LIVING SIMPLY • NEWBORN ESSENTIALS

one • two • three • four • five • six • seven • eight • nine • ten
eleven • twelve • thirteen • fourteen • fifteen • sixteen

Noble is now six weeks old and since we're moving out of the newborn phase, I thought I'd share a list of things we've gotten a lot of use out of. I learned a lesson after buying things for Ev - it's best to stick with simple things for babies. I made the mistake of buying tons of cute clothes for her and am paying the price now as I organize and try to sell box after box. This time I vowed to only buy things brand new that we could reuse. We're unsure whether we'll actually make the leap and have more babies after this, but we'll have what we need just in case. When I was pregnant with Ev, I poured over those 'baby registry checklists' and worried if I didn't have every little thing listed. This time around I had a better idea of what we would actually use and need (and have space for in an apartment). I really didn't even glance at a list. We spent considerably less this time while preparing for Noble, but I really don't feel like we're in need of anything. It feels good to be clutter free!

SLEEPING SPACE • I debated on going the bassinet route at all or just putting him straight into a crib, but (like always) we were unsure how long we'd be in this apartment and our bedroom is tiny. I didn't want to waste all that precious walking-around-the-bed space with a crib if we could use a bassinet until we moved into a bigger space. This was my inspiration for his 'nursery,' so I went on a scavenger hunt for all parts involved at a reasonable price and decided on the Jolly Jumper Rocking Moses Basket Stand, the Tadpoles Woven Palm Leaf Moses Basket, and an IKEA Rens Sheepskin for a mattress, which totaled around $100 - cheaper than any complete bassinet set I could find, and made of all natural materials. We just tuck a muslin blanket around the sheepskin to catch any spit-ups.

NURSING SPACE • The dreaded rocking chair search has been ongoing since I was pregnant with Evie. I'm convinced the perfect (affordable) one doesn't exist! I had originally decided to just settle for a glider because they're so darn comfortable (and so darn ugly), but I just couldn't pull the trigger. So I ended up going the next best route and settled on a classic, solid wood rocking chair with a nursing stool. It isn't horrendous, huge, or expensive, and it won't fall apart after just one baby. A My Brest Friend pillow was especially handy with Ev and I still have mine, but found that I used it less this time around since I was more comfortable breastfeeding and knew more about getting the proper latch, etc.

DIAPERING • I haven't talked much about our love for cloth diapering here, but briefly put - we're believers. As with most things, we prefer the simplest system - prefolds with a water proof cover. I tried pocket diapers for a few weeks with Ev and they were the bane of my existence, so we stuck with what we love and know. We already had Bummis organic prefolds from diapering Ev that we loved, but they were discontinued and I had heard good things about Green Mountain diapers, so I thought I'd try those. So far they are just as good, if not better than the Bummis ones. We use cheap washcloths from IKEA for cloth wipes. We also use Seventh Generation disposables at night and when we're running errands because - well, I'm not super mom.

BLANKETS • . . . because everyone knows blankets are the thing you need the most with a newborn. I'm sure you've heard of Aden + Anais Muslin swaddle blankets. I wasn't sure if they'd live up to the hype, but we love them. We have a bunch of different blankets and these are the only ones we reach for. Take my word - they're worth it! I also knew we'd need a heavier carseat/stroller blanket and I wanted a knit one made from natural materials (not acrylic). I found this wool + cotton blend one at H&M and it really is a steal for the quality. I also use it to take Noble's monthly growth pictures on, so it will end up being his keepsake blanket. I did the same thing for Ev and her blanket is here.

CLOTHING • Because we decided not to know the gender, my clothing shopping was limited this time around, but I really didn't mind as much as I thought I would. I believe babies should look like babies, not little men or baby dolls, so I naturally pick up fairly neutral clothing anyway. I'm a white onesie kind of Mama. When doing the limited amount of shopping I could do this time around, I opted for organic basics that we could use with the next baby. I had good luck at Old Navy and H & M. H & M has some especially affordable organic options.

Please vote for us over at Top Baby Blogs!

THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART III • BREASTFEEDING + POSTPARTUM

If you missed part I of the birth story, click here.
If you missed part II, click here.

