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Sunshine.

It’s a beautiful day for a walk in our new BLUE coat and hat from Momar and Auntie Kimmy.

22 Months.

My Sunny,

Last night you were fitful. You and I spent this week sick, and although your fever broke earlier in the week, you were tormented and uncomfortable in the wee hours of the morning. You knew just what you wanted, and that was to be rocked. I slung you over my shoulder and rock we did. Anytime I would slow the rocking to see if you had drifted back to sleep, you’d begin to squirm and protest with a very matter-of-fact, “No, mommy. Rock.”

So rock on we did.

My back ached from the weight of your now 30lb+ body, you coughed unabashedly into my face, you drooled and snotted generously on my shoulder, you kept me from my own slumber, and yet, the touch of your fingers gripping my arm, your face, like a puzzle piece, fitting perfectly into the crook of my neck, and your low  snore of content kept my body in motion.

That’s what parenthood is. That tension. That paradox. That conflicted emotion. It’s simultaneously complex and yet wonderfully simple being your mommy.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It’s been a month of ever-developing make-believe and imagination. You’ve discovered an adoration of Legos and revel in building trains and boats and towers with your blocks. You especially love when Daddy makes you Lego thrones for your Elmo, primarily for the joy of playing Godzilla Sunny and destroying his creations.

The Legos have helped you better discern colors, which has intensified your love of the color blue. You see blue anything and want it. Immediately. You will now only wear your blue coat, and you want to hold your blue legos, and if you see anything in the grocery aisle with the shade of cerulean, lord knows it’s winding up in the cart.

It’s difficult to resist your demands, as they’ve become increasingly confident and assured. You have learned more and more how to advocate for your desires, and while it has enhanced communication, it has also opened the gate to disagreement. We can no longer easily trick you into doing what we want. There is more discussion, explanation, reasoning. And yet, you are still on the brink of toddlerdom, and thus the furthest thing from a rational being. I imagine that this is what life will feel like when you are 15 and revert back to behaving as a completely irrational creature. Only the demands will be for midriff clothing and unchaperoned vacations in Cancun rather than permanent markers and glass drinking cups.  Unfortunately, it won’t be so easy to simply hoist you into my arms and remove you from the situation.

But, girl, your mommy is 6 feet tall. So never underestimate my abilities in that regard.

Our trip to Florida this month was of great success, as you not only got to spend time with your grandparents and uncle, but you were exposed to a myriad of new critters and experiences, including a very soggy air boat ride that required special noise-canceling head gear. Of course, your most favorite activity involved swimming and learning the meaning of the term “cannon ball.” Oh how you loved nothing more than demanding that mommy and daddy “Cammom Baah!” It never got old, and your daddy and I relived a favorite childhood experience of leaping and splashing in the pool. Nor did we tire of your refusal to use the number 4 when you’d count us in for our jumps. It was either 1,2,3,5! or 1,2,3,5,8,9! But, hey! Counting! That’s progress in and of itself.

My favorite memory from the trip was the day that we took you to the beach. It was a breezy day, so we had the area to ourselves. Daddy and I plopped down on one of many empty sets of beach chairs while you raced around, picking up shovels, splashing in the water, running through the sand. You strayed further from us than is typical to explore holes, and shadows, and beach toys scattered around the area. I began to get nervous, having you that far from my immediate reach, but your daddy reassured me:

Let her go. Let her have this time. We’re right here if she needs us.

So on the beach we sat. Daddy and I, holding hands, basking in the light of our first-born as you explored your own world.

Happy 22 months, Sunshine.

143 Mama

Annoyance.

I am having a “day.”

The sinus pressure is still raging. But what’s new! We’re going on day 8 of Operation: Bash Ashley’s Brain Against Her Skull.

And, to add insult to injury, I was spoken to in a manner that is entirely unacceptable, except, I don’t have a penis, so in this person’s mind, it was entirely appropriate to be degrading and rude. Worse, if I kick up a fuss, I’ll be accused of being “sensitive and hormonal.”

Women can’t win, y’all. Either we roll over like dogs when men demoralize us, or we’re called irrational bitches.

I’m going to go ahead an envision myself here. Because that seems like a happy, glorious place to be.

Also, I want every, single one of these photographs in my home. Immediately.

Okay, maybe not the one’s with the bloody bandaids and death scenes, but ya know, any of these whimsical ones.

Photo Credit: Lissy Elle Photography

Obsession.

