What I've learned

I know I've only been a mom for a little more than three years, but I've had quite a few realizations in that short time. Here are some of them, as random as they might be...

1. When you have three kids three and under, people assume you are super fertile.
Oh, the comments we get. They started back when Luke was a newborn and Clara was just one. "Better you than me!" was one of my favorites. No, seriously. I loved it. You have no idea how glad I am that it's me, I wanted to say. But I'd just smile, slightly offended that they were basically saying that they don't value my children, but whatever. It is better me than them, in that case.

Now, with three little ones, people think we're super crazy. And crazy fertile. "You know there's a way to stop that from happening," is another favorite comment we hear. It always takes me a second to realize just exactly what they are saying. Ohhhhhh, birth control. My thoughts move from yuck, to wait a second! Why would I want to prevent these beautiful babies? They are here, after all! You are talking about my living, breathing babies!

But then I just have to stop and laugh because there's something funny about a long-suffering infertile girl like me hearing those types of comments. To think that I, one day, would have attracted looks from others because of all my little ones. Their words are music to my ears.

2. When you have three kids three and under, people think they can say super personal, skeevy things to you.

This one could be included in #1, but it deserves its own number. Someone asked Ryan a couple months ago why he doesn't just dismount.

I can't believe I just typed that. I also can't believe someone actually said that to him.

3. I am an adult. 

Okay, so I should know this by the age of 36. Yes, 36. But there are just those moments when I stop and look at my two beautiful girls, and think, We adopted them. That's like.. really adult. 

 

Most people can easily wind up pregnant, but adoption is hard. You have to actually go get finger-printing done and stuff. Take yourself and everyone in your household to get physicals. Lay your entire life out in front of a stranger. Collect every piece of paperwork you have accumulated (in all different parts of the country, no less) since you were born and every address of where you have ever lived. Thank goodness Ryan has a crazy memory for that last one. That alone might have stopped me from becoming home study approved.

And I'm not patting myself on the back for this, just observing that I am, in fact, an adult. I probably should have realized that 18 years ago.

4. The time when I'm feeding or rocking the baby is my down time.

This one is really random, but it changed my whole mindset when I realized it a few weeks ago. I used to pine for time to just sit and veg. Watch TV. Do nothing. I needed it. I craved it. The day would end and I'd feel unfulfilled because I never got it. Then it dawned upon me - I'm sitting with the baby all day long. What if I just acknowledge to myself that that's when I'm officially relaxing? Instead of thinking of it as time when I could be doing something else, wanting the bottle to drain quicker so I can get to that laundry so I can eventually relax, I now just sit and breath and do nothing (except feed or rock the baby). What's more relaxing than sitting with a baby?

But it really took me telling myself that it was official relaxation time for it to become official relaxation time. I think that's an important lesson I needed to learn - look for the hidden pockets of time in my day when I can de-stress. With three little ones, I need all that I can get.

5. Kids are all different (at least when it comes to sleeping).

I'm not to blame for the child with bad sleeping habits, just as I cannot take credit for the ones who love to sleep.I have both good sleepers and bad sleepers, yet I do nothing different for any of them. In our house it's been evident right from day one (or day 37, in Clara's case) if they were going to be good sleepers. Essie is a dream. She's been sleeping through the night since seven weeks old. And I simply cannot take credit for that.

I might be inclined to take credit had I not previously had a terrible sleeper (and still do), but Luke has taught me humility. And that maybe it's our genes.

6. Formula is not the devil.

This is something that adoption has taught me because, to be completely honest, I could see myself being a breast milk snob if I only had biological babies. But that is assuming I would have no trouble nursing any of my hypothetical biological babies. And as everyone who's ever had a problem nursing knows, you learn quickly not to be a breast milk snob when stuff is going down.

Don't get me wrong, I love nursing. In fact, I'm still nursing my nearly two-and-a-half-year-old son (once a day, but it'd be more if he had his way). But I'm just thankful for this perspective that adoption has given me. No one wants to be a snob.