When people would talk about 'just knowing' something, I was never able to relate to them until I became a mother. I had never really experienced having an intuition until I was put in this emotional role of Mama. It started as a timid, small voice when your sister became mine, and has grown into this roaring, confident voice that I now feel privileged to carry around with me as I care for you. The first time I ever had this 'knowing' feeling as a mother was when I brought your sister up to my breast to nurse right after her birth. As soon as she latched on, it was like the future flashed through my mind and I knew. I knew her latch wasn't right. I knew the battle to breastfeed would be fierce, but my determination I had carried around with me all these years would serve me well.

Each nursing session started with screams and ended with tears from everyone involved. She would move her head back and forth while frustrated little snorts escaped, but she would never latch. Her patience wore thin and pretty soon her frustrated snorts were replaced with back-arching, clawing, and screaming. Your Papa would have to hold her hands while I tried my best to maneuver her onto the breast. There were weeks of this. I came to dread sleep because the nights were the hardest, the loneliest. I would become anxious as the clock neared seven. Her escalating frustration made my attempts at helping her futile. Eventually she learned how to latch on, but it wasn't without toe-curling, jaw-clenching pain. We spent hours each night fighting with each other. I would try to correct her latch. She would yell out in frustration and become too worked up to latch on again. Crying would eventually exhaust her and she would fall asleep only to wake an hour or less later to do it all over again.

We went through weeks of this (ten or so), but it felt like months. I can remember sitting on the side of the bed with your Papa and saying, through sobs, 'It's going to hurt forever.' I couldn't see a way out. I felt trapped. I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to write. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to do anything. We tried everything we could think of. A nipple shield allowed me to heal, but didn't allow your sister to get enough milk. For a few weeks we tried using a supplemental nursing system. I pumped while she slept, then fed her with a small tube attached to my finger. We were afraid to give her bottles for fear that she would deny the breast altogether and I would be stuck pumping or using formula. We kept going to appointments for weight checks and kept coming back disappointed. When I was around other mothers, I would go home feeling bitter, defeated. They seemed joyful. Their babies seemed happy. Feeding them was as easy as shaking up a bottle of formula.

What was supposed to be a beautiful bonding experience became a depression-inducing nightmare. I had never dealt with depression in any form beyond the occasional bluesy day until now. It was like being sucked into a black hole, and it took me a long time to come out of it. I was determined to see it through though. I told myself I had to keep trying until I was sure it just wasn't possible. Eventually we met with an ENT specialist who told us she definitely was not tongue tied, which was a little bit devastating for me. I had held onto that as the solution. I didn't want anything to be wrong with her, but at the same time, I wanted an answer. I wanted to know it wasn't me. It wasn't my fault. Then we found a pediatrician who listened to her nurse and simply said, 'She can't breathe. Clear her nose with saline before each feed.' It was like magic. I felt a little dumb for not having thought of such a simple solution, but after a few days of fighting with her about latching on, she finally did and she nursed. On top of the breastfeeding troubles, we thought she was also colicky, but once her latch improved and she started gaining weight, all of those symptoms went away. She started smiling more than screaming and falling asleep content. I found that breastfeeding is a funny thing - some days you cry over the limits it places on you and some days you cry at the possibility of it being over.

24 WEEKS + THOUGHTS ON BECOMING FOUR IN 2015

 

As is customary around this time of year, I've been spending a lot of time reflecting on 2014. It was a whirlwind kind of year, to say the least. We moved four times to four different states and spent over half of the year staying in other people's homes, accepting the generosity and hospitality of others, but never being able to give any in return. It was adventurous and it was unforgettable and it was hard. It was trying. It was draining. It was taxing on our family, finances, and hearts. Brooklyn was completely worth it, but I'm relieved to be on the other side, looking back at all of it and forward to a fresh start. After all of the change we've been through, heels dug in the ground and my hands over my eyes for most of it, I just don't have the energy to join in the new year hullabaloo with a list of goals and such. Realistically, I'll be spending the majority of my energy and thoughts on birthing a baby and falling in love with said baby and helping my people get our life sorted out, and that's ok with me - or at least I'm trying to make that ok with me. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't lay down goals and walk away from them lightly. Before I birth said baby, I'm trying my hardest to enjoy being three. I'm thrilled at the idea of meeting this new life, but I'm equally terrified at the thought of staying at home with two, the possibility of battling depression again, having a challenging time breastfeeding again. It was all so unbelievably hard the first time around and though I'm entering into this new phase of motherhood with more experience and perspective, the fear is there and makes me wonder whether its always a companion for mothers when adding another to their home, whether its their 2nd or 6th?

