Pink Frosting

Aside from making a daughter, I've been busy crafting, photographing a stuffed monkey, organizing (and then reorganizing) and alphabetizing the entire house. The usual nesting at the end of pregnancy I guess, but to the extreme. And I started this at around 18 weeks pregnant so it has been going on for awhile. I've been putting that saying "Live today like it is your last" to good practice. Not in the, *I'm gonna die tomorrow* way... but the, *I'm going to have a newborn soon and my life will temporarily end* way. So I'm paying bills early, filling photo albums with pictures from last year, trying to catch up with life, if that is even possible. The amount of to-do lists around here is laughable: I have one for household adventures, one for last minute hospital bag packing, one for Rhys, one for what to pack in Jude's overnight bag for Grandma's house... they are everywhere. I've always loved to-do lists, especially when I make a fresh to-do list and add more projects so I can cross things off the old to-do list, just because it has been transferred to the new list. Nothing actually got done, but it was moved. Therefore it can be crossed off before it's thrown out, and somehow that is satisfying in a completely useless way. Anyone with me on that?

One of the projects that did get crossed off was Raya's birth CD, which is done. (I blacked out her middle name on the cover since it's still a secret). I made one for Jude's birth and didn't listen to it until after he was born, but still love the compilation of songs that I chose during that time in my life and how it makes me feel to revisit it. I'm hoping I can actually use this CD as intended, to help relax and distract me during labor. I will be attempting a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) this time, after finding a supportive doctor and hospital. So I may rather use this precious little CD as a ninja star throwing device, we'll see how it all works out.

So, I figured I would post a last pregnancy picture because I'm convinced I cannot get any bigger than I am now and I'm hoping this will be it for the belly pics. My friends have nicknamed me The Torpedo, I'm sure no explanation is necessary. Luckily I have my 50mm lens on so the camera is sharp and I'm a little blurry... which I think works out quite nicely in this situation. I feel like a celebrity when out in public because everyone, and I mean everyone, wants to come and ask me questions about how incredibly large I am. Is it triplets? Are they overdue by a week? How are you standing without tipping over? And my personal favorite comment: Look at how you're carrying all up front, that's a boy! And after 6 ultrasounds I can pretty much say no, it isn't. And you know why else it isn't? Because I've got more invested emotionally and financially to ever make that switch, thank you very much. What can I say, this kid better like feminine clothes and decor either way. Rhys said we can simply remove the last "a" in Raya's name that hangs above her crib, if it's a boy. Problem solved, man-style.

So here is another project crossed off my list: Jude's alphabet book. This idea came from Emily who is mentioned in nearly every blog entry of mine, because that's just how much she watercolors my life. It took two nap sessions in which I snuck in after Jude was asleep and gently removed his favorite buddy, Monkey, from his grasp. I took pictures of Monkey representing each letter of the alphabet and had a book printed from Blurb.com. Jude loves it and I'm proud to have something as a keepsake for him that captures this particular time in his life in such a unique way. It also gives Monkey a true personality, which apparently is silly with slightly sarcastic undertones.

And while I'm scrambling to get all of these details done, I am very aware that I am in no way prepared for what is to come. I am trying to control everything around me while I still have a moment, because once I have two kids I am convinced I will not know what hit me. I have a pretty substantial stash of new toys for Jude for when his little sister arrives, hoping that will distract and impress him while his life is forever shifted. And as much as I tell him "I did this for you, my sweet boy! I made you a little life companion! She'll run circles with you at the playground someday!", he has no clue that his party is about to be crashed. And this makes me sad, the fact that our life as it is will go away. BUT. The idea that very soon my whole family will be out of my body forever, and complete, feels like the pink frosting on a cake that's a little too dry. We'll just concentrate on eating the frosting. And someday, after Newborn Boot Camp is over, I'll be well-rested and rebalanced and energized enough to make a good cake again.

Note to Self

You know when you read something and insantly wish you'd written it? Well this is that, for me. I found this on a blog years ago, saved it in my "Carrie's Random Stuff" file and just stumbled upon it again. The sad thing is, I have no idea who to give the credit to. I looked everywhere trying to find the guy who wrote this and I've lost him. So if he finds this, sorry guy. I wish I could have given you the wonderous credit you so deserve for this. For perfectly capturing the way I feel every time it rains. And when I remember in those tiny magical moments in the ordinary that this is what it's all about. All of it, happening right now.

