by the book.

There is this book that my mom friends and I swear by. We discovered it when the girl was around 8 months old and it unlocked the magic of great naps and better night time sleeping. I can't say enough about Dr. Weissbluth's approach to teaching your child to fall asleep and stay asleep on her own. At 2 1/2, Rip Van Claire is still an epic napper. I knew that when the Mister hit 4 months, I would start training him to sleep through the night and get on a nap schedule. With month 4 rapidly approaching, I dusted off my copy of the book. I thought this time would be easier. I'm a seasoned mom, I knew that I was teaching him a skill and that there may be some protest tears involved. I was not, however, prepared for my sweet smiling Mister to sound like someone had kicked a kitten across the room. And as much as I hate kittens, I decided to give the Mister another week of (less restorative) sleep in my arms. My apologies to Dr. Weissbluth, but we both need one more week.

32: two things I want to remember.

* All day long, "Let's have a dance party!"
* And at mealtime, "Thank you Jesus, for our dinner. And for all of my friends. And for Monkey. Amen."

lessons learned.

I have always been one of those people with the "too honest face." If I think you're funny, I'll smile. If I don't, well...I have a harder time hiding it. My honest face can get me in trouble. There are honest things I want to say about this year's Christmas festivites, but I fear my honest mouth could get me in trouble. I am looking forward to a new year. A year that I will not spend in maternity pants. A year investing in people that I love. A year with these two. Watching him walk. Watching her run. Listening to them become who they will one day be.

all i want for christmas.

Last night my (saintly) husband let me go to bed at 7:30. I got a full 12 hours for the first time in forever. With one bebe in my lap and the other in her biggirlbed, my mind is clearer than it's been in weeks. I need no other gift this Christmas.
We have so much to smile about around here it's plain ridiculous.

an arctic blast.

The TV news has been calling this winter storm an Arctic Blast. School has been out for 4 days and we in the valley don't know what to do with ourselves. Once I got over the fear of being stuck indoors for days on end, I've realized that both of my kids seem to be thriving on the forced slower pace. The Mister has gotten himself into this nice little groove of napping, something I wouldn't have even considered trying to regulate yet. How I've spent my snow days: staring at this face. We've also baked, we've played games, we've had hot chocolate parties. We've done gymnastics on the couch. And the girl couldn't be more content.

magical day. magic child.

We caught snowflakes on our tongues and walked til our cheeks turned pink. We drank hot chocolate. This is your spot, Mama. Sit by me. A perfect day. I find myself missing her all of the time. His needs are more immediate. I find that my eyes well up when it's just her and me. But today, in the snow, for a few moments, there was just one tiny hand to hold.
We took the Mister out for about 2 seconds and he looked at us, like What are you fools doing? I am a BABY. Warm me up, punks.

new friend.

This week a good friend announced her pregnancy (yaye!) and shared that while she's excited (so are we!) she's also scared. Consider this her pep talk: You already know how to do this job. You've already been up all night with a newborn. You've gotten through the flu. You've traveled with a baby. Soon you will even teach a wee small someone to pee in the potty. And best of all: this time, you have your friends. So glad I was up to receive your late-night bathroom text, friend. You're going to love having 2. Also, it is completely normal to be scared, I was nervous before I met this guy too. And while sharing my stories has become infinitely more difficult with a snoring mister on my lap, it is do-able. Wonderfully do-able.

little bits.

Claire recently started telling me what the pictures that she is always drawing represent. This one, she said was three huge robots. Oprah told me once that if I took pictures of her artwork I didn't have to keep all of it.

The boy is now three months old. I've successfully kept 2 kids alive for three months. Also a plus, I have a new buddy for self portraits, when the girlie refuses.
Kar-maybe you could break out the baby book and document that Everett weighed 16 pounds at his 3 month appointment, that would be 80th percentile for weight. Or maybe you should have a cookie instead.

worth the weight.

The day Claire was born, I weighed 211 pounds. Let that sink in. Two hundred and eleven pounds. Because I arrived at the hospital mid-Everett, I missed out on a hospital weigh-in. My midwives, bless them, used a bathroom scale. After my girth got too girthy, and I couldn't see my feet anymore they didn't bother telling me my weight. The 'wives were picky about diet and I obeyed. Very little sugar. Lots of herbs. No coffee. Tons of kiefer and tons of fiber. The goal was to develop a modest sized baby, rather than the plus-sized models that I seemed to make. Who knows how huge Mr. Baby could have gotten if I hadn't stuck to their strict no-sugar plan? Almost 3 months later, I am still carrying around about 20 pounds more than I'd like. It could be worse, but I would like very much to fit into my skinny jeans. And my tummy, poor dear, is struggling to maintain its dignity after being stretched around almost 10 pounds of baby. I don't remember it looking quite this sad after I had Claire.

I'm going to avoid saying mean things about my body, because there is a little girl who lives in my house and she is listening. I want her to know that this is a body that grew two babies. A body learned to care for her while recovering from major surgery. A body that pushed out her brother without drugs. This body is perfect for singing songs and rocking babies and dance parties. I might never get back into my skinny jeans. I'll give it a try, but I'm not sitting out any dance parties over 20 little pounds.
My boy, who smiles like a Buick every time I walk into the room, thinks I'm pretty. And that makes it worth it.