Growing up we did not plan the summer until we knew the date of the dance recital. Recital week was intense, long and wonderful. It began with days of rehearsals on a wooden stage in a high school auditorium. It ended with dinner and milkshakes at a Darryl’s restaurant. There were years as a teenager when my mom and I wheeled in a rack of costumes. A rack. Pink and tan tights. Tap shoes. Pointe shoes. Headpieces. Tape for blistered feet. Sequins. False eyelashes. Makeup and hairspray stashed in a Caboodle. The recital of course was after a year of competition weekends, Nutcracker Christmases and classes at least four days a week.

That was dance. A past life. A life before leaving home and becoming an adult.

This weekend we carefully timed Charlotte’s nap, reviewed lengthy emailed instructions from the dance studio, charged the camera batteries, printed our tickets and packed a bag.  I wrestled my squirmy three-year-old into new tights because she ruined the other pairs. I fluffed her tutu. I made a decent attempt at putting stage makeup on a child that kept rubbing her eyes and licking off her lipstick. We bought the DVD and had a bouquet of flowers ready.

I sat in an auditorium and watched my life come full circle. On either side of us were my parents. I mentioned to my dad that I was learning how expensive this hobby is. He laughed. He said, “You remember the recital when you had TWELVE costumes?!” It was fourteen. At least fourteen.

We watched the extraordinary dances of the teens with at least fourteen costumes and far more talent than I ever had. Then the prop volunteers brought a “house made of straw” a “house made of sticks” and a “house made of bricks” on to the stage. With a sweaty hand I grabbed my husband’s and swallowed hard. You could hear the collective “Aw!” of the crowd when they saw the tiniest dancers take the stage. When the lights came up you could see their pig ears and tales. The “Three Little Pigs” dance began. I grinned so hard my face hurt.

This group of tutued, highly distracted three-year-old’s mimicked their teacher standing off the side of the stage. They ran from house to house per the song’s lyrics. The most memorable bit of choreography was when they pointed to their chins for the line, “not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!” If only they could remember to do it. It was the cutest chaos I’d ever seen.

I was so proud I could barely breathe.

Will she do this for as many years as I did? Maybe. Maybe not. That’s okay. Today I sat with my parents and my husband and got to see my child’s first dance recital. That’s worth the price of fourteen-hundred costumes.

It’s raining outside. Like, pouring. We have a storm front coming through. My babies are napping. It’s quiet in the house except for the sound of rain and CNN. (Whoa! Looks like they could use this rain in Southern California.) The skies were ominous when I went to Target and then to pick up Charlotte from preschool today. I snagged a Disney Princess and Sofia The First paint set from the $1 bin. Just $2 for rainy afternoon entertainment? I’ll take it!

I stripped her down and let her paint, explaining that “Paint is only for big kids!” She was delighted. I’m working on being more “in the moment” with my kids. I left her clothes on the floor and the bags and the door. I stopped everything and and painted with her for a bit. It lasted through painting Sofia’s purple dress when Henry piped up.

I went to change him to find an epic poop explosion. I’m talking liquid stool dripping down his leg. He needed a bath but, I remembered the storm. I heard my mother’s voice in my head, “You can’t take a bath during a thunderstorm! You’ll get electrocuted!” But, I couldn’t leave my baby like this. The crap was settling in between his leg rolls. Oh, and I left the wipes I had just bought at Target in the car. That’ll teach me to be “in the moment.”

I looked outside. It hadn’t actually thundered that I had heard, just rain. I said, “Charlotte, keep painting, I’ll be right back. I need to wash Henry.” I said anti-electrocution prayers as I shuffled my sticky little shit nugget upstairs. Okay, no lightning, no thunder. We’d be okay. I didn’t submerge him. I put him in his little bath seat and just poured water on him. I kept him away from the faucet as if lightning would shoot through it and kill us all. I think I saw that in a movie once. I prayed more as I quickly scrubbed him. It was a terrifying 2 or 3 minutes.

He was dry and clean. I took him down for his lunch. We have just started solids and he got to try squash today. I wanted to feed him right when we got home, but I was all “in the moment.” So, naturally this happened moments after I bathed him:

I went to the car and got the wipes. I wasn’t going to go to the trouble and risk death by electrified bath water for the second time in one afternoon. I still haven’t heard any thunder or seen any lightning, so I keep telling myself the threat was minimal and I’m not a careless  endangerment to my child. I look forward to the squash poop I’ll get to clean tomorrow, hopefully without shocking anyone.

I had planned to show a “one year later” picture from the pregnancy announcement I made a year ago this week. You know, a sappy collage showing “what a difference a year makes.” That’s when I saw Jill’s Slice Of Perfect In Our Messy Reality challenge. That’s a perfect excuse to dress up my kids and take the pictures I wanted to take anyway! Jill is fun. I love her blog and I enjoyed talking with her when I met her at BlogHer a couple of years ago.

Then my messy reality hit and I couldn’t find the originals of the photos I took of Charlotte when we announced that she would be a big sister.  This is likely due to my progesterone fueled brain in April 2013. So, for last year click here. I think it turned out pretty cute, but I’m all kinds of biased.

On with the challenge! It’s April, 2014.

Here are these beautiful slices of perfect I captured of Charlotte and Henry the other day. Ya’ll, I can’t even stand it when I see these shots of my babes. Gah!

