Lucy's Number One

I promised to post some {now ridiculously outdated} pictures that I snapped at Lucy's first birthday party, and here they are! If you aren't already excited to see them, you should be; she's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen, and the look on her face while we sang Happy Birthday is priceless.

{I forget why she was holding a tennis ball.}

Her reaction to this cupcake went from "What IS this??" to "CUPCAKE!!" in just a few seconds.

And, of course, the finger in the nose. Because that's what one-year-olds do.

Alone Time {Kind Of}

I've been having a hard time figuring out my blogging schedule lately. Part of it is that I have zero minutes to myself during the day. Between three kids and two nap schedules, someone is always awake and eager to bang on the keys of my laptop. Even if I could figure out how to peel their fingers off me and get some work done, I don't know if I like the idea of staring at a computer screen instead of reading another pigeon book, or building another block tower, or even putting someone in time out again. Interacting with my kids at this age is precious {I'm not going to apologize for how mushy that sounds}, and I'm not going to miss one frustrating, peanut butter-covered minute of it.

Since I don't ever get time alone while Christian is at work {no, not even in the bathroom}, I try to trick myself into thinking that I get time alone. While Max and Maggie are asleep, Lucy and I have a few golden afternoon hours that we spend together. It's not the same kind of quiet as solitude, and it's probably not what I would pick if given the choice, but it gets me through the day. I watch old episodes of Parenthood while Lucy rolls around on the floor and amuses herself by picking up books, one after the other, and setting them back down. I fold laundry and Lucy un-folds laundry. I dance and she laughs at me. I eat popcorn and stinky cheese, she eats {carefully selected kernels of} popcorn and gnaws on apple slices.

And now, here are some more pictures of Lucy sitting in her highchair, because that's always the moment when I think of grabbing my camera:

Following Up

{ image via }

So we had Max's post-op appointment at the ENT last Tuesday, to make sure his new ear tubes were doing well and that his hearing had improved {you can read more about our journey to help Max hear better here and here}. And... well, and it was possibly the worst experience of my life. {And possibly I'm being a little bit over-dramatic.}

I think it all came down to a big huge mistake that I made, which was trying to take all three kids with me to the appointment. I should have just gone by myself and said, "Don't worry, doc, I would know if anything was wrong with his ears." But I didn't. I felt like probably Max should be there, and I was in a mood to prove that I could be super-mom and keep three kids happy during {what I was sure would be} a very short outing.

Here's how everything went down: we arrived at the ENT and it was raining. I had to take Maggie and Lucy out of the car and buckle them into the double stroller in the rain, then take out Max and have him hold my hand as we walked through the parking lot in the rain. {Usually when I take all three kids out of the house, I put the twins in the stroller and I wear Lucy, but since this was Max's appointment, I figured he would need to be out of the stroller more than once, and I didn't want to make Maggie jealous if she couldn't get out of the stroller too. I was trying to think three steps ahead, as always.}

We checked in, I had to fill out a ridiculous Patient Update form, and then we went to the playroom to wait. We waited a long time. A long long time. A time so long that Maggie was already getting irritated with other children who dared to touch "her" toys and "her" books, Lucy had decided that there was nothing interesting enough to keep her awake and she'd like her second nap now, please, and Max was just everywhere {but mostly touching Maggie and her toys and her books}.

Finally a nurse called us back to an exam room. I think she had fun watching me try to hold Max's hand and push the stroller through the hallway and then pick Max up because he was fussing and carry him in one arm and push the stroller with the other. She must have had fun, because she certainly didn't offer to help me. In the exam room, we waited for another long time. Long enough for my kids to finish eating the snacks that I had brought for them and for Max to fall off the exam chair and hit his head on the floor when I wasn't looking. Long enough for me to hear our doctor in the next room yakking it up with people who clearly didn't need his services anymore.

Seeing the doctor took about two minutes {he literally came in, shook my hand, looked in both of Max's ears, said, "Well, they're both open. Do you have any questions?" and left}, but it was only the first part of our appointment. The second part was to visit the audiologist and have another hearing test. So we walked with a different nurse down the hallway {this one did offer to help me, bless her} to a different waiting area; she stuck our folder in a plastic bin hanging on the wall and left.

