haven't i seen you somewhere?

Oh yeah, it was here.

Eyebrows courtesy of The Dada.

We are slowly finding our rhythm in this new normal. Somedays, I feel just as confused as my littlest girl looks in the picture above. There are many many pictures of her in the middle and the two of them kissing her. This started out as an attempt at naked newborn pictures and we wound up with a naked baby and two big kids playing on the floor in their undies. I guess they just wanted to join in.

Ingrid is a good baby. She likes to snuggle, which is good because the other two consider snuggling her to be their full-time job.

5 years + 5 weeks.

These are my girls.
The day that I told her I was pregnant she told me she was sure it was a sister.
Even then, I believed her.

dear claire.

Today you are five.
Holy cow, I have a five year old. Yesterday you helped me bake your birthday cake. Every year, we mix it up together and then I surprise you with the decorations the next morning. While we baked, you kept telling me that it was the funnest day ever. You were thrilled by your cake (rainbows! pink icing!), but mostly, you loved baking with me. Today you said, "What a lovely birthday, Mommy. Thank you."

When you grow up you want to be a doctor and a teacher and a mommy. On Mondays, you'll be a clown.
It was a lovely day for me too.
I love you, girlie.
Love,
Mama

dying of cute.

She is sick. She's congested and uncomfortable. And like all of my babies, the only place that offers her a tiny bit of relief is resting her head on my shoulder. In some ways, the third baby is easier-if I miss a night of sleep, I know how to cope. I've done this. Only this time there is a new fuzzy head to sniff in the middle of the night. Other times, the third baby feels impossibly hard. Like when Mister comes rolling in at 6:30 this morning to announce that he pooped. Sometimes I'd like to send a message to myself from five years ago and say, "enjoy daytime sleep, enjoy before questions, enjoy breastfed baby poo." But she wouldn't believe me. And it's ok. Just as each baby brings her own joy, each one feels impossibly hard. The nice part about this time around is that I know what it feels like to be on the other side of having a newborn.

little boy.

I want to remember that voice. Low and slow and hilarious.
I want to remember your love of lawn mowers and dirt and construction sites.
How one Monday, you thought eating your pbj with play plastic tools was the best thing you could imagine.

dear ingrid.

There probably won't be as many letters to you on this blog as there were to your sister. You will also wear more hand-me-down clothing than she did, and sometimes you might cry longer than the other two did. I'm sorry, girlie, I guess that comes with being the third child.

I was lamenting that I can't just sit and stare at you like I did with my other babies. We are busier now. A wise friend reminded me that the day will come when The Mister and The Sister will head to school and you and I will spend our days alone. I love that thought.

You are now the ripe old age of one month. You are still bigger than the average two month old. Claire thinks you look like her. Dada thinks you look like me. And I think you look like you. You are every bit as beautiful to me as those other two big kids who fight over who gets to hold you next.

I love you, Hunca Munca.
Love,
Mama

endnotes. a lovely birth.

I let Nate sleep for the first three hours while laboring for Ingrid. We were both exhausted and we both thought her birth was days off. I took a bath and a shower to try and stop the contractions. It didn't work.

Some time between 3-4 AM, I informed Nate that I really was in labor and maybe he could wake up. Another Ingrid sang,
The storm is coming, but I don't mind.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, but it wasn't the pain. It was what I was sure would follow.
She sang,
People are dying, I close my blinds
All that I know is I'm breathing now
Nate made eggs. He's always very concerned about my protein intake.
She sang,
But all that I know is I'm breathing All I can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing now
And I breathed. But I was so afraid.
We held hands. I leaned into Nate.
Our doula took pictures of us in the hour before Ingrid came. We look like we are bracing for a storm. We were. And then, before it began, the storm was over. In the weeks leading up to Ingrid's birth, she had said several times that it would be great if I could have a lovely birth. I would smile and think "yeah right, lady." Nowhere in my history did the words lovely and birth belong in the same sentence.
Until now.

here comes the son.

This is my boy. This week we gardened. We wrestled. I watched as he pedaled his two-wheeler. When I signed Claire up for school, I imagined that Everett and I would have tons of fun together on our mornings alone. Instead, I was mostly sick and uncomfortable and pregnant for months. I haven't been able to pick him up safely since November. We are both enjoying having mama back.

This is my boy. He has NO attention span for TV or movies, but on a rainy Thursday last week he stood at our kitchen window for close to an hour watching what he considered to be the coolest entertainment around.
Before Ingrid was born, I was nervous that he'd play rough or hurt her. Instead, he is the sweetest version of himself. He has a little voice that he only uses for her. He calls her "Wonderful Ingrid." He says, "Hi sweetgirl." This is my boy.

2 weeks in.

It was like something out of a movie. Ingrid erupts with spit up, saturating her clothes, the pack-n- play and her face. I scoop her up in time to get covered in spit up myself. The kids are taking turns pretending to be horses and are oblivious to the barf so I fill the baby bathtub and go to change my shirt, taking my very unhappy baby with me.

I return to the bathtub to find Everett, quite proud of himself, fully dressed and in the baby bathtub. I pull him out with one hand and tell him to get some undies. By now, 2 out of my 3 children are screaming. I rinse Ingrid off, wrap her up and start to diaper her. Just then, Everett climbs onto the couch and starts to pee. Unfortunately, he chose the non-leather couch.

I might have gotten to him in time if I wasn't cleaning out her chins.

7 years.

7 years.
3 VERY different births, with you right beside me.
2 houses.
1 multi-hundred dollar business that allows me to do this job that I love.
Countless cars.
1 Mister.
2 Sisters.

Happy Anniversary, Nater. I love you.