Sometimes it moves pretty quick. When you don't have time to think. React. Remember days when all you had was time. Time to reflect. Now. Now is for living.

Just live.

Wake up, tie your boots on and get out in it. Smell it, feel it. Roll down the windows so you can hear it. Listen. Make some noise so you can be part of it. Put your hands in it. Deep. Pick it up and toss it around. Break it open against the ground. Flip it over.

Drink it up. Let it spill. Touch.

Take the time to do that.

Take the effort to throw it a mile high and kick it when it comes down. Hug it and don't let it go. Stare at it. Clench your fists and yell it. Raise your arms to celebrate it. Hold its hands and dance. Close your eyes and take a chance. Make it happen.

Crawl through it on your hands and knees. Surrender. Defy. Rebel. Let it break you down. Get up with it. Run with it until your legs give out and you can't breathe or move or shout. Encircle it. Let it in. Float in it. Spin... Smile. Ride. Stack it up into the sky.

Burn it down to feel the heat. Chase it down a city street.

Tell it jokes until you cry. Cry with it. Cry with it until you smile. Laugh with it for a while.

Make it pretty. Give it away. Cover it with mud. Let it stay.

Race it to the edges of the Earth. Jump with it. Fly above.

Dream about it.

Shower it with love. Protect it.

Never. Ever. Forget it.

Don't forget.

(Note to Self)

This is it.

Wandering Free

I've been meaning to blog for so long now, about so many things. I got the most beautiful gift in the mail from Emily, my long-distance muse, and took so many pictures to capture that wonderful moment of opening the brown paper wrapping and beholding a creativity & sunshine that only she can send. But I haven't blogged it, and I haven't blogged about the magical day when we found out we are having a baby girl, and I haven't blogged our Easter adventures, or how I've entered into another Mom Dimension with the addition of a new double stroller, or about all the great movies I've seen lately, or about how perfect our 5 year anniversary weekend at the Mission Inn was, or how we moved Jude into a vintage twin bed that is so beautiful and he's done so well with the switch and how I gave the nursery a complete makeover... I guess I've been having too much fun to sit at the computer and apply myself. Until now, until this, because I can't seem to do anything else with myself but cry. And what good does that do anyone really? Well you know what I mean, it's not something you can check off a to-do list.

On Friday when I went to get the mail (and have I mentioned this is one of my favorite things to do? Even when it's just junk mail, I love getting the mail. Because sometimes you get those "perfect mail days" when it's all brown paper package surprises and eBay purchases and Anthropologie catalogues and no bills at all! Anyway.) there was a black crow sitting on the mail box. I'm not superstitious but I've heard that's a sign of bad things to come. Which got me thinking about how life has been so great lately with mothering and our business and every little thing. Which made me wonder: When's this luck gonna shift? Because it always does. And the floods come and it feels like it's never going to stop but it does. It may sound pessimistic but I just like to keep it real.

It shifted the next day.

I was getting ready to go out for a perfect night with my boys: Lebanese dinner at Papa Hassans and Cherry on Top frozen yogurt bar for dessert, in charming old town Orange. It's one of our favorite things to do on a Saturday night after a family adventure and a nap. I'd given the tweezers out of my make-up bag to Jude so he could go "fix things". I was in the bedroom and Rhys was in our living room with Jude, when I heard a loud zapping sound and then screaming. All of our electricity had gone out and I ran into the front room where Rhys had scooped Jude up, ran towards the bathroom and yelled "He just electrocuted himself!" He had stuck the tweezers into the one solitary outlet that didn't have a plastic safety cover. I think I took it off to vacuum and left it off, but can't remember, it's just always been covered. I've not been one to take First Aid or CPR classes, I just don't have that preparation mentality. I chalk that up to having to pack a backpack in constant anticipation of The Big One, an earthquake that my apocolyptic, disaster-minded dad was convinced would be ending the world. And so many other things I lived in fear of, but that's a heavy post for another day. So I had no idea what to do but grab my son and run his burned fingers under cold water. Without the internet we couldn't look up the proper instant care of electrical burns so Rhys ran around trying to locate my cell phone to call the pediatrician. Who had to call us back, and by that time we were already in the car on the way to the ER with a tiny hand in a bucket of ice water. He screamed at the top of his lungs until his hand was numb, and then was perfectly happy with his Tootsie Roll pop in the other hand.