While we waited, we played a fun game where Max sat in one of the waiting area chairs and played on my phone, and Lucy and Maggie {in the stroller} and I {pushing them} would say, "Okay, bye bye, Max!" and walk away from him, and then turn around and say, "Oh there you are!" and walk past him in the other direction saying, "Okay, bye bye, Max!"

It was a completely boring game, but it kept my kids happy for ten minutes until a lady came out of an office and said, "Oh, didn't they tell you? We only have one audiologist here today and she's backed up. There are at least two people ahead of you." It was then that I said, "I don't know how long we can wait" and planned to pack my kids up in the car and go home lalready. But I still really wanted someone to tell me that my son could for sure hear perfectly, so I let the lady talk me into waiting in the playroom. She said it would be twenty more minutes at the most, which seemed doable.

Well, it was not twenty more minutes. It was thirty-five. Thirty-five minutes of trying to keep my kids happy in a room full of toys they were bored with and other kids who kept taking their Munos and Foofas. But we stayed. We stayed until the audiologist came to collect us, and the poor lady seemed even more tired and frustrated and just done than I was, which made me feel a little bit better. Better enough that I talked myself into the possibility of Maggie and Lucy staying happy while I took Max into the testing room by myself.

Maggie and Lucy did not stay happy while I took Max into the testing room. I tried to ignore the sounds of my two screaming girls and keep Max's attention on the puzzle I had in my hands while the test was going on. After a few minutes, however, the audiologist came back in and admitted that she couldn't get a completely accurate result because your kids are too darn loud. {That's not exactly how she put it, but that's what she meant. She then referred to Lucy as a boy, which made me not like her anymore.}

So then we left. I didn't get the reassurance that I wanted: "Yes, definitely he can hear all the way better now." Instead I got a "probably he can mostly hear better," a tension headache, and a nine-month-old who fell asleep as soon as I turned the car on. I'm thinking of going back with just Max and asking for another hearing test; I'm the kind of person who second-guesses everything until I get an answer that's for sure for sure, and I'd like this whole big event in my kid's life to end happily.

If you're still reading this post, thank you. I hope you don't mind that I spent eleven paragraphs complaining about a single afternoon; it really wasn't the hardest thing that's ever happened to me {obviously}, but it was an incredibly frustrating hour and a half.

The Hands

This is a post about nursing my nine-month-old.

When I was pregnant with Lucy, I tried to set some kind of reasonable goal to help me get through the beginning part of nursing. I assumed that beginning stretch would be hard, since I never it made it through that part with my twins. I could never decide, though - should I tell myself to just make it through the first three months? The first six weeks? I always just knew in the back of my mind I wanted to make it at least a year; giving in before then wasn't an option I gave myself.

Breastfeeding was hard in the beginning, but easier than I had expected. It was less like learning and more like re-learning something I had done years ago and forgotten. Since I didn't nurse my twins, every milestone Lucy and I have hit, every aspect of breastfeeding with her is new for me. And I have to say, I love it. I might be ready to stop nursing her when she graduates from high school. {I'm kidding. Maybe I'm kidding.}

There are, of course, a few elements of breastfeeding that I do not love. I've gotten a few bites {very tentative, but still painful}, I've chafed against the restrictions placed on my freedom, I've leaked and I've been engorged and I've stained my clothes with lanolin.

BUT for us, for my sweet-smelling squishy baby and I, the good easily outweighs the bad. It's been more beautiful than I can describe.

In the early days, I loved holding her naked body against my skin and feeling her against me. I loved laying on my side and nursing her for long periods of time, both of us half-asleep. I loved the satisfaction of knowing that all of her chubby rolls came from me, that I built her body with mine.

Now I love to ask her, deliberately emphasizing the key word so she pays attention, "Lucy, do you want to nurse?" and having her bury her face in my chest, trying to eat me through my shirt. I love nursing her at night and holding her asleep on my shoulder for a few minutes, just savoring her soft weight. I love to make her laugh while she's nursing, so that she smiles at me with the corners of her mouth. I love the butterfly kisses.