7. All children are precious gifts from God. 

(And I don't mean this in a I'm-so-deserving-of-gifts-from-Jesus-that-others-had-to-go-through-trials-in-order-for-me-to-get-my-babies sort of way. Rather, in an all-children-are-gifts-from-God-even-when-I-birthed-them sort of way. You'll see what I mean...)

Sometimes I think of Clara's and Essie's birth moms and how they entrusted us with this huge task of raising their babies (Essie's was in a real, tangible way, while Clara's was more abstract, since she didn't actually choose us, but knew someone would be raising her baby and entrusted her to those unknown individuals) and it stops me in my tracks. What a gift. What an absolutely enormous responsibility. It's like I have a higher authority to answer to, even though their birth moms won't ever have input in how we raise them. They're still in my heart and on my mind. For better or worse, I can't help but think of them when I'm contemplating doing the best I can for my girls.

And then I think... higher authority. Hmmm... that sounds familiar.

And then I think about Luke, and how I can cut corners with that kid (isn't that terrible? I'm only half kidding). But then I think about how even though he wasn't gently placed in our arms by a loving birth mom, he's still a gift. A gift from God. They all are. God has placed them in our care and asked us to do our best by them, for Him. I have to answer to God when it comes to all of our sweet babies.

Yes, this may be obvious to all of you, but it's just one of those quirky things about having both biological and adopted children. At least it is for me. It's sort of like how I forget Ryan is Luke's biological father.

8. God grows my family according to His will.

If I haven't learned this by now, then something is wrong with me. Through all those painful years of infertility, all those long, dark days of begging God for a child, I could never have predicted the way He would choose to answer that prayer. Never. And I equally could not have predicted how my heart would feel about adoption and about our unique circumstances.

I love adoption so much. I love that I get to raise these two blessings that I normally would have never even met. I'm so utterly thankful that I get to. I can't even begin to think about them not being in my life, about what if I never had endometriosis and whatever other myriad problems caused me to be infertile and which led us to adoption.

And every time I look at Clara and Luke together, at the absolutely inseparable best friends that they are, I thank God that he has placed adoption in our lives.

Because I can't even begin to imagine one of these two without the other.

I am also so, so, so thankful that I have been able to experience the actual process of adoption. To know the rush of finding out you are getting a baby, that excitement of driving to a different part of the country to pick her up, of meeting her for the first time, of bonding with this tiny creature that you did not birth. I can't imagine my life without it. I am equally thankful that I got to experience pregnancy and birth and all that comes with having a child that shares your DNA. But most people get to experience that, it's the norm. Adoption is the load less traveled. And I will forever be grateful to God that He has placed that path in my life.

I don't know how, or if, God will continue to grow my family, but I am ecstatic about how he has chosen to form it thus far. And I know He is definitely full of surprises.

9. I love all my children equally.  

Okay, so I never really had to learn this. But it's an honest worry a lot of people have about adoption. "Will I be able to love my adopted kids as if they are my own?" It's something I hear a lot. First of all, they are all my own, but I know where people are coming from with this. I know what they are trying to say - will there be some bond missing since I did not carry them in my womb? Will I be capable of loving them enough? I get it. I think most of us who have contemplated adoption have had to ask ourselves that question, even if it just crossed our minds for a millisecond before we moved on.

And now, as someone on the other side of this question, I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that I do love all my children equally. And I don't think it's necessary to say that I love them all "like I birthed them", because that is not the bar to which I'd like to hold my love. I love them as if they are all my children. Which they are. And I know one thing will always be true - no one will ever love them more than me.

10. God is good.

I'm ashamed I had to learn this. I knew it, then I forgot it, then I realized it once again. I wish I had known it all along, but I'm just grateful I know it now.

It's been a while

There's a lot I could write about, but I am bouncing a baby on my knee as I type, so I will keep this short.

We had a great vacation with my family at the beach last week, even though it was pretty chilly.
 

