It’s 8:00am, Sunday morning. Joe is out of town. Noah and Lucy are still sleeping, Quinn and Larkin are watching cartoons. 

Last night, after nearly a full week of managing Lucy’s second round with a tummy bug in under four weeks, Larkin stood in the kitchen and began heaving the contents of her tummy all over the floor. She’d also already had a turn with the stomach flu in the last four weeks, making her my second kid to have a second wave. 

After already having a challenging week coping with the reality of constantly sick kids, feeling sorry for myself and in the throes of winter despair, last night undid me. I slid into total defeat. My “sorry for myself” amplified to soul-splitting levels as I mopped up the floor and scrubbed the puke bowl clean for the millionth time. 

And then? I gave up. I finally gave up. That tense feeling of waiting and wishing it was different— the anger that this was happening...the self-pity—- it faded into background noise as I confronted the very real and immediate issue of how to handle a 2-year-old pukebomb who could go off at any time, wherever she might be. And we all know that 2-year olds don’t hit the bowl without help. I kicked into pure survival mode and prepped the couch for her to watch a cartoon (sheet-covered, old towels under that and around the floor, a bench with her puke bowl and a little bit of water for sipping). I then marched upstairs and prepped her bedroom for potential battle: mattress covered in towels, towels on the floor, extra toys removed (but lovey and fave blanket remained, because sick babies deserve comfort, even when the thought of things getting puked on makes me cringe hard). 

For the first time (I’m sheepish to admit it took this long), I finally LEANED IN. Rolled up my sleeves and accepted that this is my life. This, right this minute, is my life. It is what it is. I cannot change that Joe is out of town and snow is on the ground outside and two of my four kids are actively contagious with vomit germs. I am here and I cannot wish it away. And so I just leaned in. My peripheral vision narrowed until all I could see what what needed to be done right then to make my girls comfortable and to make any potential cleanup as easy as possible. My job wasn’t to wish we were back in those nostalgic days where no one was sick and the trees had leaves on them and all of us liked being outside and healthy. My job was to just HANDLE IT, whatever “it” turned out to be.

And it was okay. Not great: Larkin did in fact vomit again, at midnight, in her crib. But I was watching the monitor and heard a tell-tale cough before it began and was fast enough to make it to her room to hold her over the bowl. And it was a teeny amount. And she was calm and ready to lay right back down to try to sleep again. 

I didn’t get enough sleep: every time Lucy stirred, I worried she was going to have a repeat of yesterday morning where she kept leaning over her bowl with the urge to vomit, not sleeping... just waiting. And in fact, at 5:45 I woke to the adrenaline-inducing sound of her heaving into her bowl, as I’d worried about. After nearly 24 hours not puking— even eating a normal dinner— she had a lot to put into her bowl, and I had another gross clean-up/scrub to do. So tired. 

But it was okay. I handled the night and we’re all okay and any mess was mostly contained. 

And even though today is only day 2 of Joe’s 4-day absence, and even though two of my four are actively still in the 24-post puke window of potential contagion (and probably more than that... we’re probably just totally diseased and contagious on every surface of our own persons and this whole house. I can’t freak out about it anymore. ACCEPTANCE.)... even though this is not how I wanted my life to look right now (I fantasize about playing outside and about decluttering projects and about sewing summer dresses for the girls and about open windows and laying on quilts outside in the shade reading books) I am here. I’ve accepted that this is what life is today. Puke bowls and old towels and staying home from church and needing a shower and watching too many cartoons. 

And in honor of this feeling of defeat/acceptance this morning, I have some candles lit for “hygge”. The cute little diffuser is wafting out comforting essential oils. My Valentine tulips from Joe are bringing a piece of Spring to my house. There’s a bottle of Vitamin D supplements right there next to the flowers— I’ve only been taking them for 2 days, but I think they’re helping— and I’m listening to piano music on Alexa as I do a tiny bit of cross-stitching. Larkin and Quinn are watching (too many) cartoons and Lucy and Noah are still sleeping and we probably have more vomit ahead... but this is my life. I give up. And in giving up, I actually feel looser, lighter, and better. Sometimes maybe being defeated simply means we release our stubborn will and wishing, and only then can we soften enough to accept and let go. 

(Now, to try to keep this state of mind until my partner in crime returns.)

(I wish it didn’t take my stubborn heart so long to learn lessons. And then forget them and have to learn them again. And again.)