A few weeks ago my mother-in-law said, while I was nursing Lucy and Lucy was tugging on a few stray strands of my hair, that the hands was one part of breastfeeding that she loved the most. The tiny fat baby hands that poked themselves into her mouth, sneaked under the fabric of her shirt, reached up to her face and laid themselves on her cheeks, and yes, tugged on her hair.

And I think, I think that it's my favorite as well. The hands. I'm going to miss them when this is over.

Family Pictures

I mentioned almost two months ago that we were planning on getting our family picture taken. Well, it's been a long time coming {what with photo shoots being scheduled, rained out, and then rescheduled}, but they're here! They're here! I got the e-mail yesterday that our pictures were ready and I did a little dance of joy. Hurray hurray for family pictures.

I honestly couldn't be more thrilled with them. Leah did an amazing job of capturing how we are in our lives right now and our relationships with each other, which is exactly what I wanted. {If you live nearby, you should check her out. Oh yes yes yes, you should.} I especially love that she got shots of Max with his blankie and Maggie with her teddy; those lovies are dear to my heart.

Without further ado, here are all the family pictures in the world. {My apologies to those who would prefer fewer pictures; I'm not up for getting yelled at by those who want to see them all.}



All photos in this post by Leah Watkins Photography.

For Your Monday

There's not much to this post, just a little something I thought might brighten your Monday:



That's my Lovey! She is somehow growing up into not such a tiny baby anymore. Filling out a six-month-size sleeper that Maggie didn't wear until she was nine months old? Lucy, what are you doing to your mama's heart??

And look at all those sweet chubs! I just want to eat her all up, and she smells like heaven. Truly, I am convinced she's the easiest happiest prettiest fattest sweetest babe there ever was. The eyes! The cheeks! The sleeping through the night! Bless you, dear Lucy, my magic baby.

What it Means

Being a mother of three means that I am always touching one of my children, from the moment I wake up when Christian brings Lucy to me in the morning, to the moment I lay my Lovey down to sleep at night. With Lucy, it's mostly nursing all.day.long. And there's so much Max-and-Maggie-touching in between: changing diapers, cuddling to read books, picking up to go somewhere faster, comforting with blankies in tow, fishing "ickies" out of mouths, games of chasing and tackling, and {my favorite} kissing. I'm used to it, and most of the time I love it. The only thing I can't stand is whiny and clingy touching, especially if it goes on for an extended period of time for no reason.

Being a mother of three means that more often than not, the TV is on at our house. Before Lucy was born, I knew TV would be part of my plan to keep the peace once she was home. I started showing Max and Maggie Oswald because it's the least obnoxious kids' show I've seen. We started with just an episode a day, and it took a little while before they started actually paying attention, but now they love it. {And if you're wondering, "Is she actually saying that she got her kids hooked on TV when they were just one year old on purpose?" then the answer is YES. I make no apologies for my parenting techniques.} They now watch a healthy mix of Oswald, Blue's Clues, and classic Disney movies. We can always work on weaning them off TV when they're older and our lives are less insane.

Being a mother of three means that my body is under a lot of strain. Besides the usual {carrying two 20-pound babies up the stairs at the same time, that kind of thing}, I'm now also caring for and breastfeeding a two-month-old. I realized how close I was to physically hitting my limit when I started getting migraines, some of which didn't go away for days. Ugh! I went to the doctor and she told me what I already knew, I needed to be drinking more water and getting more sleep. I've been trying; I know I need to take care of myself in order to take care of my family. I pop half a dozen vitamins every day to help: a prenatal vitamin and vitamin D as recommended by my OB/GYN, magnesium to keep migraines away, and two giant calcium supplements because I'm off dairy {it upsets Lucy's tummy}. There are still days, at least one a week, when the clock hits 2:30 pm and I don't know how I'm going to stay awake until Christian gets home.




Being a mother of three means that I'm thinking three steps ahead about things that most people don't even think about. Pick up both Max's and Maggie's blankies before you get them out of bed at the end of naptime; it's a lot harder to pick up a blankie with a kid in each arm. Lay out clean diapers, pajamas, and lotion {and have an episode of Oswald ready to go} before Christian comes downstairs with post-bath babies. Don't get two diapers out of the basket for diaper changes; get four -- you'll need them later anyway and it will be handy to have them in the middle of the floor, right next to the wipes. The key to thinking three steps ahead is going about your normal baby-caring business and then, blerg! everyone's crying and you realize you should have done things differently.