In the interest of full disclosure, this picture was a little staged. I just may have stripped my children's long pants and sweatshirts off of them on the freezing, windy beach for the obligatory swimsuit photo. Needless to say, Essie is missing from the shot.

They did play on the beach every day, though, and we discovered Clara loves sand. 'Love' actually doesn't even begin to explain it. You know how you think sand is gross when it gets in your mouth? Ya, Clara doesn't feel that way.

I wish I had taken a photo of her slithering along the beach on her stomach. She had us in hysterics.
 
We were there for Easter Sunday, and I couldn't pass up an opportunity to photograph my kids in their Easter clothes, although not everyone was as excited about it as I was.

You may notice I got my hair cut. I actually chopped ten inches off! In a rush to get out the door to Mass on Easter Sunday, I didn't do my hair in the above photo, so here's a little better shot of it (and yes, I forced the kids to take more than one family pic!)...

A highlight of the vacation was getting to meet my new nephew, sweet baby Joey. He is such a handsome little guy and happens to turn two months old today. 

The kids had an absolute blast playing with their cousins. And, like I always say, I really wish we lived closer to them.

As soon as we got to the beach, we thought Essie had bronchitis or RSV or some other terrible illness because she kept having coughing fits. I even took her to an urgent care while there. Turns out it was reflux, most likely caused by my switching to cheap bottles that weren't getting ridding of air bubbles. Bad mommy. But all is good now. At least we're hoping.

She's still loving to nurse a couple times a day for comfort, especially when she is tired and wants help getting to sleep. It's perfect. I'm so content with our nursing situation and I love that she needs it/me.

Luke is very into baseball lately, which Ryan and I are more than happy about. He fell in love with it while playing wiffle ball with the big boys on the beach, and now he loves to practice hitting in our backyard (sans tee.. we're big time).

He's okay and has made contact a bunch of times, but his sister is a natural. Oh my goodness, Clara is something else. And she's so good that she can't be bothered by it. We might convince her every couple of days to take a turn, she hits every pitch and then just stops, completely unfazed. We're starting to think she might be an athlete.

And then there's this girl.

She's getting SO chunky, in a perfect way. Her big blue eyes sparkle more every day. She is smiling and laughing and interacting and we fall more in love with her every second. She is just precious. A precious, precious little soul.

And have I mentioned she's been sleeping through the night since she was seven weeks old??

This girl is a dream. A beautiful, doll-like little dream. (And I've decided, as an adoptive mom, I am allowed to brag about things that I can not take credit for, like her good looks, and her sleeping prowess). 

Well, I didn't really keep this too short. And, it turns out, Essie is currently fast asleep in her bed while #2 is now awake and on my knee as I type (case in point, that kid's poor sleeping I can take credit for). Hopefully another three weeks won't fly by before I'm back here again!

An update on nursing Essie

So breastfeeding isn't going too well.

I wasn't sure how to begin this post so I figured that's as good a start as any.

I have been meaning to come here and work through this for weeks, yet I just can't find the time. But lately I've been wondering if I have actually been avoiding it. So many emotions are wrapped up in nursing. 

And things seem to be changing so quickly. Three weeks ago, I wrote posts in my ahead about how Essie's tongue tie was fixed and how I was hoping it was the answer to all our problems and how my supply would really kick in now and how I wanted to see a lactation consultant... but I never got a chance to type it up. Two weeks ago, I had every intention of sharing how I rented a hospital-grade pump, how excited the woman at the lactation place was for me, how excited people always are. And how just days later, I was getting nearly no milk, how frustrating it was, how I was still looking forward to my appointment with the lactation consultant, how the appointment came and went and I was told to pump eight to 10 times a day. How I actually only found time to pump one to four times a day, when I was lucky. And what a huge pain it was to pump with three kids, made even worse by pumping imaginary milk.