Along with the fear comes a touch of sadness at it no longer being just the three of us, or just Ev and I the majority of the time. I find myself grasping for the time to cherish her, but facing disappointment instead. The life we're headed back to in March is not the life I want for her, and this is not how I wanted to spend our last months together. The defiance that comes with being almost three has been a regular companion most days and my desire to cherish it all before we're a family of four makes for a horrible match against parenting and discipline. I swing from high to low each day, from overreacting and being overwhelmed to checking out completely and doing nothing out of defeat. I make lists to try to make sense of our lives when there's no sense or solution to be found. I know that no matter how many lists I make, it won't all get done in the two weeks we'll have to prepare, it all can't be afforded, and my experience will probably be nothing like what I'm imagining and hoping for. It will be good; nonetheless, because there's always good to be found in a new life, but I'm afraid it will be filled with more disappointment. I have no idea how I will manage two kids in all the circumstances that await us when we head back to Albuquerque. I have no idea how I will love another kid the way that I love Evie, how I will have enough good in myself to give to each of them.

If there's one thing I've learned through five years of marriage and (almost) two pregnancies, it's that life is uncontrollable. There's nothing like the change of seasons or the arrival of a new year to remind us of impermanence. I used to live under the assumption that it was in our control to bring a baby into the world at just the right time, when it would be the most convenient for us and our plans. Being (unexpectedly) pregnant through the holiday season has been a special time for me. It's given me a unique view through Mary's perspective - through all the wanderers' of the Bible. I'm sure giving birth in a manger wasn't what she had in mind. I wonder if she had thoughts along the lines of, 'Really? Right now? This can't wait until we're home? Or at least until we find a place to stay for the night?' When groups of the Bible were led this way and that, did the mothers long for home? Were they all just desperate for a place to rest and nurse their babies, for a normal life? Sometimes I'm thankful for the sporadic life we've lived, but oftentimes it has felt a lot like laying things down at each place we leave - my plans, dreams of home, financial goals, hopes of security, jobs, memories of my child. It feels a lot like closing the door on all of that and oh, how that begins to hurt after you do it repeatedly and how obvious it becomes that I'm holding tightly to things that I don't want to relinquish control of - things I think are important, but are just specks of dust in our lives.

I imagine there's a special kind of freedom that comes from giving it all up, from unclenching your fists, laying it down, and walking away - the perfectly decorated house or even a home of our own, the baby brought home to a space that is ready for them, the defiant toddler who is battling her own wills and desires, the job you've been hoping for. When all of that is stripped away, I imagine you can really begin to live because you aren't wasting a single second planning and worrying about matters that are uncontrollable. I've learned many lessons in patience and perseverance and letting things go over the last year and that's been a hard road to walk for a perfectionist.

When I was pregnant with Ev, I couldn't imagine us as a family of three. I had no idea how two kids who like to sleep in and go on sporadic adventures were going to figure out life with a baby. While it didn't feel like our normal at all in the beginning, we came to be comfortable together, effortlessly in love. How I long for that learning curve, that awkward fumbling stage, to be shorter than the last. These three years with Ev have changed me beyond recognition and I will always cherish our memories together. She will probably never remember a time without her sibling, but I will. In 2014, I learned that big changes often bring hard times with them, but there is always beauty to be found. While I don't look forward to the difficulty that might await us, I do look forward to the inevitable beauty and joy that will be found in this new season of life. I know that the fumbling feeling of a new person joining us will wear off and will all settle in to our effortless love once again.

So here's to 2015 and letting it all go and falling in love with a brand new person.

A Broken Tradition + the End of Nursing + Having More Babies

If you're wondering why you're looking at a picture of a box and not my cute kid, I'm getting there. . .

2 years and 8 months ago, I found out I was pregnant. Looking back on that day is a strange thing. We were elated, so happy and we are still elated, so happy to spend our lives with this clever, spunky soul, but how we have all grown since that day. The places we've been, the days we've celebrated, the feats we've conquered - they've all changed us. I knew nothing of these things on the day I stood, bleary eyed staring at a line of tests because I didn't believe the first one.

