A Public Declaration. . . with one teeny-tiny exemption. . .

Pregnancy brings a lot of soul-searching.  It's inevitable.  By number three pregnancy, just a short time after number two pregnancy, it seems like old hat.  Only every child deserves their own period of wonderment, special moments of planning and agonizing over names, nursery bedding and coming home outfit.  I do think that pregnancy also brings searching for how this child shall come into this world, or how the parents hope the child comes into the world barring any unforeseen complications.

I have referenced my attempts of being a more hippy, natural, granola mom.  But my previous two births have been pretty standard American fare--in a hospital, epidural, one an induction.  I've done a lot of thinking, a lot of researching and this time, this final time, I hope that this boy can come into this world without an epidural.  I've secretly wanted a medication-free birth forever, but never thought I had the strength to pull it off (or out, for an inappropriate reference).

Then there was Brooklyn's labor.  The one where I checked into the hospital at 9:21 and she was delivered at 10:59.  I got the epidural, yep, sure did.  But the thing is, I got that epidural when I was probably at 9cm, when the goal was 10cm.  It felt like hell.  I looked at Stephanie in a moment of raw pain and said, "I can't do this." But I survived.  Partially because of the epidural, partly because it was fast, but mostly it's because that's what women have been doing for centuries.  I am well-aware that there is no award for forgoing pain-relief in labor.  I am well-aware most people will think I've lost my sensible mind.  That's okay.  I just need my husband, my Stephanie and my doctor and lots of relaxation practice on my side.  It really helps that time is on my side.  Evidently, labors get faster with successive pregnancies AND labors get faster with closely spaced pregnancies.  I am fairly certain we should all just be praying that I'm not on the news for Chris delivering the baby in the car.

So there you have it: a public declaration of my insanity intent to have a medication-free birth.*

(*Please note the exclusionary clause for inductions.  I will be the first to say that Pitocin=epidural.)

Freedom of Speech?

There is an unspoken horror to being pregnant.  It is the freedom with which people choose to comment on your size, the baby's name, how you should parent, and on an on.

This week?  The receptionist at my OB's office said in confusion, "You're not due until September?! And it's just one?  Hey, Suzie--Look, she's not due until September!"   A parent of patient said something along the lines of, "That baby is really growing! I'm surprised you're still getting around so well!"

Both times, I stuttered and stammered to explain that's what happens when you're pregnant with your third child  only 7 months after your second.  I'm not good on the spot.

Take away lessons:
*Only comment on announced pregnancies--nothing worse that being asked when baby is due when baby is 4 months old.
*The ONLY acceptable comment to someone's pregnant belly is, "You look GREAT."r

Lessons from the Beauty School

So you know I'm thrifty.  Frugal? Cheap?  It's true.  So when I had my second child, I broke up with my fancy hair guy.  I have taken on our local hair academy, which is no easy task.  No hair disaster, but I did learn a few things today (if you are one of the 3 people who follow my Twitter feed, this will be like deja vu):

*Number 1: Time is not money.  For if it was, a basic hair cut would not take 2 hours.


*Number 2: Neck and upper back tattoos, and maybe a sleeve, really probably help cutting precision.


*Number 3: Acid washed jeans are making a comeback. It scares me.  I feel about them the way my most must have felt about bell bottoms. 


*Number 4: The 20 year old student asked how I style my hair. 15 year age difference evident in the confusion on my face.


*Number 5: All jeans should be tight on your arse. I mean seriously skin tight.  Maybe it helps them remain upright all day?


*Number 6: Head-only practice mannequins are creeptastic. And they stare at you.


*Number 7:Don't panic when the student stylist tells instructor she's never done that cut before.  Or when she fails to even tell you her name.  I'm sure it's just because she's concentrating.


*Number 8: I am old. Old and definitely not trendy. AND I'm okay with that.

Spaghetti! . . . and Watermelon?

My baby loves to eat.  Everything (except sour milk).  Seriously, the girl shovels food into her mouth by the handful.  I hope her "high metabolism" sticks around if her appetite remains on track.  The week?  Spaghetti.  Those eyes of hers are killer, and despite the fact that she sucks her bottom lip in, it is actually quite full.  I am a mom, which is confirmed by staring at my child in awe, amazed by her perfection.  I also figured I'd have a passel of brown-eyed kids, so to have a child with startlingly blue eyes is mesmerizing to me.

What?  Do I have something on my face?

Watermelon and spaghetti?  Why yes, those do go together.

This is her raspberry face.  She's good at making that noise.  

Another Moment of Parenting Excellence

There are moments when, as a parent, you kind of pat yourself on the back with self-congratulatory pride. Mostly those aren't the ones that make the blog.  So please know that the majority of the time, my parenting is full of moments inspiring confidence, creating joy, blah, blah, blah.

Brooklyn's now a year old, so bottles got the boot. Only by Sunday I was convinced she was in full-on protest mode--refusing milk from her cup.  This resulted in throwing said cup over her shoulder and a protesting squawk.  Ack!  My baby is little--she needs those calories.  I even contemplated going back to bottles.  Yes.  I said it.  I considered giving in.