I wanted to come here and lament how I was getting nearly no milk at all. What it felt like to see a drop each time, so little that it wouldn't even trickle down into the collection bottle. How I'd get basically nothing from pumping, but how excited I was when I'd get a milliliter - a MILLILITER - from hand expressing immediately afterward.

But before I could write any of that, I was stopping. I was done with the pump. With my one milliliter and the bottle's stupid, teeny, tiny, little lines that mocked me. 

Unfortunately, all of this lead to me nursing Essie less and less. There was just something about knowing that I had no milk that made it all seem so silly and so easy to cut corners. I'd need to run errands and Ryan would just give her a bottle. What did it matter? I had no milk anyway. 

But then I noticed she seemed unsettled at times, and it hit me - My lack of milk wasn't news to her. She has known all along that she wasn't getting much, yet she still loved it. And here I was cutting her off, simply because I felt stupid about it. How selfish of me. Maybe she needed it. The cuddling. Me. 

So that sounds like I'm leading up to revealing that I'm back to nursing, and things are going great, even if there is barely any milk, right? Not exactly. The truth is, it's hard to nurse when you know you don't have anything to give. She's getting older and bigger and isn't okay with getting nothing while she's starving. 

I have to admit, a small part of me is relieved (which is SO weird because a much bigger part of me is sad and disappointed and grieving the loss of nursing forever, since I probably won't ever be pregnant again and if I can't handle this, then I definitely can't start from scratch to nurse another child we may adopt). It's just that bottle-feeding is so much easier than nursing when nursing is a struggle. Nursing Luke was cake, I loved it. He never took a bottle until his sippy cup. But man, this is hard. Not initially, but ever since finding out the truth about my supply.

Another part of me is humiliated. One of those versions of posts I wrote in my head was entitled, "I'm a nursing fraud" (yes, I think up titles to my imaginary posts). Everyone thought it was so neat (or weird, but they didn't admit that to me) that I was nursing. Our pediatrician in Arizona was jumping out of her skin she was so thrilled about it. The leader of a support group was teary-eyed as she talked about me to the group. The woman at the lactation center was going to ask my consultant for updates on how it was going because she just thought it was the coolest thing. I have to admit I liked hearing that, just as many stay-at-home moms who get zero feedback on their work performance would probably like to. I was nursing my baby who I did not give birth to. That was my story. Only probably was it turned out I wasn't really nursing her. So ya, I felt like a fraud. I eventually convinced myself that I wasn't one since I wasn't actually aware that I didn't have any milk. Fraud? On second thought, no. But humiliated? Sure. 

It was just so easy the first time around. I was one of those mothers who had no problems, except for Luke's dairy allergy, but that was it. No issues with supply. I empathized with moms who couldn't keep breastfeeding, but I really couldn't relate. Now I can. No amount of mother's milk tea or lactation cookies are going to mimic what a pregnancy did for my breast milk. 

I decided early on that I didn't want to take drugs. They're just not for me. This is just going to happen and I'm going to have to deal with it. I may already have nothing left, but Luke still swears there's something there. He's probably just being kind.

I haven't even touched on the guilt. Oh, the guilt. It's there when glancing at the warning on the formula package and when winding up on an anti-formula rant on a friend-of-a-friend's facebook page. Did I try hard enough? Am I giving up too soon? Should I have just tried the meds out of love for Essie? Should I have kept pumping? Should I have prayed harder?

Clara was formula-fed and I was fine with it. Maybe with her it didn't feel like a failure because I didn't try. And I hadn't yet experienced nursing at that point. I should just be thankful I was able to do it at all, instead of mourning that it was only for one baby. 

Or two, if I count Essie. And I probably should. I'm just in that phase where I'm still being hard on myself, kind of like after my c-section with Luke (I'm resisting the urge to put the word nurse in quotations, just as I wanted to do with the word birth after he was born). But, as I did after Luke, I need to pick myself up and move on with what I've been given. Which is a beautiful baby who I love with all my heart, who sometimes loves to nurse no matter how many millimeters she's getting, and at other times is hungry and wants her bottle. A baby who is growing like crazy and is healthy and happy. 