The ER experience was typical... slow, inept, frustrating, etc... so I'm not going to get into that. I'll just note that it took 2 nurses and an hour to get one EKG reading. And my child was sitting completely still, watching Finding Nemo on our portable DVD player. Heaven help them with a normal squirmy 2 year old. The hardest part was when they took the ice bucket away and dressed his third degree burns on three fingers. I've never heard Jude scream and cry the way he did then, and I can't get the image or sound out of my head. It just won't go away. It was also tough to have a social worker come and interview Rhys and I and inform us that since this was a "preventable accident", we should be expecting a visit from Child Protective Services. Now I know just what it feels like when your child is kidnapped and you are on the suspect list.

We came home to a dark house. Rhys rewired the outlet and got the electricity back on but our computer was fried. It was on the fritz but like an old Buick, we'd figured out how to jiggle it around a bit to get it to hang on for a whole year longer. It's amazing how far away the whole world feels when you are disconnected from the internet.

This isn't something that I ever expected to happen to Jude. He's such a careful little guy and he's so clingy that I'm almost always 2 inches away from him anyway. He doesn't take risks. He holds onto the stair rail every time because he wants to, not because I tell him to. After I unload him from the car he inevitably says "Hold my hand!" before we even get near a street. Accidents and injuries have been almost non-existent. But he does like to fix things with tools he finds around our house, and this one just happened to be made of metal. And the thing he decided to fix just happened to be a live electrical outlet. He's going to be fine, and it could have been so much worse. So I should focus on that. I know. I've gotten lots of "You guys really got lucky with this." And while I completely know what they mean, lucky is not something I feel right now. Rhys said there was a huge explosion with a shower of sparks when the incident happened, so the fact that nothing but a tiny dot in our carpet caught on fire will have to be our silver lining. That, and Jude will be completely healed in about two weeks and walked away with only small finger burns. Nothing that a little medication, sugar, and Blues Clues can't fix.

So here I sit, 4 pounds lighter than I was on Saturday due to stress and forgetting to eat and lugging the 30 lb love of my life around because I couldn't bear to let go of him for a second (although I have plenty of fat reserves from the pregnancy, I'm certainly not wasting away over here). We just got back from the follow-up appointment at a burn unit. Rhys went to work and I redressed Jude's burns and put the tiny mesh glove on his hand for the second time. And now he's napping peacefully, all is calm and quiet, and I don't know how I'm going to do this. For the next two weeks, and for the rest of my life. He's been so brave, so full of toddler gratitude, so patient, so good. I feel like I don't deserve it. He even said "Thanks for helping with my burns, Mama" and at one point came up with "Don't worry!" out of nowhere, in the most adorable toddler tone. How is he smarter than me in a situation like this? How is he not crying as much as I am? I hold it together until he's no longer around and then I just crumble. My baby has third degree burns and I feel like I'll never be able to relax as a mother again. I try so hard to be The Calm Mom and feel like I've been succeeding... and with Jude's gentle temperment it hasn't been difficult. Not a lot of "nos" just for the sake of saying no, lots of room to experiment and explore, surprisingly relaxed. But now I'd like to be substituted out of this game, thank you. I just can't do it, it's too hard. I'm a control freak idealist with no religion, how am I supposed to handle this? I love this tiny human so much it hurts, even when nothing is wrong there is an ever-present aching, because I know life brings ups and downs and I need them all to be ups for this guy. It feels like a part of my heart has walked off on two little legs and I'm fiercely trying to protect it but I just can't. It's out there, wandering free. It's gonna have a mind of it's own. It's going to have a drivers license someday and could get on a motorcycle anytime he wants. And hey, guess what?! I'm making another extension of myself right this minute, who'll be born at the end of July and divide every fiber of my aching love into even smaller pieces, and who will be going out on dates that extend way past her curfew and will be driven around by her boyfriend's race car convertible.

Really?

How do I do this.

The Space Between

I posted a video (bottom of the blog) that I came across yesterday on one of my favorite photographer Davina's blog, created by the beautifully talented author Katherine Center. I was having a really bad day all around, and this little video instantly made everything better. I've watched it a few dozen times and somehow I have cried every single time, even though I have it memorized. That's mostly because of how artistically crafted it is, but can also be chalked up to some serious pregnancy hormones. I love that video.

~

Motherhood.

Equal parts joy and heartache.

