The Little Pack

My day started with poop. Not poop in a diaper where it belongs but poop shooting out of my son’s butt during the first diaper change of the day. There was no warning, just poop shooting quite literally everywhere. All over me, all over him and the changing table, and the towel I had covering the changing table. Clearly his jammies got covered and needed to be changed. Jackson got scared and hid and Cheyenne felt the need to be involved. Hubby’s solution was to throw about a thousand wipes towards the Little One’s butt. Then after he ate he pooped again and it shot up his back, so jammies #2 were covered with poop. Meanwhile he slept a little later than normal and my boob was ready to explode–it was backed up to my neck (that’s not really an exaggeration) so I tried to pump but didn’t have the pieces together exactly right and milk got all over my clothes… And now I just found a fruit fly that drowned in my coffee. Awesome. But truly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Before I was a mom, I never knew that going an average of 3 days between showers would seem reasonable. For that matter, I never knew that I would view the most basic of personal hygiene tasks, like showering or flossing or god forbid even visiting the restroom as victories instead of simple tasks. I didn’t know that a ponytail and pair of oversized sunglasses perched on top of my head even in pouring down rain would become my best friends. And that I would trick myself into believing a necklace could make my hair look better on the days when the last shower I took was closer to 4 days ago. Which, seriously? That doesn’t even make logical sense. Do I really think these things are drawing attention away from the oil slick on my head, the bags under my eyes or the dried spit up all over my clothes? › Continue reading

Its been nearly 6 months and I still miss IO so much. I am often still moved to tears when I think of her and she visits my dreams frequently. No doubt that I will miss her for the rest of my life. This picture was taken during the last days of her life and shows how she never lost her happy spirit.

The Little One arrived in July. We had chosen to be surprised about the sex of the baby. After 18 hours of labor and falling asleep between pushes, I finally heard my husband exclaim with awe and wonder in his voice, “Oh my God, its a baby.” Ok, well, I knew that part. And then, finally, “It’s a boy.” After what seemed like an eternity of silence, my little boy started screaming. And screaming. First relief. They put him on my chest and I was crying and laughing with tears of absolute joy. And he still screamed. And then panic set in when I realized I had no idea how to make him stop. And then I started talking to him. I told him that we had waited for him for so long and were so happy to finally meet him. I told him we loved him and that it was all right. And somehow in the midst of all this, he heard my voice and looked into my eyes and I swear it was like he recognized me. It was a moment of oh there you are and as though he felt relief, that he knew he was safe and home. He grabbed onto my finger and it was the single greatest moment of my life. For the first several weeks I was so intoxicated with him. I just wanted to touch him and smell him and hold him. And now he smiles. And my heart stops every time. Every single time. It is the best thing I have ever felt. And so with that, I have become that person whose whole life is her baby with nothing else to talk about. So cliche, and there is a reason why it’s cliche. Because nothing else matters.

Baby Titten survived the 14 hour trip to my parents and is making herself at home. She has all ready claimed the bed as her own, banishing the other cat to be content underneath it, and complaining when she was asked to move. I miss her but I know that she will be well loved and taken care of in her new house. So its official: we now have a mini pack: Jackson, Cheyenne, and Archie. Everyone is beginning to adjust.