My daughter smelled like a dirty gym sock today.

Fact.

She awoke from a second night of feverish sweats. And smelled like a foot.

Despite a 105 degree fever, she refused to sleep without her precious double layered fleece blanket draped across her entire person AND face. I blame James, he-wh0-sleeps-with-a-pillow-ON-his-face-rather-than-UNDER-his-head.

So Foot Girl we had.

Good news? Her fever is now low grade rather than bat shit crazy (i.e. the kind that makes her mother run around the house screaming that WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE! while James calmly pulls out the Pediatric Telephone Guide and assures me otherwise).

My sinuses are still treating my head as though it were a bowling ball that revels in slamming repeatedly against my skull, which, apparently, is a proverbial set of bowling pins. No amount of neti-potting and vapo-steaming and “milking of glands” and eating of garlic and lying on tennis balls (I kid you not) has provided much relief.

The things I do for you, Sesame Seed.

However, something magical has entered my life, and is providing much DISTRACTION from my throbbing brain.

Adobe Lightroom.

See ya later, Photoshop. YOU SUCKER!

I have Brittany over at Barefootfoodie to thank on numerous levels for introducing this glorious photo editing software to my life.

And I can’t quit. I am hooked. And I honestly have no idea what I doing. I keep clicking buttons and downloading presets and engaging in the most brilliant time suck I have ever experienced in my 27 years of life.

CHECK THIS SHIT OUT!

And on that note, I’m off to pound a pint of Ben & Jerry’s fro-yo and indulge this new obsession further.

Fabric Patterns

A proper DIY! Potentially the first in over a month. That is pathetic, I realize. But we’re going to go ahead and blame pregnancy and the marathon cold that has been affecting my state in the world.

No more excuses! On to today’s DIY!

I have some super basic circle scarves lying around the house as a result from last year’s DIY Circle Scarf post. I decided that it was time to spruce ’em up. Give ’em a lil jazz! What better way than with some fabric paint and triangle stencils made using wax paper, eh?

Materials:
Circle scarf (see DIY here) or any cotton scarf/fabric
Iron and ironing board
Wax paper or Freezer paper
X-acto knife
Fabric paint
Paint brush

Directions:
1. Make your circle scarf! Duh!

2. Measure out the length of one side of your circle scarf, and cut two sheets of wax paper accordingly.

3. Decide what pattern you’d like to have on your scarf, and using an X-acto knife, cut out the shapes/pattern on the wax paper. As you can see, I went with triangles. If you’re doing a more complex shape, you might want to trace out your design first!

3. Once the pattern is cut out for one side of the circle scarf, lay the scarf on an ironing board, insert a piece of wax paper between the two sides of the scarf, and lay the cut-out pattern down on the top of the fabric. The sheet between the two sides will prevent the paint from bleeding onto the other side.

4. Iron the wax paper down onto the fabric. Magical, huh?

5. Using the fabric paint in the color of your choice, paint the pattern onto the fabric.

6. Allow the paint to dry, and peel away the wax paper.

7. Voila! Look at that pattern! Now just repeat the same steps on the other side of the scarf.

8. Once the paint is dry, rock that scarf with its new edginess. Or with your preggo-belly! Whatever your fancy, really.

Photos: Courtesy of Ashley Weeks Cart

Thought.

I want her to feel well enough to play with her blocks so contentedly. To confuse the word “on” and “off.” To demand the “blue” version of everything and anything. To refuse to count using the number four (1-2-3-5!). To ask, “Mommy play blocks! Daddy make airplane!” To not toss and turn in puddles of her sweat as she battles a raging fever. To not cry out in the middle of a sound sleep due to aches and pains.

I want to absorb all the yuck so that she can go back to being our Sunshine, without all the sick baggage.

Annoyance.

We’re down with the sickness (or should I say STILL down with the sickness as we never seem to fully recover before moving on to the next cold or bug). I’m laid out with a sinus infection that hurts so much even my molars ache, while Sunny has 104 degree fever. That leaves James stuck tending to his needy pack of women. Ursa and Hanna included.

The upside of all this snot and restless sleep? The family snuggling.

Family of Four.

The thought of starting a family is overwhelming. Period.

The thought of welcoming a second child into the family is comparably overwhelming, but for very different reasons.