Through My Doorways

As I was moving through my home one day, puttering and tidying, something made me pause a moment in the hall by my bedroom and I looked into a doorway I walk into and out of all the time. And this time, instead of looking past the familiar, I looked AT it. Just stood and looked. And I realized that if I let myself, I could really love what I was seeing. The story being told in this one frame. How my husband has loved and collected Legos for as long as I've known him, and this dressertop has become a magical place where all his favorite sets get to stay. The bookshelf that holds the miscellany of books we read to the kids when we're all piled in our bed together and the books the kids thumb through when they have Quiet Time in our room. The "Bordeaux" sign I got Joe for a wedding gift becuase it was where he served his mission. The funny photos in the frame that used to hang in our entryway, but that I took down when we had Larkin, since her photo wouldn't fit in the 5-hole frame. A hastily-taped up Father's Day card to Joe from Quinn.Random catchall piles. A carpet needing vacuuming. 

All of this so commonplace to me that I mostly never really stop to notice anymore.  But in this moment, it was sweet to me. It softened my heart and reminded me of how infinite the blessings really are in my life. So I decided, right then, to go get my camera and stand in as many doorways in my home as possible. No tidying, no waiting for a good moment...just a pause in each doorframe and a photograph. So here, on a lowkey November afternoon, are some peeks through my doorways.

Through the doorway into the guest room:

Our guestroom has also been Noah's Lego workspace for a year now. He saved and saved and saved last year for that massive Minecraft Lego set on the card table, and was able to buy it for his birthday back in 2017. It was so big and complex that we set up the table in here for him to build it, and for it to have a home for awhile so he could enjoy the set. he has since added three-ish additional small Minecraft sets to accompany the big one, and while he loves sitting here to play, his absolute favorite thing to do with Legos, it turns out, is to commandeer the leftover bits and spare parts from every set and make robots and drones and weapons and other imagination inventions, all teeeeeeeny tiny, and make them the star of his playtimes. So funny! To have the huge sets, but love the teeniest bits best. 

Through the doorway into the kids' bunkroom: 

I took these photos during Thanksgiving break, and the night before, I mentioned to them that if they made their bed each morning, I'd give them a dime each time. Something about that shiny dime really inspired them, and my kids made their beds every morning for over a week before sputtering out and losing the habit. I should remind them again that the dime offer still stands. Ha ha!  We also had time earlier in the day before this photo to do some room-tidying. It truly almost NEVER looks this nice, so it was a really neat treat to happen upon a tidy room when I had my camera in hand. Also, unavoidable self-portrait here. Dang mirror doors.

Kids' Room, closeup of other side:

Looking pretty tidy here, too. Hooray! Not shown: the pile of dressups tucked against the wall the door frame is in. Conveniently easy to omit from this shot. 

Through the doorway into the dining room:

Our cheerful yellow walls that still have patching putty spots that never got painted over. Oh well. A moon that has a remote control to light it up into phases like crescent, quarter and full. Salt and pepper shakers up on the windowsill to keep them away from Larkin. Little plastic pig figurines on the windowsill for the Bad Manners Pig initiative at mealtimes (if you display bad manners at the table, a parent can bestow the Bad Manners Pig upon you. If someone else makes a manners error, then the pig goes to them. Last person to have the Bad Manners Pig has to clear the entire table at the end of dinner. We almost never play this game. But the pigs are there just in case we need to.) And Larkin's half-finished Happy Meal, abandoned. I make zero apologies for the occasional Happy Meals we bring home. 

Through the doorway, into the Photo Room:

Part playroom, part office, part music room, this front room recently got a cheerful update in the form of that beautiful red bench Fiona is sleeping on. I have NO ROOM for more furniture in my home, but when I walked past this bench at the fall Vintage Market Days, I fell so completely in love. It's so cute in its proportions, and the red color is perfection. The seat is a dark walnut color. I kept walking past and telling myself I had NO ROOM for new furniture in my home. But I went home that evening and walked around my house, and decided that if I had to, I would sell or store my little yellow school desk that has been in this spot since we moved here five years ago. And VOILA-- I now had a space for the red bench. Woooo!! And now, a couple of months later, I have NO regrets. Clearly, neither does Fiona. 

 

Through the doorway, into the Photo Room, detail shot:

Quilts and dolls and a glaring kitty. (Don't take my picture. Harrumph.)

 

Through the doorway into the living room:

Look closely and you'll see three Southerland kiddos. Can you name that movie? Also, laundry baskets are always here behind the couch. At least one is empty?? Also, Quinn loves those red pants, and somehow always tries to pair them with that orange shirt. Yikes. Oh well. It's a cute detail I'll laugh at someday. I still hate these curtains, but they are NAILED IN, like, needing a CROWBAR to remove, so I continue to just live with them. It's all good. I spy #melaniequilt. 

Through the doorway into the kitchen pts. 1 and 2: 

Peekaboo, Lucy. ♥

*

It's simple. We have abundance and light. We just have to remember to see it. Really see it. I love my home. I love the people populating my home. And I love when I remember to say THANK YOU to all that I am blessed with.