In a few days, I will have nursed that same baby for the last time. Much like labor, I don't know when it's coming, but I feel the deadline approaching. She's ready. I'm not so much. I'm one of those women who really, really like nursing (I'm also one of those freaks of nature who really really liked pregnancy and labor), and though I've always known the day would come, our only child discussion makes it painfully hard to let go of. In the (almost) twenty four years of my life, nursing this little girl has been my favorite thing I've accomplished. Because it started out so rocky and I was filled with doubts about whether I would even be able to nurse my (maybe only) baby, I've tried to savor our quiet times together. It almost feels like an honor to sit and rub my fingers through her hair, feeling the flutter flutter flutter pattern of her sucking, humming lullabies and whispering love in her ear. Weaning has been a process that has been happening sort of naturally. Part of me is thankful - it makes it easier, because I know that if she didn't ever show signs of stopping I'm not the type to force her to wean, and weaning is good for her. It's one of those natural separation, becoming an individual type steps that I think she is surely on the same page with judging by all the no's I've been getting from her lately.

We've watched her say new words daily over the last few weeks, at a rate I can't even keep up with - it makes my head spin. I've started seeing a sense of pride wash over her as she says new words and pushes her body to accomplish what she wants it to.  She's becoming a beautiful person all on her own, despite my faults and fears and influence. That all makes letting go just a bit easier, a bit more bearable. I tell the story of the day I found out I was pregnant because I feel like we are approaching a similar day. It will be monumental, something to remember, but the things that come after it are going to far exceed the joys breast feeding has brought.

I didn't expect to feel this way - shouldn't I be glad it's over? Aren't most women? If you talk to me in person, I will tell you I am almost decided on not having another baby, but deep down I'm hoping this desire, this longing for breast feeding to not be over means there's just one more little one on the horizon for our family. Don't get me wrong, all other signs and logic point to me not being ready for another tiny person to care for, but this little glimmer has shown itself and has made me open to 'maybe later, if I ever feel ready again.' I guess I have to stop out of faith that in stopping there will come another beginning, even if I'm not ready for that beginning to come any time soon (or at all). It's illogical, but it's the way my brain works. Most nights after Ev has fallen asleep without asking for me, without asking for 'mama milt,' I start to feel sorry for myself. I'm being silly about it, I know. It was bound to happen, but it feels a lot like something I love being torn from me, like being rejected. Raising a baby is a funny thing - they grow so rapidly it's like mourning the death of one person and celebrating the emergence of another favorite person while trying to remember they're all the same person sitting right in front of you.

WATCH EVIE GROW • ONE MONTH

02.29.2012

[This post is obviously coming to you guys over 3 months late, but I've been trying to take a gentle approach to this space so that it continues being somewhere I enjoy coming and not another thing on my to-do list. So here's the deal: I'm going to write and continue taking photos, but it will likely not be in chronological order. The fact is there just aren't enough hours in the day to do it all and I would rather this space suffer than my relationship with my family. Consider it some new age trendy thing like 'free range blogging' if you will.]

You are a month old, and I'm one month into my life as a mother.

I spend a large chunk of time each day just staring at your face, picking out the parts of you that are of me and the parts that are of your Papa. I fall more in love as I trace my fingers around lips that look like mine. I look into eyes that are shaped like mine. I rub your head full hair to calm you down when you're nursing. I've learned so many things about you in just a short time and you seem to change and grow every day. When we brought you home, you were pretty congested like a lot of babies are. We would call you Miss Piggy because you would snort and snort as you rooted on me. You would rub your face back and forth across my chest and I would smile every time. In just four weeks, you've outgrown that. Just a few days ago I figured out that you don't like to be swaddled anymore. You like to sleep on your side or belly with a loose blanket over you - two things that parents are told are unsafe. I've already learned to pick and choose my battles. I can't follow every safety guideline or piece of advice. We do what works for us and right now, this is the only way we're getting any sleep. A lot of nights you end up in bed with us, nestled under our covers in between your Papa and I. I love placing my hand on your chest and feeling it rise and fall in the night. I love curling around you to keep you warm. These things feel natural to me. We're working on moving you to your crib so that we can have our bedroom back and Mama and Papa can cuddle again, but for now, I enjoy having you close to me.

