The Little Pack

While I have been gushing about my son, Cheyenne has been… well, Cheyenne and doing the types of things that only Cheyenne does. See, Cheyenne has always thought that she is a baby. The real baby’s appearance has thrown her for a loop. Don’t get me wrong, she loves the baby, but she is a bit disappointed to discover that she is not human after all. She is still trying to convince herself otherwise but deep down is the truth she can’t deny: she is actually a dog. Yet this is not stopping her from stealing the baby’s blankets and burp clothes and curling up with them as if her proximity to them will somehow make her more human. And then yesterday, I caught her playing with one the baby’s toys. Not a stuffed animal, but a toy that stands up and whirls around. She was pawing at it to make it go around. I saw the look on her face and it clearly said, well, maybe if I just test this out, they will carry me around like that and sing to me and rock me…

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Baby Boy is obsessed, I mean OBSESSED, with rolling over. Anytime he is on his back, he instantly flips over. Which means he now rolls over to sleep on his belly. Which means I have to trust that he will turn his head to the side and remember to breathe. Which means that I am barely sleeping a wink because I am checking on him so often. Which I completely realize sounds obsessed and absolutely asinine. I’ve at least improved from the night that I insisted on flipping him onto his back repeatedly and neither of us got any sleep. The worst part is that I know if I was listening to someone else saying these exact words I would be thinking Wow. What. A. Freak. Get a grip. Of course if he’s strong enough to roll over he will be just fine. But that was all before it was MY baby and logic disappeared. › Continue reading

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.