Only Love Today: Freewriting About the NOW

At the beginning of this year, I landed on the idea that, instead of a full year's resolution, I would instead try for a monthly "focus". For someone as wishy-washy as me, it felt more likely to succeed. I always have grand intentions, but, like a lot of folks, after the initial fervor it's easy to let the intentions drift away. Too, what may be something I really NEED at one point of the year might not be at ALL what I need at another point of that same year. Choosing something monthly allowed me to sit in a quiet place at the start of each month and really ponder my wants and needs for that exact moment. Choosing the focus, I could then lean into that one area above others for those weeks when the resolution is still fresh. And then, by the time it was fading, it would be time for another sit-down-and-ponder and a fresh focus. 

It's been really lovely. Truly a marvelous spin on New Years' Resolutions. And hey-- some months, nothing has felt like the right fit, and that's important for me to listen to as well. One month, over a week into the month, I realized that what I felt, every time I tried to come up with a focus, was this resistant feeling, and then the phrase "let it go". Like, "Okay, self-- don't fight for it so hard. If it's not apparent, that's okay. Let it go." And so that became my focus for the month. Just letting it go. Funny enough, the very next month was even more challenging, and I never did pick a focus (as you can see in the above photo). And that is okay too. When the project becomes a burden, it no longer serves its purpose. So having a month "off" was okay, too. 

But then August rolled around. And with it, a lot of feelings. Relief that it was a new month, a new chance to try... a building sense of being DONE with the summer mess and constantness of keeping four kids happy and healthy at home day in and day out. Less IRRITABLE than July, but definitely more WEARY overall. An itch for order again. For routine. A flutter of eagerness to have some space, time and solitude. Not because I don't love my kids or want to be around them-- but because I think for all the space and time we've had this summer, they also thrive in the drive and push and routine of the school year... and I think we remember to cherish our togetherness more when we don't have it all the time. 

I found myself tensing up at all the "buildup" of summer break-- both physical and intangible. A buildup of laundry. A buildup of energy unused because of it being too hot to be outside much. A buildup of STUFF that the kids would bring down from their room everyday, then forget to bring back up at the end of the day. A buildup of "to dos" on my end because of lack of solo-time and lack of energy, both being expended in summer parenting instead. A buildup of anxious "wishing" on my end-- wishing for things to be different, tidier, quieter, easier, more fun and less bicker-y. 

With all of this piling up, I found myself not in the moment AT ALL-- constantly annoyed at something or other because it had been this way TOO LONG. Time for CHANGE! New school year COMING, finally!! I was spending all my time waiting for something better and being annoyed that it wasn't better YET. 

So I stood in the middle of my kitchen one afternoon. I glared at my counter and all the JUNK everyone had contributed to its chaos. I glared at the recycling that my husband never seemed to see and empty. I glared at the trail of things Larkin had taken out of my desk drawer AGAIN and left scattered everywhere. I glared at the scummy spots on the floor. And I contemplated my focus for the month. Sharply, with annoyance, I considered doing a repeat of "Order". Or "Re-center". Hammering my heart and my life back into some kind of controlled schedule. Whipping things back into shape.

And it felt.... just as yucky as the mess. 

So I paused and tried to breathe a little. And soften. I tried to remind myself what was good about NOW. That soon I'd be sending three of my four off to school on the bus every day, which, for the moment, sounded like HEAVEN, but would also, ultimately, be bittersweet. I tried to remind myself that soon enough, SO SOON, I'd have so much more space for "order" and "re-centering". Soon it would be just me and the little yahoo (still making desk messes) and some flexibility and freedom in my days. Soon it would even be MY FAVORITE SEASON and we could all get back outside again. All of this-- so good, coming so SOON. 

But right now? Despite the mess and the noise, there was good in the NOW. We have all been luxuriously sleeping in every morning. Oh my gosh, it's glorious. We've all had slow, lovely, sun-filled mornings starting our days at our own paces. When I get Larkin out of bed, there is no hustle needed, and lots of time for games and songs as I get her changed and dressed. My kids have long ago settled into the rule of "no TV til afternoon" and it's been deeply satisfying for me to watch them disperse after breakfast to find ways to amuse themselves. And every day, no matter what our adventures or non-adventures of the morning have been, we have had a set Quiet Time while Larkin naps, and everyone has thrived with that hour of peaceful stillness all summer long. Despite the mess and the noise of having all four around me and my home all day, all summer, we've had a lovely "un-routine" and we've done okay inside it. Better than okay. 

And it's nearly over until next summer. 

So instead of wishing it away, and trying to wrangle life into order right now, maybe it was time to lean into it. Maybe even LOVE it. And the title of one of my current favorite books, a parenting/advice book by the Hands-Free Mama Rachel Macy Stafford, came to mind: Only Love Today. Only love today. You can read those three words a few different ways, and all of them fit what I needed for August. 

Only love today. 