Being a mother of three means that free time never just happens, ever. I'm caring for children literally starting the exact moment I wake up, and then all morning. If Lucy ever happens to be asleep when Max and Maggie go down for their nap, I use that time to eat {I usually have both my breakfast and lunch during their naptime}, shower, sleep, or take care of house business. There's enough work to go around even after Christian gets home to keep us both busy until Max and Maggie's bedtime, and then I want to spend the precious two hours before we need to go to bed with Christian, not doing something alone. I have a hundreds of items competing for first place on my when-I-get-a-minute list, and several long-overdue errands I need to run. And you all know I haven't blogged in almost a month.

And all of that? It's all okay. I'm exhausted and sometimes I wear the same shirt five days in a row, Febreezing it before I put it on again in the morning, but I wouldn't trade this time with my little family for anything. We're doing this three-babes-under-seventeen-months thing, and amazingly, it's working for us. Sometimes I realize how happy I am, how much I love what I do and how worthwhile it is, and I'm overwhelmed. I know I'll miss this era when it's over.

On Breastfeeding & Closeness

Here's what I have to say:

I tried breastfeeding Max and Maggie. I really did. In the hours after they were born, I was so disappointed that I couldn't nurse them right away, but I understood that that's what happens when your babes are born seven weeks early and then get rushed off to the NICU before you can even get a good look at them. I was also excited and happy to provide them with breast milk, and proud when what I pumped nourished their tiny bodies so well.

We tried breastfeeding in the two weeks they stayed in the hospital, but our opportunities for nursing were scarce, and I wasn't brave enough to ask the nurses to help me often. My little babes were oh so fragile, and I was still cautious when I held them.

After we brought them home, we tried again. We visited a lactation consultant and made a plan for how to wean them off bottles. But nursing hurt like fire, like nothing I had ever experienced, and I cried and cried until I couldn't take it anymore and I pulled my babies away from me. I worried about not knowing exactly how much food they were getting. When we were so concerned with every little bit of weight gain, not being able to measure their intake was troublesome. And I was so tired. I felt like I couldn't try to do any more than I was doing. I could only survive.

Eventually we switched to formula. Christian said it was my decision, and I prayed to know what was right. What was best for us, as a family. I felt that I received the answer: formula is a good choice.



After hearing all that, you may not believe me when I say that I have strong feelings about breastfeeding. My mother taught me that breastfeeding is important, that breast milk is best for babies. I never doubted her; I had an incredibly hard time overcoming the guilt that came with my decision to give Max and Maggie formula. I knew that when the next baby came, we would try breastfeeding again.

When Lucy was born, she was fat. She was healthy, strong, and eager to eat. So much about her birth, the normalcy of her arrival and the sweet plumpness of her existence, healed the pain that was left in my heart after the experience of Max and Maggie's birth. She excelled at nursing instantly. The lactation consultants who visited our hospital room exclaimed over how well she did. I was happy. It was easy. We snuggled together in our hospital room and I smelled her fuzzy head when she slept on me.

I feel so lucky, so blessed that breastfeeding has been almost effortless for Lucy and me. It was painful at first {after one 40-minute feeding she left me bleeding}, and we're still working on discreet public nursing, but trying to breastfeed Max and Maggie felt like trying to run with my ankles tied together. Breastfeeding Lucy feels like flying.



So here it is, what I really want to say:

When we visited the lactation consultant for help with Max and Maggie, she gave us all kinds of literature. One pamphlet I remember was printed on yellow paper; it advocated the benefits of breastfeeding. I remember that pamphlet specifically because certain parts of it haunted me as I tried to make my decision about how to feed my first two children.

There was a quote in that pamphlet from a woman who said that she had breastfed some of her children and bottle-fed others. Because of the bonding that occurs during breastfeeding, she claimed she felt closer to the breastfed children than to the bottle-fed children.

