Blog a la Cart

Here you can see their differences, despite the matching outfits.

But man, they have identical button noses. <squeal!>

This was too good not to share here, even though it’s already made the social media rounds.

The resemblance between the girls is striking in this pairing, no? They’re both around 12 weeks old in each photo.

People have pointed out that James doesn’t age. I’m aspiring to be quite the cougar in 20 years.

This coat is to die for. Thanks, Momar! Outer apparel is THE best part of returning to life in New England. I missed cool weather accessories. In fact, I purchased that hat for Sunny the day I was offered the job to move back east. So pleased that it still fits.

{Coat: Tuff Cookie; Skirt: GAP; Shoes: OshKosh B’Gosh; Tights: Target;
Hat: Handmade by a street vendor in Los Angeles}

I read this while perched atop a public toilet, dress hiked up to my chin, breastfeeding Courtland as she simultaneously drooled and pooped in my lap.

I cried and cried. It stung with beauty and truth.

I feel honored everyday to call myself a parent. It’s an incredible privilege. The most humbling and incredible privilege I know.

Full text here. It’s worth reading the slew of comments, too. Primarily from men. Fathers. Relating similar feelings.

So James isn’t the only rockstar dad out there, eh? ;)

As an adult, you may think you’ve roughly mapped the continent of love and relationships. You’ve loved your parents, a few of your friends, eventually a significant other. You have some tentative cartography to work with from your explorations. You form ideas about what love is, its borders and boundaries. Then you have a child, look up to the sky, and suddenly understand that those bright dots in the sky are whole other galaxies.

You can’t possibly know the enormity of the feelings you will have for your children. It is absolutely fucking terrifying.

When I am holding Henry and I tickle him, I can feel him laughing all the way to his toes. And I realize, my God, I had forgotten, I had completely forgotten how unbelievably, inexplicably wonderful it is that any of us exist at all. Here I am with this tiny, warm body so close to me, breathing so fast he can barely catch up, sharing his newfound joy of simply being alive with me. The sublime joy of this moment, and all the other milestones – the first smile, the first laugh, the first “dada” or “mama”, the first kiss, the first time you hold hands. The highs are so incredibly high that you’ll get vertigo and wonder if you can ever reach that feeling again. But you peak ever higher and higher, with dizzying regularity. Being a new parent is both terrifying and exhilarating, a constant rollercoaster of extreme highs and lows.

via dooce

Oh yeah, it’s happening. The 11 week old is now big enough to don apparel that I would dare deem fashionable. So much for onesies and footsies! Apparently Courtland wanted her own style posts like big sister.

She appeared in this outfit thanks to James, and I about fell over. Not because he’d done such a stylish job dressing our baby, but rather because this dress is a size 9-12 months.

Yep, we make ‘em big chez Cart.

{Dress: Kate Quinn Organics ; Leggings & Shoes: GAP}

The light is TERRIBLE in these photos – but I caught both the duck-billed platypus look AND the smiles. I had to share.

I could watch moments like this for days. They have no idea how lucky they are to have one another.

But one day, they will. Kimmy and I can attest to that.

I’m obsessed with this baby.

As it should be.

I hope that I raise my daughters to be as bad-ass, thoughtful, and empowered as this 11-year old.

Way to call it like it is, Ruby. Take back Halloween, kid.

For more pictures of our trip, and general photo-documenting of our life, give me a follow on Instagram. I’m hooked. It’s great nurse session entertainment. I don’t know why I resisted the calling for so long.

Probably because I’m now buried in my phone, editing images on 3-4 photo apps, all day long. This shit is straight up addicting. And all those $0.99 purchases are eventually going to add up.

Curse you, Apple! You’re my tennis ball.

If you know our bat shit crazy retriever Ursa, you’ll understand why that metaphor is so powerful.

Anyway, South Carolina is pretty gorgeous, no?