Stafford writes in her intro, 

"Only love today, I silently repeated until the noise in my head quieted and I could be right where I needed to be-- in this moment.

... An unexpected blanket of peace settled over me, offering a crystal-clear perspective:

Those messy piles on the kitchen counter don't matter.
Those snug-fitting pants strewn on the floor of my closet don't either. 
That opportunity I missed fifteen years ago and still think about today will need to go now. 
That traffic I'll face taking Natalie to swim team practice won't faze me. ...
Even the nonstop rain sounds quite soothing as it beats down on the roof of my house for the ninth straight day.

In that forty-five-second pause to check the status of my heart, I received the ultimate reprieve: the distractions fell away... the pressure subsided... the worries dissipated... the weight lifted. What mattered most came into clear focus."

Only love today. Not annoyance at what ISN'T. Only love. Not wishing the days away until BETTER days come. Only love TODAY. Today. Love today. 

And so. As I have found myself tightening back up through the first week of August, hating the countertop, the laundry, the bickering, the feeling like I'm doing all the work... I have been able to stop, step back, and say to myself, "Love today." And then look around for something, anything, in the moment that I can appreciate or be grateful for. And it gets me back into the present and helps me see the good above the annoying. 

I have been able to walk past the messes that are making me lose my mind and whisper to myself, "That WILL get done. Be at peace. More time is coming. Until the right time opens up for it, though, let it go and only love today." The constant pile of papers and art messes on the dining room table (pictured above)?  It's okay. It'll get done eventually. But Larkin in her swimsuit atop her clothing, AGAIN? That's more fun to look at. The kids getting along during lunch? I will spend my energy looking at that and loving that, instead of glaring at the paper pile. 

The massive stack of boxes and baskets in my bedroom, filled with old baby clothes that need to be sorted, photographed and put for sale online (pictured below)? It's OKAY. It'll keep for another few months if it has to. I will look away from that and notice instead how sweetly Lucy and Quinn are playing together again this Quiet Time-- as they've done nearly every single Quiet Time this summer, devising elaborate Imagination Games together, without my help, like I've dreamed for my kids to do since before I had any. 

Only love today. There is a very dominant part of my nature that wants to wrangle control over my universe so I can step back and nod in satisfaction at how it all makes sense. But that is not how life works, and more often than not, very little is really in my control. Especially when it comes to the four little humans I'm raising here. Instead of finding reasons to be annoyed all day long, I choose love. I'm not great at it still-- I think it is my life's work to keep softening and seeing and letting go and learning to laugh at myself-- but I'm practicing it as often as I can remember to. I choose love. 

Only love. Today. 

*

(Photo details:

1. my "year at a glance" bullet journal spread, featuring this month's focus, "Love Today"

2. & 3. Blasted counters. I've given up. Groceries will get put away eventually. And the clutter counter next to it? I.... don't know. I give up. Maybe in September I'll put that stuff away and it'll be clear for three days. Until the buildup begins again. 

4. Laundry is now permanently residing behind our couch. But hey, it's all clean!

5. I'm really really done with providing lunch for four every single day.  McDonalds has been supplementing a LOT. I'm not going to apologize. At least the Happy Meals have apples in them. 

6. I think Fiona had just nibbled his forehead here. Not sure how that's done, but it's what Quinn claims happened. 

7. A rare, lovely moment where Noah decided on his own to play the cello and everyone came to hang out while he did. 

8. In a stroke of luck and brilliance, I grabbed a "shrinky dink" kit from Five Below last week and it has been a hit. Especially the watching of the shrinking. Also, we're nearing a bum-crack emergency here, obviously. Maybe I should sort out the too-small shirts from their drawers. NEXT MONTH. Only love today. 

9. Speaking of today, Elise is in town TODAY today. Like, THIS ACTUAL DAY! How cute is this Larkin/Aunt Elise selfie?

10. Lucy and Quinn during today's quiet time, totally immersed in their Happy Meal toys (for once) and playing so well together.

11. If we're gonna binge on cartoons, at least we're doing it together, snuggled and cozy.)

That Zoo Photo

Did you know that if you visit the St. Louis Zoo, you might catch a glimpse of the common "Distracted Homo Sapiens Mother"? I'm not talking about the ones in the wild, even- the ones who come to the zoo to enjoy its many exhibits and offerings but give in to the call of their smartphones while there. I'm talking about an actual EXHIBIT-- a bona fide display of one of those mothers, within the zoo, that immortalizes the Distracted Homo Sapiens Mother in a very bold, colorful and permanent way. 

You have to look close.  Even though this display is duplicated at both entrances, it's not immediately obvious that you're seeing the Distracted Mama. It's not the focus of the exhibit, actually. It is an accidental capture on only one portion of the overall exhibit, but it is authentic. And did I mention pretty permanent?