I anted up on Sunday and did the unthinkable.  I smelled the milk.    Brooklyn wasn't protesting the absence of bottles from her life.  Turns out, she doesn't like sour milk.  Oops.  And that was my dose of reality for the day.

I.  Am.  Awesome.

This is my baby girl downing some serious milk after a two-day hiatus, courtesy of her very observant parents.

One. 12 Months. One Party.

I have no idea how it happened, but my sweet baby girl turned one this week.  Like every cliche in history says, they grow up so fast--only it's really true.   Promise.  I guess that's why it's a cliche?  So we had a shin-dig for the birthday girl. . .who was horrified.  She needed lots of mommy-time, but the sweet taste of cake made up for the swarms of people around her.

Not every parent can say their child is a ray of sunshine, but I can with Brooklyn.  Fiesty?  Not really.  She wakes with a smile and that good humor is typically only interrupted if she's not fed quickly enough--girlfriend has quite the appetite.  20 pounds?  Nope.  Not yet.  I'm guessing 17ish?  No one can make her laugh like her big brother.  Walking?  Nah.  Her cautious spirit just isn't ready for that quite yet.  Talking?  Not lots, but she does sign eat, all done, say "up" and wave hi.  All on her own terms, mind you.

It's been a wild ride, this being a working mom of two wee ones, but I can't imagine life without Brooklyn.  I only worry that her sweet, sweet spirit will be out shadowed by the boys that will sandwich her through life.  I'm guessing with the crystal clear blue eyes, dimple and scrunched nose smile that Chris is right--we'd better start preparing for boyfriends now.

Now for the cuteness.

Toot-Toot* Tutorial (Tutu to those not familiar with 3-year old speak)

I'm getting ready for the one-year old's birthday.  She's a big girl who will be awash in sparkles and customized shirts, banners and such and will have no.idea.  That's the thing about birthday parties for babies.  It's really just a chance for parents to show-off their kids or something.  We will also use it as an excuse to have adult bevvies and ladder golf in the backyard.  Don't judge.  It's just how we roll. 

BUT, I've turned out my crafty side to made a super-cute tutu for Brook-Brook and I am going to give a little how-to.  I don't sew, so I need easy-peasy.  So here goes:

Get some rolls of tulle.  I got mine at Hobby Lobby on a 50% off sale--score!

Cut the tulle into little squares.  You'll have to play around a bit to get the right length--I think this piece ended up being a bit short.

 Get one of those $.99 baby headbands (I also got this at Hobby Lobby).  Double the tulle and pull it through the little holes by looping it through.

 Here's an in-progress picture.  I used an empty oatmeal cannister to give it form.

Here's the mostly finished product.  I'm pretty excited about the cuteness in this pic. 

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We are Party Animals (Or Celebrating Five Years)

Last weekend, we had officially been married five years.  Five long, but really very fast, years.  It's complicated.  So last night, Chris and I trotted off for a mini-vacation in our next-door city.  We got a fab deal on a B&B and we were kind of like rockstars.  You know, if rockstars just liked to eat at delicious places and were back in their rooms by 8:30 hanging out, having wine on a balcony and reading on the Kindle.  Everyone celebrates at their own rate, so there.  Today we finished up a ride on the McKinney trolley cars--ours was made in 1913, a trip to an uber-chichi mall and forever drive to pick up our children, who I only called to talk/check-on approximately six times in 24 hours.   It was pretty glorious, I can't lie.

From top left:  Wild About Harry's frozen custard amazingness, Chris playing Elvis at the toy store, dinner at Si Tapas, our B&B and the amazing sky as storms blew in.

From top left:  Dallas skyline, a fun building, inside the trolley car x2, my feet chillaxin' on the trolley, boys in the Gayborhood, Uptown Station stop, Chris' ring on the trolley, Gloria's! and vintage ad located around the top of the trolley.

Is this Acceptable?

Remember how I said I was determined to not buy any more maternity clothing items?  I think I lied.  But I need your advice, dear readers. 

Fat girl+maternity shorts+Texas in the summer=????

Is it totally wrong?  I mean, mostly for wearing around the house, playing in the backyard and walking my 'hood.  Now to find some that don't cost a fortune. . . at least, if I get the thumbs-up. . .

We DID Have Easter. . .

I just forgot to blog about it.  I'm not sure what this says about me.  There was a lot of cuteness, so here ya' go:

Brooklyn had her own lunch on the grass while we were waiting for Glammy & Poppy to get home from church.

The pouting face.  I call it his duck face.  

I love that they are both looking the same way.

Ell wouldn't sit for a pic with Mommy.  Brooklyn was corralled but not happy about it.

Manny & Griffin love.

Best shot o' the day.  Griffin and Poppy.

We tried to get a group grandkid shot.  Griffin wasn't having it.

Sit next to?  Sit on?  They're the same, right?

Sibling love here.  

Uncle Ben & G$