Now for the messy reality. Sorry to break it to you, but they are not always this darling. I had to coax Charlotte into taking these pictures. Bribery in the form of Easter candy was involved. I did have to do a little editing with these. I cropped out some extra space, boosted the highlights and removed the wall socket. Now I will back up and show you the whole room. Charlotte is blocking the pesky socket in this shot.

We’ve lived in this house for a year now and this room remains pretty much empty. It will one day be a formal living room or dining room, I guess. Watch for the rogue coffee table we took out of the den because our kid kept banging into it. Beware the modem and WiFi extender on the floor. We still have mediocre WiFi at best. On the left is my nephew’s car seat since my sister and her family are in town for Easter.

I appreciate Jill doing this challenge. I have a bad habit of comparing myself to other’s perfectly edited DSLR photographs. Ya’ll, so many of us are duped into believing we aren’t good enough when we see other people’s lives through Instagram filters. Remember, no one shares shots of the messy reality on their Facebook wall.

Dear Henry,

I made it. Right on the 6th I’ m writing this to you. Your ol’ mom may be getting the hang of this two children life.

Today Charlotte asked to hold you. I had her sit back and I used a throw pillow to support your head that doesn’t really need supported anymore. After a few moments she said, “He is getting really big, Mama! Can you take him now?” I laughed as I relieved her. That was the understatement of the month.

Son, you are well over 15 lbs. I suspect you are already 16 lbs. We’ll know for sure on your 4 month check-up next week. That means you have doubled your birth weight in 4 months. We get a good arm workout carrying you around. You can already wear your size 6 month clothes. Your baby chub is delicious and adorable! I’m sure I’ll embarrass you with that tidbit one day.

Your fourth month was a blur with big snow and ice storms and everyone in our house getting sick, but you stuck through it, all smiles. I have been loving all the one-on-one time with you. You are sweet, happy company. When you’re not eating, you’re smiling, giggling and trying to roll over. You rolled over once, but it was kind of an accident and you haven’t done it again, so I’m not counting it, yet. You love being with me in the wrap or the carrier. At the grocery store you like to face out and smile at everyone. Literally. There is not an aisle of the store where you aren’t stopped and admired.

You have been sitting in your Bumbo chair everyday. You are strong and push up with your legs when we hold you up. The cutest thing was your amazing foot discovery. You found your right foot, then your left and you haven’t let go. We chuckle at how you want to hold your feet all the time. You have started to show interest in rattles and baby toys, mostly by putting them in your mouth. Your sister loves to take them from you or aggressively cram one of these toys in your face. She means well. Most of the time.

Watching your relationship with Charlotte has been wonderful this month! Sometimes, if you get fussy and can’t be soothed, we put you in your bouncy seat in front of her while she plays and you calm right down. She tickles you and and you laugh. She smiles and you grin bigger than ever. That’s when my heart feels like it’s going to burst. Daddy and I love seeing you together.

Your few, fleeting nights of sleeping 6 hour stretches were right when I wrote your 3 month letter. Yeah, you slept like that for maybe a couple nights. Mama spoke too soon. We’re gonna have to figure out something to get you to start sleeping through the night.

You make the exhaustion worth it. You are such a good, sweet baby. I love every moment with you. I love you, my sweet, sweet boy.

Love,

Mama

Ron Burgundy would have been jealous of my son’s head of hair when he came out of the womb 3.5 months ago. But, it was short lived. Poor kid. We got a glimpse of what Henry will look like in his early forties if male pattern baldness sets in. It has grown back. His extremely round noggin is a little more covered these days. Here’s a visual timeline of the loss and regrowth:

I didn’t realize I would be able to relate to my son in his hair loss plight. I disgusted my dear Instagram and Twitter followers a few weeks ago with this:

Granted, I have a lot of hair. It’s fine, but I have a lot of it. I’ve always liked my hair. It’s straight, shiny and looks good long or short. A tried and true brunette, the color is deep and not the grayish “mousy brown” many women bleach out and then call “blond.” With both pregnancies, my hair was thicker and shinier. It held curl better. I loved it.

Like clockwork, he hit 2.5 months or so and my hair started falling out as I remember it did after Charlotte was born, but this time it is WAY worse. When he turned three months it began coming out  in clumps. It has clogged the drain. It became a nest in the corner of the shower that could have comfortably housed a colony of some small amphibious animal. My husband accused me of using his sink. I tried to explain the uncontrollable migration of the shedding female mane. He looked at me today and said, “Should we be concerned? I mean. Should you talk to the doctor?”

It’s all over my children. It’s stuck in their clothes and on Charlotte’s plate. Since I nurse Henry all day and night and wear him around in a carrier, he gets the worst of it. When I had him at the pediatrician for a follow-up this week I confessed the grossest part of my hair loss. One of my hairs was wedged between his butt cheeks when I changed his diaper the other day. That’s when the doctor assured me that he likely had not ingested the hair, but that it fell out when I was changing him. She did, however, warn me of the dangers of hair tourniquets. Yeah, that’s when you could unknowingly tie off a tiny toe or a tiny penis with your hair. Ugh.

I read up on postpartum hair loss and it sounds like I’ll be okay by the time he’s one. I’m definitely getting a haircut soon. I think that will help. My hair is really long right now. I’m not to the Rogaine point yet, but I’ve considered changing shampoos or doing the shampooless-shampoo thing. I’ve ditched the comb for now and try to use my brush with wide bristles. I would love to hear any other hair loss stories and advice here.

My son’s hair returning gives me hope. Who knew I’d long for a pregnancy side-effect? To my pregnant friends: Hold on to those hair hormones!