A little blue-eyed gift from God that I am humbled and overjoyed to be given the responsibility of raising. I will always do what's best for her, but sometimes you hit a wall with what you had hoped was possible and we might be there when it comes to nursing. So you back away from that wall and take a different path. I've calmed her by nursing several times in the last couple of days and there is a lot to be said for that.

It's so easy to judge our worth as a mother by those little lines on the bottle when pumping. It's easy to think about what she's not getting from me, how more breast milk could possibly make her healthier or smarter or more whatever. But I'm learning it's not just about how much I produce. That's only part of the story.

It's also about what nursing is doing for her. What it's done for me. It's about the soothing, the snuggling, the warmth, the bonding. I will never forget bringing this tiny baby back to our hotel after she was discharged from the hospital, putting her to my breast, and her latching and staying there for an hour. She has always loved nursing, no matter what she was getting. And when I stop to think about it, I realize what an enormous blessing that is.

I'm so grateful for these months and for however much I am able to breastfeed her in the future. The amount of milk may be small, but the benefits have been enormous. And for that I am forever grateful.

One problem down

So we figured out how to get Clara to sleep with her light off - a nightlight that projects fish onto her ceiling. I want to kiss the person who came up with it.

It was just luck that I even found it. We were buying a microwave online and needed to add a couple small purchases to reach a certain limit in order to get a certain deal. It was right around the time I posted about her fear-of-the-dark-or-whatever-it-is problem (thank you for all your amazingly awesome advice, by the way!) and so I decided to get Clara a nightlight. And there it was. Completely cheesy and tacky and perfect. Or so I hoped.

Her first night with her fishies (and according to her, one of them is "Home Nemo") was her first night without her light on. And it's been that way ever since.

If you come to our home, you will inevitably be dragged into her room to see her fish. She's fascinated that they are only visible when the light is off. Ahh.. the beauty of the fishy nightlight! The lights must be off!

Tonight we did have a small crisis when the fishy nightlight went missing, and I wondered if she'd need her light on again or if, perhaps, she could now handle the dark. But I found it so we didn't have to find out. And there's really no need to. I'm good with her having her fishies on the ceiling all the way through college, if that's what she wants.

My other problem - the one concerning disciplining the two crazy toddler twins while I'm nursing - hasn't gone as well. We have lots of good days, but today was a reminder that when things get bad, they get real bad.

The thing is, there is no solution that works. LeapPads? They fight over them (even though they each have their own) and Luke wound up clunking Clara's head with his today. Coloring? Again, fighting over paper, stickers, crayons, you name it, and eventually hitting and/or biting ensues. TV? Well it turns them into crazed lunatics for the remainder of the day and is just not worth them being comatose while I'm nursing Essie. And they still find a way to fight while it's on.

They fight over special toys brought out only for nursing. They fight over new toys bought just for nursing. Reading is tough because they both want to sit on Essie and me. And Essie - who happens to be a perfect baby in every way, shape and form - has one thing she doesn't like, and that's being sat on or pushed while she's eating. I can't really say I blame her.

Today was a naughty spot (i.e. time out) day. You know those days. In our house, at least, it's usually all or nothing. And today it was all. Luke was in naughty spot continuously from the time he woke up from his nap until he went to bed. He got out of naughty spot over and over, he eventually was put in his room, he stripped naked in his room, I resorted to naughty spot being on my lap and he proceeded to head-bang my chest. Oh, man. I think I will hear, "Lukie's hitting me, Mama!" in my sleep.

So how do you put and keep a child in naughty spot while you're feeding a baby? I'm beginning to think Luke likes seeing me play this game of nursing and disclipining. I wouldn't put it past him.

And that leads me to another question that I pondered throughout the day: How on Earth does anyone play the naughty-spot game all day long AND clean their house? And by "clean their house" I don't mean actually clean their house. I mean the basics, like empty the dishwasher, sweep the floor, clear the kitchen table from lunch, pick up the couch cushions off the floor, fold clothes.