 

Did you catch it? 

Do you need a closer look?

 

 

Ah. There she is. THERE SHE IS. Permanently on a giant display going on about the many amazing things our zoo has to offer. Distracted Homo Sapiens Mother. IMMORTALIZED. 

Did I mention it is at the North Entrance AND the South Entrance? 

That it has been there for FOUR YEARS?

Let me give you one more good look:

Listen. This piece of trivia about the St. Louis Zoo- this fact that myself, my sons Quinn and Noah, and my sister Beckie are immortalized on two giant display boards at one of the world's best zoos- in equal parts horrifies and amuses me. 

You gotta admit it's freaking crazy. Absolutely hilarious. Clearly the zoo photographer had been out and about on a day we had attended the zoo, and he/she had been assigned the task to capture patrons enjoying the glorious new Sea Lion Exhibit, and because my son Noah's face is the epitome of wonder and joy, this random photo he/she took (a photo we never even knew was happening) was the one chosen to represent the "Bright Future" of our wonderful zoo. This photo. It probably helps that my sister and baby are also showing a bit of awe in their faces. Never mind the poor sap in the front who got caught between expressions. Never mind the RIDICULOUSLY DISTRACTED MAMA looking nowhere near the right direction or showing ANY kind of awe. Or wonder, even. 

Never mind all that. 75% of this photo is all about the AWE and WONDER and JOY, so onto the poster it goes. 

Forever. 

That's really funny. It's so so so so funny. I mean, holy crap. Can you imagine what I thought when a friend texted me four years ago and said she thought she'd seen my photo at the zoo?? I was like, "Yeah, no. That's funny, but no. No way there's a photo of me at the zoo." I'd have known it was being taken, right? They would've had us sign a release or something, right?

But not two weeks later, when I had a random meetup at the zoo, I decided to go look, just to confirm, and THERE IT WAS. Noah was with me (See top photo) as I sat down right there and laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed and LAUGHED. 

Holy crap.

So yeah. This thing is completely amusing. I still laugh every time. I laugh when my friends go to the zoo and report back that they "saw me again". 

But I'm also pretty horrified, to be honest. 

I mean, LOOK AT ME. I am the picture of "distracted mama".  I am not engaging with my own children, much less the zoo animals. This is ME, bandanna and braids and Moby wrap and all, and I'm STARING AT MY PHONE. 

I kind of look crabby. 

Awesome. 

Never mind that what was ACTUALLY happening in this photo is that-- if you know me at all, you know this rings true--I had just taken my dozenth photo of my kids enjoying the zoo, and I was prepping it to post on Instagram. I was posting a photo of the moment, which took me OUT of the moment, and in that moment, I was immortalized as a Classic Common Distracted Mother, and it's there forever, mocking me. 

Making me scramble to explain. Causing me to stutter excuses. Forcing me to ask myself, "Is it REALLY better if my distracted moment was to post a photo? It's still me not being in the moment." Making me chuckle uncomfortably as I wonder if there is more truth than "accidental bad moment caught" in this dang zoo display photo. 

Most of the time, I mostly laugh and trust my gut that this is NOT the "real me"-- ignoring the good stuff to stare at the ephemeral chattering electronic nonsense in my hand. Most of the time, I trust myself and I know that while I could TOTALLY do with some trimming of my phone time, I am a pretty engaged and aware and "in the moment" mama. 

We all are, mamas. 

We are all pretty good mamas, and we would far rather choose an authentic moment with our kids or our surroundings (or both) than choose another two minutes of mindless scrolling. 

But I also mindlessly choose the scrolling more than I probably should, and it is something I think about a lot. Something I work on. And it's that part of me-- the part that still has work to do- that chafes at the permanent reminder that I am NOT a hands-free mama. Probably never will be. 

But the thing is-- and this applies to everything, not just phone habits-- if I'm aware of it, and I'm trying to stay aware, and I am taking little steps to do better, than I'm doing okay. It's not PERFECTION that matters, it's showing up daily and trusting that we can keep trying.  

"Aim for progress, not perfection."

So I'm going to try to lean more to the "amused" side of this Zoo Photo, and tell the "horrified" part of me to go take a nap. Because in spite of what it looks like in that photo, I'm doing okay, I think. 

And the whole thing IS pretty freaking hilarious. 

*

(Heading to the zoo anytime soon? Go look for us and take a photo and message me some "laughing" emojis. Let's just keep reminding each other that one bad photo isn't the worst thing in the world, and we all are doing the best we can.)

(P.S. Lucy was also there that day. She was in the stroller I am pushing, but is blocked by the poor sap in front.)

*

Love you, dear readers-- thank you for sitting with me in my mortification and amusement.

Lucy Princess and Her Frog | St. Louis Children's Photographer

 Once upon a time......