I've learned that parenting is hard. There's a special sort of pressure that comes with trying to raise another human. Sometimes the only thing that I can do is promise myself that I'll wake up tomorrow and try harder. You're only a month old and I already worry about being good enough for you. Somewhere in that newborn soul of yours I want you to know how much I love you, despite the fact that I lose my patience with you, and despite the fact that sometimes I let you cry because I have to. I have to eat and shower and take time for myself each day, which are all really hard things to do when I'm taking care of you alone for the majority of the day. We've had a lot of trouble breastfeeding, which has made this new journey into parenthood even harder. I've probably faced every problem possible, and you've been a champ through it all. At your one month appointment, we found out that you most likely have 'posterior tongue tie,' which would explain why this has been so tough for both of us. I've had a surge of different emotions over this - guilt for losing my patience with you so many times when you would keep doing something painful, fear that we won't be able to find someone that can fix this or that if we can, the procedure won't work, and sadness that this has to be so hard for you. After realizing what the problem is, I know that you've been trying to do this right and that all of the fussing, crying, and sleeplessness was out of frustration and hunger. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, hands down, but I'm not ready to give up. We've made it so far in this journey together, and while it would be easy to give you a bottle of formula and call it a day, I've never been one to give up without a fight. I'm not done fighting for you. You deserve the very best and I want to give you that.

As we wrap up this first month together and move into our second, my head is full of moments to come. I'm looking forward to watching you grow and accomplish ordinary things like laughing and crawling and extraordinary things that only you can dream. I'm trying my hardest to store the little things about you in my memory - the little swirl of hair on the back of your head, the way you sit with your legs curled up and belly sticking out - just like a frog, the smacking noises I hear each morning as you try your best to fit both hands in your little mouth, the crooked smile you give, the way you stick out your tongue and smack your lips as you watch me eat from the carrier, the walks you take on Papa's chest. We love you, Evie Idella - more than bears love honey (and everyone knows that's an awful lot).

Mama

Lauren

02.19.2012 • 4:08 P.M.

I'm writing this over three months after this picture was taken. There were so many ups, downs, and issues with breastfeeding that I couldn't tell you what this specific appointment was about. I just remember calling Lauren Saturday night expecting to get answers over the phone or to be told to come in on Monday, but was relieved when she asked me to meet her at the birthing center the next day. There were several people that helped us through those hard weeks, but without her (and your Papa) I would have never pushed through. We never got a proper picture of you with her the night you were born, but I'm glad we managed to get this one.

Birthdays and Breastfeeding

02.18.2012 • 11:09 P.M.

(Your Papa's 22nd Birthday Celebration.)

Wednesday, May 2, 2012 8:30 P.M.

This picture, along with a few other breastfeeding related pictures that are a bit too personal for public view, is something that I'm immensely proud of. This was the first time I breast fed you in public. While I am proud of my courage and ability to refuse sitting in the bathroom, unable to socialize with the friends I came to enjoy myself with, I am even more proud of my determination to continue breastfeeding at all. This journey has been unwritten thus far because honestly, it was an emotionally trying and scarring time that I wanted to forget. I didn't want to look back. I needed to look forward to get through trial after trial that you and I encountered. Some people may scoff at this post and call me dramatic. I can't count the times that people, either with their words or facial expressions, told me to give you formula, to give up. Like I've said before, I was determined to give you the best. It wasn't just about what was better for you or cheaper for us. I knew that once we worked out all of the problems I would enjoy it. I wanted to hold you close while you were satisfied. I wanted to bond with you while you were curled around me. I wanted to feel your skin against mine.

I've never wanted to do something so badly in my entire life. I cracked, bled, cringed, cried, took you on and off and tried to adjust your latch, pumped from engorgement, pumped to feed you with a supplemental nursing system, took antibiotics for mastitis, did tongue exercises with you to teach you how to keep your tongue under the breast, pushed through hour long (or longer) feedings, had to take deep breaths to cope with the pain when you would latch on, and all the while felt like a failure as a woman and mother. I wept uncountable times as I thought to myself, 'Why can't I do this simple thing? Why can't I feed my child the way I was intended to? Why does this have to be so hard for us?' I remember your Papa holding me as I cried out and told him I didn't want to do this anymore. I told him it was going to hurt forever. I dumped all my frustrations with it on him, and he talked sense into me each time. I couldn't have done it without him. I was so beat down over this for so long that we were both worried about postpartum depression.