It requires so much more than you ever thought you had to give.

~
Here I sit with a second baby riding shotgun, wondering how on earth I'll be able to mother two children at the same time. Wondering how I got as far as I did with this one I already have. I remember what one newborn was like, a little too vividly. Throw a toddler into the mix and what do you have? A simultaneous, three-way meltdown. I hope I can learn to balance this new life faster than I did the last one. There is nothing harder than finding that space in between Mother and Self. But there is also nothing more rewarding than discovering it and being able to stay in that delicate place.

Where does it end? Where do I begin...

I've been gone so long, it feels like I died and was reborn as someone else... someone with the longest, strongest stomach flu anyone has ever survived. In other words, I'm pregnant.

~

I'm not going to spend a bunch of time trying to describe what the last 8 weeks (that's right, TWO MONTHS) of constant, all-day nausea was like because there are no words that could. Imagine walking around with someone's finger down your throat all day. It's kinda like that. In the last two months, I have left my couch and ventured out of the house only three times. You can imagine how many hours of HGTV that represents, and I think in the future if I see anyone trying to stage a home for a quick flip I might have an instant gag reflex from the association. I will also never be able to look at another Ritz cracker again.

As I type this, I am 14 weeks pregnant with my second baby and still have morning sickness. Which must have been named by a man because a woman WOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. It lasts all day. The only highlight of my day was being able to make a thick black "X" in Sharpie pen across the day I had just defeated on the calender... the only thing that made me feel somewhat accomplished. Today I seem to be getting slightly better, which is a relief because I was beginning to doubt that I'm growing a baby in my body at all but some wildly dangerous strain of the flu. What a horribly disappointing ultrasound that would be.

~

I feel incredibly blessed to have this opportunity to be pregnant with another tiny person. I have a few friends who are having trouble conceiving and I realize that my morning sickness is nothing compared to the frustration and heartache that surely causes. Every day I feel lucky to have gotten pregnant when I wanted to and that I've had no serious complications so far. That being said, this will be the last Buchele I make. I just can't go through this again. And if you ever hear me say that I'm tossing around the idea of having a third, please direct me to this blog entry ASAP.

So here's the amazing part. As it turns out, I live with the two best guys EVER. I knew this before, but the last couple of months have really proven it to me. Rhys has done more cooking, cleaning, diaper-changing and random-food-fetching that any one person should ever have to do and he hasn't missed a beat. On top of it, he has maintained a steady level of sympathy and support and love for cranky little me the entire time. I should mention that I've perfected the ultra-ratty hairstyle of Hermione circa early Harry Potter. And he seems to love me even more these days, despite the rats nest hairdo and the lazy outfits. I guess making internal organs of an offspring scores major points.

And my Jude, oh my little Jude. I'm amazed by this person every day, who seems to have caught onto the idea that mama isn't feeling her best, and has really been compassionate. He has been content just snuggling under a cozy blanket on the couch, watching home make-over shows and TLC all day. His favorite is Cake Boss, and oh my word, when there was an episode in which Sesame Street ordered their 40th anniversary cake from the Cake Boss it was the best day of Jude's life. I've been so lucky to have a toddler with his sensitive personality during this trying time of illness. It saved me. He even started asking to "Watch Ellen dance?" and "Where's a cake man?" I watched my share of Blues Clues too, so it all evened out. And no, we don't normally watch this much television. But I figured I'm in "survival mode" right now and 2 months of TV isn't going to ruin my toddler. I hope.
~

This new baby I'm baking appears to be quite a food connoisseur. I have craved nothing but gourmet meals from the start and watching Iron Chef really does us both in. If only I could have a personal chef here at the house, making me seared ahi (not like I could eat it anyway with those mercury levels, but whatever), caprese salads, delicately glazed lamb chops and risotto... I'd be huge right now. So I guess it's a good thing I don't have a personal chef living here.


Here's our latest precious moment: I told Rhys the other day that I'd been craving strawberry cupcakes with strawberry frosting (PINK!!?). So guess what our grocery list for tomorrow includes? That's right, he wrote on his own: strawberry cupcakes, strawberry frosting, SPRINKLES (this was his own doing, I did not specify sprinkles) and cupcake cups. I cried when I saw these delicate feminine ingredients written in my husband's writing. He's gonna make me cupcakes. It's the sweetest thing of all time.

~

I'm a crazily lucky girl.