But no, really-- once upon a time I found this GIANT green prince frog at Target as I was walking around with Joe. I don't think Lucy was even more than a baby at the time. And the frog was deeply discounted and just so silly and HUGE, and I had a sudden vision of my girl as a princess with this frog. So I bought him with the sole intention of doing a "princess and the frog" photo shoot with Lucy someday. 

Fast forward more than a few years:  I'd finally happened across a perfect dress and a sweet headband and I decided it was time. I talked it up to Lucy and she was cool with the plan. I waited til my boys were at my folks' house for their turn at summer "Grandparent Camp" so Lucy and I would have the house to ourselves. It was all going to be so perfect-- FUN and girly and a fulfillment of a vision I'd had long before. I even had one of my friends over to braid her hair since I'm not super great at french braiding.The scene was SET.

Except then Lucy decided right as I was ready to go that she didn't love this idea anymore. The dress was scratchy. She felt put on the spot. She didn't want to kiss a stuffed frog. 

Oh gosh. 

I just..... I mean.... really? Are you SURE, Lucy? I can't fake-cheerfully try to tell you why this is gonna be AWESOME and cute and FUN? *insert undercurrent of stressy mom-tographer frustration*

I took the dress back off of her and put a shirt and leggings on under it. Scratchiness minimized. I offered a whole list of possible bribes. I got her to at least sit in front of my camera. I tried to breathe deeply. And I tried to find that undercurrent of stress in myself and blow it away... tried to tap into a sincere empathy and understanding of my girl. Tried to find what it might take to help her lighten up and just.... participate a little, because she wanted to, and not just because I was begging.

 

 I tried to just talk to her.... To show her that I didn't need this to be precisely what I'd envisioned... that we could just hang out-- Lucy, the frog and I-- and maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I went inward and made myself let go of what I thought this shoot should've "looked like." I just took it slower and took photos of whatever was actually happening with her as we talked. 

 And even then, we still had some moments of reluctance and even a few more tears (she REALLY didn't want to kiss the frog. Oh, Lucy- but it's SO CUTE! And not even slimy!)... But I found myself drawn into her wide eyes, and her softer expressions as a result of her mood being a little melancholy. She was still the loveliest little princess, and I still loved these moments. 

 A little more talking through it, and we got our kiss. And it wasn't even terrible, right, Lucy? 

And finally, a real smile... my happy Lucy, right at the end. 

So even though it wasn't exactly what I thought it would be, we had a sweet, tender, learning experience in the less than 15-minute session we did here. I got to take photos in spite of her mood, and she got to have a mama who worked at relaxing the control and stress, and we both ended with smiles. And then we promptly ditched that dress and got her back into play clothes and had a great rest of the day-- some art-making, some "Magic School Bus" watching, and even a trip to the swimming pool together in the afternoon, just being mermaids together. (I told you this was once upon a time... back in August, to be precise!!)

I hope as the years go by, my kids appreciate the photos... but also remember that sometimes I succeeded at turning off the "photographer bossy stress face" and remembered to just try to listen and talk and laugh a little as we did our photos together. 

♥

On Skim Milk Breastmilk and Fat Warm Formula Bottles

I think Larkin is going to terminate our nursing relationship. Sooner than later. 

I think it's breaking my heart. 

But it has been a long road.... far longer than the three months of her life. This has been a 9-year-long road, and I know her move to liberate herself from my weak, thin-flowing lifesource is not entirely her issue. I know I probably can't give her enough of what she needs. 

Nine years ago, while still in the hospital recovering from an unexpected c-section, I remember clearly hearing the term "brick dust" for the first time, ushering me suddenly into the hard, rocky world of breastfeeding insecurity. "Brick dust", if you've never heard the term, is explained as follows, on askdrsears.com: 

"If your baby is not getting sufficient amounts of milk, you may notice a “brick dust” residue on the diaper, due to urate crystals from overconcentrated urine (a normal finding in the first few days), which should disappear after increasing baby's milk intake."

When Noah had a brick dust diaper within his first 48 hours, I was urged to supplement him with formula despite my deep desire to exclusively breastfeed, and being new to all of it, gave in, worried about my new baby's loss of weight and his overconcentrated urine. He improved with the intake of formula and we eventually settled into a decent nursing relationship once we got home from the hospital. I was still teaching at the time I had Noah, but I was lucky to get 12 weeks home with him before having to return to school. During that time, I don't remember having feeding worries, and he thrived. Once I returned to school, though, I began the necessary regimen of pumping at work in order to maintain my supply for my baby back at home. I'd not been very diligent at pumping prior to this return to work... Who wanted to be stuck to a machine when their baby was right there next to them? But once back at work, I stuck to a careful schedule of pumping whenever I'd have been feeding my baby, and I had high hopes that I'd be able to produce enough to keep him fed with my milk even while I was away. 