In many ways, it’s easier. More relaxed. There is less anxiety the second time around.  I’m not shocked by the changes happening in and to my body. Instead of spending hours pouring through maternity books, I’ve paged through a handful in a halfhearted effort to refresh my memory. I know what I want for my labor and delivery, and thanks to first hand experience, am more aware of the things I will advocate more strongly for or let go by the second time around. I’m armed with all of the “equipment” (i.e. STUFF) that I could possibly need for postpartum life with baby. The swing, the nursing bras, the breast pump, the nipple shields, the burp cloths, the belly band, the onesies, the breast pads, the baby carriers, the Boppy, the rocking chair, the swaddling blankets, and, most importantly, a healthy dose of experience and perspective.

I’m also so very aware that I cannot control this process, or control the events of my delivery, so I’m not wasting as much energy trying to control my body and this baby through education and research. I’m keeping myself healthy through food, exercise, sleep and relaxation. Beyond that, I’m trying not to impose undue stress on myself and our family worrying about every little detail of the experience.

On the flip side, I worry every day about how I will be a mother to two. I feel like I am finally getting a handle on mothering one, and now we’re about to welcome a total wild card into the mix.

Before conceiving The Sesame Seed, I stressed about whether or not I wanted to have more children. I knew intellectually that I did. Not only do James and I adore being parents, but we both recognize the absolute beauty of growing up with siblings. Our parents each gave us the greatest gift in the world by bringing siblings into our families, and we could not imagine not giving the same to Addison.

And yet…

How could I possibly have the energy to mother two children well, when I find myself struggling for reserves with just one? How could there possibly be room in my heart to love TWO people with the same fervor and intensity with which I love Sunny?

My mother keeps reminding me that although it may seem impossible, you just do. Your heart doesn’t make room, it just expands and grows in ways you could never imagine. I don’t have to give up any of my heart that is filled with love for Addison to make room for a second baby, but rather understand that my heart will grow an entirely new capacity for loving her sibling.

I have to trust my mom and every other parent to multiple children that affirm her sentiment.

What has been most overwhelming has been my worry about how Addison will adjust to life with a brother or sister. When I say she is the center of our Universe, she is really and truly the center of our Universe, and her grandparents’, and her aunt’s, and our friends’, and all those that share in her life. She gets their undivided attention and love, and we give it easily and willingly.

That will not be the case when the Sesame Seed joins the household. And I worry. Will she be resentful? Jealous? Hurt? Will she stop being the sweet and caring little girl because we throw her life into total turmoil? And what if I can’t balance two, and she gets pushed aside? And I’m not able to help her process this immense change? What will happen to my precious firstborn?

I can’t help but ache for her in the transition she is about to face, and can only hope that James and I have the wherewithal to help her through it.

But then, there are these glimpses of the absolute magic that we are about to experience as she becomes a big sister. We’ve begun trying to explain my ever-growing belly to her, and with that, I see why, despite all these worries, bringing another child into our household is one of the best decisions James and I could make for our family.

Yesterday, we lay on our bed, hands draped across my belly, feeling the baby squirm and move around as a family of four. James leaned over and kissed my stomach and said “Hi, Baby,” and Sunny, without missing a beat, did likewise.

My eyes are welling with tears just reliving the magic of that moment. Of that sweetness.

She is already the most incredible older sister. The Sesame Seed has no idea how lucky s/he is.

Sunshine.

To think a week ago we were spending our days playing in the pool.

1-2-3-5!!

We have an aversion to the number 4, apparently.

Marriage.

Me: Ew. Oh. My. God. WHY DIDN’T YOU GIVE ME A COURTESY WARNING?!

Him: What? What are you talking about?

Me: You farted. And it smells. Bad.

Him: No I didn’t.

Me: YES YOU DID! <fanning sheets in his general direction> See?

Him: Yeah, but that was like 2 minutes ago.

Me: So? I still deserved a warning that it would be hibernating and dutch ovening under our covers. That was an unfair sneak attack.

Him: I…

Me: Out. Get out. I can’t sleep in a double bed, pregnant, with a 6 foot flatulent bedmate that doesn’t even provide courtesy fart warnings.

Him: We need to get that King bed, huh?

Me: Yeah, like yesterday.

Him: Alright, I’ll be in the guest room.

Me: I’m calling you if Addison wakes up in the middle of the night.

Him: I know. You’ll call if you need a goddamn tissue…

Me: What?

Him: Nothing. <puts his phone on silent>

Ain’t marriage a glamorous, romantic thing? If you’re considering ending your marriage, it’s important to understand the Utah divorce process to handle the legal details more effectively.