A Great Deal of Maintenance Required

I heard Pearl Jam's Nothingman on the radio last night while sitting in the car. It had been years since I'd heard it and it took me right back there... to that place where crazy naivety meets romantic melancholy under pale yellow street lights, where everything still seems incredibly possible and yet just out of reach.

I don't know what it is about this song, but it does something to me. It always has. It was released right before my birthday in 1994, I had just graduated from high school. I was 17 and full of energy and quiet rage and wonder of what this gigantic world had waiting for me. This was my song of choice to sit and cry to, and no matter what the situation was, the melody always fit my sorrow. And of course, like all favorite songs from the past, there is one particular boy it makes me think of. And a girl. The ones who remind me of my youth and that crackling creative energy that fueled my life back then.

Then I remembered THIS~ one of the most brilliantly written moments on television. It was a flashback montage on Californication, set perfectly to Nothingman. It captures the exact feeling I get when I hear this song, and the dramatic mood that was my life back then. Full of road tripping and off-key singing and obnoxiously loud laughing. Flowers on the dashboard. Polaroids galore. Breaking up, making up. Trying to find a perfect balance. A beautiful, unparalleled trust that friends will be there forever.

Full of the Not Knowing... oh so bittersweet.

But would I go back? No way. Well, maybe for a little while.

If I could take 25 minutes out of the record books.

Random Ramblings of a Redhead

This one's gonna be long and random, a pish-posh of memories from August and September. I went to a taping of Dr. Phil with my friend Kristy, and before you start throwing chairs at me, I didn't go to see Dr. Phil. I went to see my Favorite Person in the World That I've Never Met, Heather Armstrong, talk about the neverending Stay-At-Home Mom vs Working Mom debate. I sent an email request to be in their audience and got a call back the next day. The guy interviewed me over the phone about my life as a mother and apparently I "passed," because we were invited and placed in the front row about 5 seats from Heather. I wanted to throw her a paper airplane note but I decided against it. I didn't want Robin McGraw coming after me.
I'm not sure when the show airs since the producers had no idea themselves.
I think our favorite part was walking through an old Hollywood cemetery to get to the studio.


We bought Jude a new wagon and gave him high-speed rides over parking lot speed bumps. The next morning I woke up sore. This is when you know you're getting old.

Ah, the Orange County Fair. Jude had his first Dippin Dots ice cream which turned out to be the best experience of his life so far. He pet some interesting animals, went on his first carny ride, and had cotton candy for the first time. We had a blast, then I thought I'd come down with a horrible chronic disease a few days later. Rule #1: Don't eat the fair food. That's also Rule #2-10.

Rhys and I have been working like mad on our Mosaic Music studio's website and marketing stuff. Throw two people together to try to design a website who have no clue how to work Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop or Dreamweaver and you have quite a circus. Even though it was incredibly frustrating, we were proud to be able to do it ourselves, together. We've just introduced a Mommy & Me and Musical Theater class and we're hoping they are successful. The Mommy & Me class was featured on our local OC mom blog Tiny Oranges. Jude and I were the first to sign up for our class, of course. Although I have a fear of singing in a little circle of toddlers I figure if I own the place, I won't have to. Or, they'll have to pretend I'm great.

~

Our little family spent a bunch of time in Long Beach, shopping on 2nd street, getting cupcakes at Frosted, and walking on the beach. Our favorite thing about Long Beach is a little street called Loynes that is so bumpy if you hit a bend fast enough, you catch air. We speed down that road and do u-turns until we start feeling sick.

And sadly, there was a first black eye this month. Jude decided it would be cool to do a nose-dive off the couch and into the coffee table. Here is his trophy. Don't you think the wife-beater tank top adds a little something to this look?

Current life goals of mine include: Sitting around the table that brainstorms concepts for new seasons of Dexter, visiting the Muppet ranch in LA, and being a back-up dancer for a performance of Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal. I know that last one is a bit tricky since the King of Pop is no longer with us, but since I spent the better part of my early adulthood practicing those particular dance moves, it deserves to be on my Dream List. The costumes, the dancing, the Man. I was supposed to be a part of that original music video, I was just born a little too late.

My short-term goal is throwing my son a 2nd birthday party on Saturday. Really? Two years? Okay, sometimes it seems like he should be 10 by now... but other times it feels like a flash of light.