It became clear, after a few weeks, though, that my pumping output was just not going to cut it. I seemed to pump less and less as the weeks went by, while Noah was growing bigger and bigger and needing more and more. So it was that, several months after his first formula, we once again began to supplement our baby. It was bittersweet, but it was necessary, and we settled into the new normal fairly quickly, able to let go the "ideal". 

With this system in place, the pumping, the supplementing, and the ongoing nursing, Noah and I managed to keep our nursing relationship strong and consistent though his entire first year-- my personal goal. And as he moved toward 13 months old, he slowly and naturally weaned himself and we were done before he hit 14 months old. We were both ready and it was a peaceful transition. 

And then there was Lucy. Lucy was an unhappy baby. Tiny and angry and exhausting. She was a little small for the doctor's liking, and he mentioned supplementation and/or a regimen of pumping on my part, but he was never hyper-worried about it, and for the most part, she latched fine and nursed well. I noticed pretty early on that she favored my right breast, and that was not a surprise: five months before Lucy was born, I'd had a freak infection in my left breast that had required surgery and several drainage sessions, and the breast doctor has warned me that while the damage wouldn't be permanent, some milk ducts had been compromised and would still be healing when baby arrived. Betty the Boob just didn't make as much milk as the right side gal. Because of this, sometimes, just because we still had samples from the hospital, we'd supplement her with formula, but it was not a dedicated regimen... just an option we went with here and there. But I was a stay-at-home-mom by the time Lucy came along, so I was home with her 100% of the time, and I did NOT want to dust off the pump and add that nonsense to my already strained, stressful days. So as the weeks wore on, Lucy and I managed. I tried fenugreek and Mother's Milk tea sporadically, ate oatmeal... wished and prayed over my supply... But mostly we just trucked along, trying our best.

And then she was four months old, and we found ourselves in Utah for my baby sister's wedding. I was the photographer, so I had a few of my sisters lined up to help out with my tiny angry baby for the times I was needed to shoot photos. I'd planned to take nursing breaks that day, but every time I looked at my crying baby and thought about shimmying out of my fancy dress and making the time for Lucy's notoriously long nursing sessions, I just.... couldn't. I was worn too thin. Time after time that day, I told whatever sister had her at that moment, "Just give her a bottle."  At the end of that long day, when it was finally just my baby and I, and I brought her to my too-full breasts to finally nurse, I looked down at her lovely, calm face and thought, "Man. That was SO MUCH EASIER. And you are doing just fine." Within the next month, after that epiphany/breaking point, I made the conscious decision to take our nursing relationship from full-time to once a day, first thing in the morning when milk supply is always the most abundant. The rest of the day I would give her formula. And my colicky baby bloomed into a happy, content little one. 

She ended up weaning from our morning nursing by the end of her 8th month, and by then I was okay. I was ready to let go. Those extra three months of snuggle-nursing her in the mornings was enough to help me transition to no nursing. Because the honest truth was-- mostly-weaning her when she was 5 months old saved my mental health. And it saved hers. We were both immediately happier. And in hindsight, it may have never been colic. She may have just been HUNGRY. Always always hungry. Until I gave in and let us both take the "other path". 

So then Quinn. By the time Quinn came along, I was a veteran. When my baby dropped farther down from his birth weight than they liked, I wasn't surprised. I let them offer him a formula bottle or two. When after weeks of newborn nursing, he seemed to need some supplementing, I did the supplementing. He wasn't angry and hungry like Lucy-- and for the most part, I was pretty confident that Betty the Boob had healed and I felt like I was able to feed him enough, usually. But to be honest, by this third baby, my confidence was not in my ability to make milk. My confidence was in my ability to read my baby and understand that I probably would NEVER make enough milk, but would know how to care for my baby in spite of that. With Noah, a lactation consultant helped me realized I'd need a nipple shield for my inverted nipples in order to have a good start to the latching relationship. With Lucy, while still in the hospital, I decided to see if she and I could do it without the shield. Within two days, I was asking for it again. By the time Quinn came along, I didn't even blink: I told the nurse first thing that I would need one. Forget trying to pretend I might be better at this whole nursing thing the third time: I knew I would 1. need a shield 2. probably not make enough milk 3. feel insecure, so bring it on. Let's get started. Quinn and I, with supplementing, still managed to go a respectable distance in our nursing relationship, but eventually he weaned himself at about 10 months old. And while it wasn't the full year I had once again set a goal for, it was close enough. In spite of my insecurities and my inherent failings in breastfeeding, we made it close enough. 