Okay, I shouldn't pretend that I would have actually folded clothes today if not for my poorly behaved children.

But seriously, I'm beginning to think I just don't get it. So please, let me know your tips. And please tell me it's hard to have two toddlers and a new baby (and ignore the fact that the baby is perfect... let's pretend she's a handful just for this) and keep up around your home.

And just because I feel bad I was a little down on my older two in this post, I'll leave you with this exchange...

Clara (after I briefly explained marriage to her, while watching the Bachelor [don't ask] [and, no, I didn't tell her that marriage is something that comes after you date thirty women and pick from the final two] [and, no, I don't actually let my kids watch that garbage]): I'm going to get married.

Me: You are? What boy are you going to marry?

Clara: Lukie.

Me: You want to be married to Lukie? Even though he bites you all the time? (It had been a biting sorta day)

Clara: He doesn't bite me all the time.

Me: I know. That's sweet, honey. But you can't marry your brother.

Clara: But I can marry him because he's a good brother.

My sweet babies. They really are great kids. And best friends. And partners in crime. Their relationship is like no other I've ever seen. They love each other with all their little hearts and forgive at the drop of a hat.

Now if I could just get them to sit quietly with their hands folded in their laps while I'm feeding their baby sister, we'll be all set.

Our little Catholic

 I'm long overdue in announcing that Esther was baptized!

She's wearing the bonnet I wore 36 years ago for my baptism.

Essie officially became a Catholic more than two weeks ago now. My sister, her Godmother, came all the way from New York for the baptism and we were so grateful she and her family made the trip.

It was held at our parish, where Clara was also baptized. But, as some of you may recall, Clara was nine-months old by the time she was allowed to receive the Sacrament.

Three years ago, our diocese required a birth certificate with our names on it in order for a baby to be baptized (if I remember correctly, the names on the birth certificate needed to be the same parents who were presenting her for baptism). Well, with an adoption, you typically don't get a birth certificate with the adoptive parents' names on it until everything is finalized. And, in our case, finalization wasn't going to happen until she was 14-months old. That was way too long to wait for her to be baptized, in our opinion.

So I argued our case with the diocese and won.

Well..... in reality, I made a call, told a priest (who worked for the diocese) our story over the phone, and he called me back with news that the baptism could go forward. Much less dramatic than I could make it sound! But that paved the way for Essie to be baptized as soon as we wanted this time around.

Oh, the chrism. I always hear women rave about the smell of it, so I always felt like I needed to too, in order to be a good Catholic. But, honestly, I didn't see what all the fuss was about. Until now. Our priest slathered so much on, and she has so much hair, that the scent was very strong. Too strong for me. But as the days passed, the smell grew more subtle and I realized what the attraction was. I got used to it. I bathed her but didn't wash her hair. And then the other day, I gave in and washed it, and to my surprise, it still smells like chrism. I think my lack of washing it sooner might have made permanently changed the scent of her scalp. And I can live with that.

Can I just add that looking at these pictures, I forget that I didn't just give birth? I look like a woman who just had a baby, except that my pregnancy weight was gained on our road trip over a period of a couple weeks rather than nine months. And unfortunately, breast feeding isn't helping to melt it off like last time around.

Self-deprication aside, our first photo as a family of five brings me great joy.

And this cake brought me a lot of joy. Probably too much!

'God bless Esther' is right. Welcome to the Church, baby girl!

Because I can't think right now...

I have a million posts swirling around in my head. A lot has happened lately and I haven't really reflected much on it. You add a baby to the family and you are just trying to survive for a while, but what a life-changing ride we've been on lately. I really need to stop and ponder it. And my version of pondering something is writing about it here, so I better get on that.

But for now, because I feel like I've been going-going-going (every kid has been sick and now illness seems to be working its way through the line-up a second time) and I need to crash on the couch with Essie for thirty minutes before her big sister and brother wake up from their naps, I will just wish you a happy Valentine's Day and share some shots from this week. Hope you're having a great day!