Sweet Sean Brady... no, not the one from Days of Our Lives

Oh wow. Has it been two months since I've blogged? So much happens in two months these days, it's overwhelming to think of trying to catch up. Being the Director of Development for a toddler isn't a small task, but hey... the pay is great. Oh wait, I WORK FOR FREE. Well, he pays me in extremely tight neck hugs and random jigs to music only he can hear, which is the best compensation of all time.

Highlights of this month include a photo shoot with Baby Sean Brady who was perfection in every way. Oh how I loved this photo session. Funny how much I love photographing babies this small but if I had to spend more than one night trying to keep them fed and well-rested, I'd be done before I started. I'm hoping the next tiny Buchele is one amazing sleeper right out of the gate like this little guy was.

Baby Sean was almost 2 weeks old here. Don't you just wanna pinch a cheek or two?

And since Blogger seems to have a spacing vendetta against me tonight, I'm going to post this now before I slowly go insane trying to add more pictures from the Highlights of my last couple of months. I'll be back.

You're Never Too Old to Not Learn Something New

I was excited when my friend Kristy suggested taking a photo class together. She'd just bought a big-shot Canon 50D and I still hadn't read the manual that came with mine. Now, I've taken over 5 years of photography classes and majored in Creative Photography in college, but that didn't stop me from not retaining any of the handy technical information~ the stuff my brain automatically dismisses as being"unfun, non-artsy content." If it even resembles math, I shut down mentally. So I thought it would be great to take a refresher course on the interworkings of my camera, but mainly I enrolled so I could hang out with Kristy (and her friend Christi) every Wednesday night for 5 weeks. And it really was exhilarating~ three girls going out to dinner before class and then lounging with desserts at Steamer's Jazz Cafe after. And I'm proud to report that even in a 5-week course we managed to ditch the last half of one class. Our only regret was that we bothered with the first half.

Here's what I learned in my photo class.

Week 1: You're never too old to draw a heart tattoo on a friend's arm when you are bored in class.

Week 2: Nothing, absolutely nothing, is sweeter in this world than an elderly couple attending a digital photography course.

Week 3: A massive pool of cup condensation is a good measure of when you have been in one place too long.

Week 4: The world is your couch when you take your shoes off.

Week 5: You know when you are DONE with your class when:

a) You take careful notice of the room's emergency evacuation plan

b) You play mental checkers with yourself on your plaid pants

c) You clean out your purse, balance your checkbook, make next week's grocery list and then frantically try and think up another semi-domestic task to complete

d) You are truly interested in the doodle art of your neighbor

Oh yeah, and a gray card can solve all of life's problems.

Serenity

I don't know exactly when it was, or what it was, but my life went from being one giant hell-hole to sweet, daily serenity. It still shocks me to hear myself say "I'm not fond of the baby stage," because who doesn't love babies? The same people who dislike Ellen, Moulin Rouge and small furry animals, no doubt? Nope. People who don't love infants are people who had babies with colic, babies who wouldn't nap, and who had sky-high expectations of themselves as mothers long before they gave birth. Don't get me wrong, I love other people's babies (as long as I can hand them over the moment they fuss.)

A year ago I was just starting to recover from that first year of Jude, a time I refer to as "The Black Hole 2007." Now I find myself starting to think about having another baby, and what it would be like to start all over again. I'm a) scared out of my mind and b) so in love with the idea of having a daughter, that the idea of getting pregnant again just fights itself out in my head almost daily. I'm convinced that even if my next baby is somehow a direct descendant of Satan himself, it could not be harder than the first time around. Only because I know how hard it is and the shock of how massively upsetting a newborn can be to one's whole character could not destroy me again. Anyway. Back to the happy.

Now, almost 2 years later, I am purely content and delighted with my "new" life as a mother. It really changed for me when Jude started to talk, and dance, and give random kisses. It made a world of difference~ he went from being a motionless blob of need to a sweet little funny-man. And those days I always longed for, those movie montage moments where everything is in slow motion... feathers flying from a pillow fight, little legs running through sprinklers, picking a bunch of wildflowers on a nature walk... this is finally how my life feels, at this moment. In every hour there is some random precious occurrence that makes me want to sing. (And heck yes, there are still meltdowns about some tiny thing that interrupts my bliss and makes me momentarily swear off another child altogether, but for once that's not what I'm writing about.) That life I have always worked toward and dreamed of is finally here. I have it. And I can honestly say that I've never been happier.