And here we are. Fourth go-round. Miss Larkin Clementine.  From the get-go, she was awesome: she latched without a nipple shield and hung on. My supply flooded in earlier than it ever had before. I had ACTUAL LEAKING sometimes, something that almost never happened with my other babies (just one more reason to always be insecure about my supply). I thought we were gonna ROCK this nursing thing, finally. And then her first doctor's appointment at 5 days old: her pediatrician (a new doctor) came in with a concerned look on her face and began the age-old yadda yadda about dropping more than 10% below her birth weight and how about we try some supplementing-- feel free to pump to get those extra ounces, or we can give you formula, etc. etc....  And I kept my smile pasted on while she left to get a little 2-ounce bottle of Similac for me to give Larkin; it stayed on while she came back to tell me, "We just need to get her weight up in the next few days-- after that we can skip the formula if she's doing well. I know this isn't ideal, but let's get her strong enough to begin getting better at nursing." and she left the room again and I crumpled and cried as I fed my baby formula. Thinking, "Here we go again. Who did I think I was kidding? I was never good enough at making enough milk to feed my babies." 

Since day 5, it's been such a strange ride. It's a cycle of:

Go see doctor. Doctor gets concerned and says scary things. Mom gets more and more dejected and sad at her inability to help her baby get bigger. Mom and baby go home and mom is sad and worried for a few days. Then mom continues to spend all day and night with her baby and her baby is FINE and thriving and meeting milestones. Slowly mom's natural insight and instinct about her baby come back to zero and above, and her confidence returns. Baby is FINE and happy and doing SO WELL. Surely that means we're on track. 

Then its time for the next weight check doctor appointment, and the cycle begins again. 

Larkin is small. She is steadily gaining pounds and height, just not at the rate that she should be according to the WHO/CDC etc. charts. So her doctor worries and wants to see her growth accelerate a bit more. So we are constantly supplementing her with bottles of formula. More and more as the weeks go by. I'll admit it was with reluctance on my part in the early weeks. Surely with the leaking and the latching and the veteran mama part of it all, this was just a hiccup and Larkin would get the hang of this and we'd get on track. But if I ever slowed down my supplementing, thinking we'd be okay, inevitably the next dr. appointment would show that her growth had slowed, and I should have been continuing with the extra formula more regularly.  Eventually one day, when she was maybe 9 weeks old, there was a day when she was fussing at the breast-- something she's done off and on since week one-- and I stopped trying so hard to get her to settle down to nurse, and instead just made her a fat warm four-ounce bottle of formula and she took it ALL. And then, for the first time in days, after she burped, she just sat in my arms wide-eyed and peaceful and content. For almost 45 minutes. We'd just made it though her fussiest weeks, those classic weeks 6-8, so anytime she was content for longer than 10 minutes it felt like a miracle. So to have the full 45-minute stretch was an uber-miracle. I stopped resisting the formula supplements after that day. I thought a lot about Lucy, and my years-long struggle with breastfeeding supply and confidence, and I just thought, "You know what? If she's HUNGRY, and this has just FED her, it's okay. It's okay. I can still nurse her... but I can also give her fat warm full bottles of formula and we'll both be fine. She'll be full and I will know she has gotten enough and we will be fine."

 So that's what we've been doing. Larkin is almost 14 weeks old, and is due for her next weight check appointment in the next couple of days. But I know from my borrowed baby scale and free growth chart app that she's up, percentage-wise. I think her doctor will be pleased. I think we're doing great. (Of course, this is all that classic cycle, right? Mom is confident. Time to visit doctor and get worried and dejected again.)

Except.... 

She's been doing that fussy-at-the-breast thing at least once or twice a day in the last week. And it's killing me. I've just come to peace about the formula/nursing compromise. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to fully be done nursing.. so when she fights it, it hurts my heart. And I have to wonder if the more she gets those warm, full bottles of easy-flowing formula, the less patient she is with my sad skim-milk slow-flow old boobs. Is she feeling impatient? I'm not prideful enough to stop the bottles in order to get her to want me more again... I know she is thriving under the supplementation. But I had hoped with all my heart that she and I could still maintain some nursing in the meantime. That maybe, like Lucy, if we eventually even had to go down to once a day, we could make it past 6 months. Maybe even that full year I always wish for. 

But here we are, not even 4 months, and I fear she's getting less and less willing to work for this. And I am so sad. What a sad, wimpy way to go. Out with a whimper, not a bang. 

Maybe I'm jumping to that conclusion too quickly. Maybe it's a phase-- an off-week, and she'll be back at it soon, and we'll have another few good weeks again. Maybe? 

But tonight, as I pass her to her daddy for a bottle after trying in vain to get her to settle into a nursing session for the second time in just a few hours, I'm not so sure. I think she's trying to break up with me. 

This has been a long, hard, draining road. Nine years. I'm so tired of feeling not enough. So sad that I was never that great at this. 

So... I'll keep you posted. But if you see me in the meantime, I could probably use a hug.

(Thanks for reading all of that. ♥ )