I also worried about how it would be to be second. I knew that there would never be as many photos of him without you and that sort of thing.

He hasn't told me for sure yet, but I feel pretty certain that you are his favorite person ever. Occasionally he forsakes you for the Milk Lady, but always it is you that can make him smile. It's clear that he will not suffer for having you in his life. He's a lucky little guy. We all are, Clairegirl.

Love,
Mama
*Almost every photo of you this month is taken from behind. You can't seem to sit still. The photos aren't as cute as they were when you were small, but the things we get to do are way better (example: watching you get your first kiss, hearing you use the word hilarious for the first time, how you decided not only take your shoes and socks off when you get home, but your pants as well, seriously, who taught you that?).

or i could send her a note.

Dear Mean Doctorlady,
My huge self squeezed out of my mama's beartrap of a pelvis.
Love,
Mr. Baby
PS. Seriously, check out my head. It's real big. I couldn't ever wear a newborn beanie.

this the last time you have to see this belly. until next time.

My heart raced as I noticed her across the aisle. Was that really her? You know how people look different when they're not in the place you expect them? Her hairstyle had changed. She wasn't wearing the white coat. I couldn't look away. Nate wasn't there to remind me not to stare. It was definitely her. Instantly, all of the smart things I had wanted to say escaped me. I wasn't sure if she recognized me, I had changed a lot since our last visit.
It wasn't just the absence of belly. Everett's birth had changed me. I know now that if I could do that, I can do anything. Of course, I didn't march up to her and dare her to punch me in the un-c-sectioned stomach. I didn't tell her that maybe she should consider another specialty. Instead, I watched her eat lunch with her family and pretend not to see me.

But she saw me. I wonder how many women like me went to her because she's a woman and we thought we could trust her. How many of them didn't have a chance to do something different?
As much as I wanted to, I didn't tell her where she could put her 20%.

when you're so tired, but you can't sleep.

I'm not sleeping as much as I'd like, but at least I have good company.

6 things & photos.

Hollie tagged me to list 6 random things from casa iderdider. Here goes, complete with photos from my phone, for added charm:

1. In case you were worried about the state of my laundry pile, fear not. Nate knows the way to my heart: major appliances.

2. I recently lost a bunch of weight.

3. I would like someone to explain grocery shopping with a newborn and toddler. Where does everything fit if Mr. Baby is asleep in his carseat?

4. Also wondering: what am I going to do with 2 little monkeys when the weather gets bad?

5. Second-best thing about not being pregnant: liking my husband again.

6. This photo sums up their relationship perfectly.

Tagging:
Micah
Angie
and Patsy...why not?

when life gives you lemons.

What do you do when your dryer breaks after you wash every piece of your baby boy's clothing?
Answer: tromp up to the attic. Come back with one pair of pink polka dot and floral jammies. Also, your camera. Lemonade, dudes.

And for the record, here they are on her. When I wrote about handing those jammies down to another baby, this was not what I had in mind.

educating mama.

Mornings around here have changed in recent weeks. Before Mr. Baby's arrival, most days, I would wake before the other 2 in order to have a moment to breathe before the demands began(More milk, please. Who bought that milk? What's Larry's Dada's name? Let's do the puzzle. Let's do chalk. Let's make a cozy spot in my closet.) Getting up before the rest of them makes me feel sane, but as I adjust to nursing at night, I'm less eager to give up my sleep.

One day last week, Nate and I rolled out of bed when we heard Claire making noise in her room. I fed the baby on the couch and the girl started asking questions, while using my legs as a jungle gym. I reminded her, as I often do, that we can't hang on mommy while she's nursing and to please stop with the fussy voice. Then I asked her what she needed. She paused and then answered: "Attention. Huggies and kisses." How many of us are able to ask for what we need with such clarity? And when do we loose our ability to ask for the huggies and kisses we need?My hope for her: that she is always able to ask for what she needs, that she continues to sing her songs regardless of her audience and that she never becomes too cool to pose for a photo with her face on a cow's body.

i'm also not a fan of leather pants.

A neat feature of having 2 small children is the likelihood that on any given day (or night, in the case of our house), someone is going to be sick. Someone is going to need rocked or nursed or tylenol-ed. When Claire was tiny, there was no toddler around bringing her runny nose thisclose to my delicate newborn's face. Expecting the girl to resist those cheeks is like expecting her not to breathe. We weren't surprised when the baby got Claire's cold. Nate and I took turns. I nursed and diapered. He rigged up the humidifier and operated the bulb syringe. We both rocked and swaddled. Each of us nodded off in the rocking chair at different times. We both tried to lay the baby down only to be awakened minutes later by his tiny (yet forceful) screams. Each time he started to cry, I would cringe.
Speaking of cringing, there's this:

I'm pretty sure Mr. Richie wasn't singing about Mr. Baby. It was bad enough to be up all night without this song on repeat in my brain. Now, thanks to youtube, there's the image of those pants and those dance moves to accompany the soundtrack to one of the longest night of my life.

1: about a boy.

Dear Everett,
Weeks ago, I confessed that I was hoping you'd be a girl. I knew I could write about it because I knew that those feelings wouldn't last. You don't know me that well yet, but I'm not good at change. I found boys intimidating. I know girls. I didn't know what I'd do with you. If we're being honest, I've never seen an adult man with a close relationship with his mom that didn't seem a little weird. I knew that Claire and I could have a friendship as adults, but I think part of doing my job with you will mean preparing you to leave us. Like I said, I'm not good at change.

This weekend, I was complaining about the state of our living room, and failing miserably to juggle 2 kids, a sick husband and a chaotic house. The Dada wisely reminded me that we wouldn't always have a play kitchen in our living room. That someday the mess would be gone and you two would be gone and I would miss both.

Being a mother means I'll have to give you both up bit by bit. You don't really belong to me. For now, though, your favorite place is curled up, fetal-style in my arms and that is enough. We're all so lucky that you are here.
I love you, baby bird.
Love,
Mama