I googled for hours, searching for answers. I went through every piece of advice I could find that might relate to what you or I were doing wrong and nothing worked. I met with a lactation consultant several times, but it still hurt when you would latch on and you were still having trouble gaining weight. Finally we met with an ear, nose, and throat specialist to rule out tongue tie. It sounds almost demented now, but then I held onto hope that you were tongue tied so at least we would know what was wrong. I would have an answer and a course of action to take, but no such luck. A week or so before our appointment with the ENT, we saw your Pediatrician and he was convinced it was that your nose was obstructed and to use saline drops. It seemed like such a simple solution, and I really didn't believe him. I had noticed that your nose had been stuffy, but I didn't think it was severe enough to affect your ability to eat. The ENT agreed with him however, and told us to continue using saline and that as you grew, obviously your nose would too, so wait it out and keep trying.

The pediatrician was also concerned about your weight gain. You were really far behind. He wanted me to bottle feed you and try to keep you on the breast two to three times a day until you caught up, but that wasn't the kind of advice I wanted to hear. I had spent six weeks agonizing over this and I wasn't going to give up that easily. I was afraid that if I gave you a bottle, you would refuse to breastfeed because a bottle is easier. At first, I agreed on the plan and your Papa supported the pediatrician's opinion. After the appointment, we went out to lunch and sat in silence. I was on the verge of tears the entire meal. Finally I broke down and told your Papa that I wasn't giving you a bottle. My instincts told me no, so I was going with them. He didn't argue. He just raised his eyebrows, threw up his hands, and said, 'Go ahead, but the pediatrician isn't going to be happy with you.' I didn't care. We had come this far and I wasn't going to have gone through all of that grief for nothing. We went back to exclusively breastfeeding as soon as we got home, and I was determined to stick with it until my nipples fell off if I had to.

For the last two weeks I had been pumping and feeding you with a supplemental nursing system, which is a bottle that you hang above you similar to an IV with a tube running out of it that we would tape to the side of our finger. When you would suck on our fingers milk would come out of the tube, but not very fast. Your Papa was awesome through all of that. He would feed you for up to an hour every night while I pumped. I went home from the restaurant, unplugged the pump and forced you onto the breast. You screamed, you arched your back, you fought me over and over until you realized this was your only option. We put saline drops in your nose before and after every feeding, which you were not a fan of, and you began nursing better than you ever had. We had our ups and downs in between, but as I'm writing this a month later, we have no issues. You're gaining weight and sleeping great (well, mostly). I still have the scars to prove our struggles, but it isn't painful for me anymore. It's become so easy that I had almost forgotten what we went through to get here until I sat down to write this.

I will forever be grateful for that man's simple advice. Thanks to him, I have been able to enjoy an entire month of nursing sessions with you. Without the time that you and I have in the quiet, stillness each night, this mom thing would be much harder during the day. I don't enjoy waking up several times every night, but as we sit in the dark and you curl around me as you nurse, I'm able to put everything into perspective. As I look down at you, framed by the street lamp's light coming through the window, and up at your Papa in his night slumber, gratefulness overcomes me most nights. When you wake me up each morning by flinging your legs into the air and back down, wiggling, and hooting at me, I scoop you up and put you to the breast. You usually eagerly latch on, then come off with a big smile and start to babble and coo like you have something to tell me that is so important it can't wait until you finish your breakfast. This always brings the biggest smile to my face, and again I'm thankful I didn't give up. When you grow up and have children of your own, I'll be able to remind you of our journey in hopes that you won't give up as well. The mentality that I have, which is that I need to be the woman I want you to grow up to become, has brought me through many struggles in the past three months and I'm sure it will continue to do so in the coming years.

All the Love in the Universe,

Mama

Simple Moments • 04 • Bonding

02.06.2012

It's been a rough five days for us both. Breastfeeding hasn't come as easily as I had hoped it would. I've been so disappointed about it and exhausted - I didn't realize I hadn't even taken the time to admire you much or pull you close and soak in your newness, so I did just that while Papa cooked us dinner. You deserve the very best and I'm determined to give it to you.

Simple Moments • 02 • Serenades and Spit Up

02.03.2012

We had a rough first night home together. You spent the night spitting up bloody water that you had swallowed in the birthing tub, so needless to say, I didn't sleep much. Because of that, you pretty much refused to nurse. It had me so worried about you and whether we'll be able to breast feed. Your Papa was amazing and sat up most of the night holding me while I cried and telling me I can do this. If I could birth you, then I can feed you is what he said.

He used to play his guitar for you when you were inside of me, so when we woke up and looked at each other like zombies with a hint of doubt about whether we could do this on our faces, cuddling up on the couch and listening to a few songs seemed like the only thing to do.

We love you. You're worth every sleepless night.