Busy and crazy (advice needed)

Things are really great around here, but busy. I am so behind - with housework, with thank-you cards, with Christmas-present buying. 

My days are spent nursing Essie and disciplining Clara and Luke. 

Just a snapshot of our daily life - kids lying around peacefully on blankets. (That's scarcastic, in case you can't tell.)

And, it seems, that those two things go hand-in-hand - the older two are at their worst when I'm feeding Essie. They fight, help themselves to items in the freezer, climb on the coffee table, jump off the coffee table, you name it. I've let it go on too long (of course, I yell but it's as if no sound is coming from my mouth) and I still don't see a solution. Right now I use the TV, but I know they are just that much crazier when it's on. Well, not right at the moment that it's on - they're awesomely subdued and not wrestling each other or the furniture when it's on - but the rest of the day. It's just becoming too much of a crutch for me.

I just can't figure out what else to have them do. They won't play in their rooms, coloring is not an option due their inability to maturely handle crayons (they [i.e. Luke] either throw them, color on everything but paper or lodge them in ears), and they're completely not into their toys when I'm nursing.

I welcome any advice.

Another problem I need your help with (because you all have a pretty good track record of solving my parenting conundrums) is Clara's fear of the dark. She's never actually told me she's afraid of the dark, but she won't sleep without a light on so I have drawn my own conclusion. And by light, I mean lamp. We tried Christmas lights for a while, which worked, but they were pretty bright and ended up dying anyway. She used to be okay with one of those stuffed animals that shined lights on the ceiling, but we are way past that at this point.

We also used to sneak in and turn her light off after she fell asleep, but she is on to us now. At first she'd just wake up and turn it back on herself. But now her lamp is too high for her to reach so she just screams for us and wakes the house up. 

Someone out there must have dealt with this, right? Should I just let her scream for a few nights? 

Could you say "lights out" to this face???

It's not all problematic, though. They are sooooo sweet lately. Clara helps with Essie a lot. Her primary job is to turn the music back on when Essie's in her little seat and it cycles off.

She's also talking up a storm lately, saying so many more things, talking so quickly, so animated. One day, a couple weeks ago, it was like a switch flipped on and her language - and volume - exploded. She's always been a talker, but it was like she'd had caffeine! She's also her brother's keeper - she lets me know when he needs to go to naughty spot, or the doctor, or to bed. 

We believe in clearly-defined gender roles in our house. Except for Luke's pink bed sheets.

Luke is silly, as always. My favorite story about Luke, which I think totally encapsulates his little personality, happened when he was shopping with me one day. As I'm browsing the fabric in a quilting store, he starts excitedly telling me, "Mommy! It's Philip Phillips! It's Philip Phillips!"(yes, my son is well acquainted with the reigning American Idol). I'm thinking he's talking about a song playing in the store (because he can pick out his favorite PP song with one note, and I'm not kidding), but no. He was having (what he thought was) his first celebrity sighting.

And tell me you don't see the resemblance.

That's my two-year-old for ya (and you can judge our musical tastes all you want. "Home" is one darn good song).

Oh, and the best news of the week thus far... Essie had her six-week check-up today and she is now eight pounds! That's two pounds in a month! Esther can really eat. She fits in great with me.

This is from last week. Her cheeks are a half-pound chubbier by now.

Ryan is now home from work and we are going to irresponsibly watch some television instead of sleeping and will regret it in the morning. We never learn.

Oh, and I didn't win, but this blog was nominated in two categories - Most Inspirational Blog and Best Mommy Blog - in the Sheenazing Blogger Awards hosted by A Knotted Life.

Mommy Blogger?! To think this Catholic infertility blog is now considered a Mommy Blog is a little mind-blowing for me.

I know, I know. I have three kids. Clearly this became a Mommy Blog a while ago. But I'll never get used to that, in a good way.