Maybe you can understand why that would upset me, as a new mother. One who is trying to do what's best for her children and exhausting herself with the effort. I felt like I had failed. I was worried that I had permanently damaged my relationship with my Max and Maggie. I was worried that if I had more children, I would love them more.

But now I know for myself. I have breastfed a child and I have bottle-fed children and I can tell you because I know, I know that how you choose to feed your baby does not determine your relationship with them. I know because I look at Max and Maggie, my wonderful darling one-year-olds, and the love that I feel for them is unrestrained. After what the three of us have been through together, nothing could diminish our relationship.

Breastfeeding has brought Lucy and me closer, I know that, too. I'm grateful for that blessing.

But I think of that pamphlet now, and it seriously pisses me off.

Lucy's Birth Story, Vlogged

I know I never posted anything about Max and Maggie's birth story -- it was such a crazy experience, so exciting and scary and mind-blowing and painful and wonderful and heart-breaking that I could never really get it out in a way that satisfied me. I still may write about it, some day, when it's farther away and easier to think about. But Lucy's story is so perfectly amazing and happy, I'd love to share it with you.

I realized a few days ago that I'd never have the time to write Lucy's birth story {again, in a way that satisfied me}, so I decided to vlog it. And because I'm incredibly self-conscious, I feel the need to say that it's unrehearsed and therefore pretty awkward. I also feel the need to add these notes:

It's almost fifteen minutes long. I stumble over my words and repeat myself constantly. My hair wasn't actually as tall as it looks. The first time I mention the date, I say that it was June 19th -- it wasn't. It was May 19th, der. I don't know what I'm doing with my hands at any point. There's one part when I tuck my hair behind my ear, decide I don't like how it looks, and pull it back out. Watch for that. I get emotional near the end and my nose gets runny and it's gross.

I almost scrapped the whole thing and started over, but when I watched it back, despite all the aspects that jumped out at me as being weird, it also felt more honest that way, like this is the way I would tell you if we were face-to-face. And I like that about it. So... enjoy!



And, because I forgot and then couldn't figure out how to put them together in the same video:

A Few Thoughts

Have you ever loved something so much, and been so grateful to have it in your life, that it made your heart hurt just to think about it? It's 5:30 in the morning, and I'm awake. I'm sitting in Lucy's room and staring at her crib. At how the sheet is all bunched up on the side. And I'm grateful. Grateful the sheet isn't perfectly smooth, because it means a real baby lives and sleeps in there.

She's there now, wiggling and squirming and trying to decide if she wants to fall asleep or eat some more. And my heart aches with gratitude for my children, that they are real, that they are here, that they are mine. I sometimes squeeze Lucy against my chest because I need her close to me, I love her smell and her soft little head and I want to absorb some of her sweet goodness.

I have big, important posts that I'd like to write soon, like Lucy's birth story, and how different our newborn experience has been the second time around, and my thoughts on being a mother of three, but I lack the time. Until that changes, I think I'm going to stop in every once in a while with shorter, whatever-I'm-thinking-at-the-moment posts. So I have a record of these first few months of Lucy's life. So I don't forget the peace a rumpled, twisted crib sheet brings to my heart.

Because it is perfection.

A Few Hospital Pictures

I've been meaning to put up these pictures from our time in the hospital for a few days now, but something always seems to be preventing me. Not that I mind; these obstacles usually take the form of playtime with Max and Maggie, cuddle time with Lucy, or relaxing time with Christian -- all activities that I find more engaging and enjoyable than blogging. I'm taking it for granted that everyone understands and accepts why I've been so absent from the blog lately.

Our birthing experience with Lucy was so different than it was with Max and Maggie -- Christian didn't try to take pictures of me while I was in labor, for one thing. Also I had Lucy right on my due date, instead of seven weeks early, which meant that I got to hold her right after she was born, instead of having her whisked away to the NICU. It was so amazing, she was born and I heard the nurse say "it's a girl!" and Christian and I started laughing and crying out of sheer joy that our little newbaby had finally arrived.

It's still mind-blowing to me, that Lucy is the little tadpole that kicked around in my belly for nine months. We have so much love for her already.