I’ve been a little MIA on the blog lately, my apologies.  I have a legit excuse this time.  Tornadoes ravaged Raleigh this weekend.  True story.  We’re okay.  In fact, we didn’t even lose power.  But, it is a sad, devastating situation for many here in North Carolina.

Greyson and I established a plan as winds blew branches past our windows and the rain came down hard and fast.  We watched images on TV of angry funnel clouds darkening our lovely city.  The wind was really terrifying as we heard of more and more twisters touching down.  If it got worse where we were, I was going to get in the linen closet in our downstairs master bathroom with Charlotte, and Greyson was going to grab the dog and get in the bathtub.

In an instant it all stopped.  That’s when we began to see what was left of some neighborhoods.  I imagined the terror one mother must have felt.  Three young boys died, and a baby is in intensive care.

My baby smiled and laughed the whole time, totally unaware of the terror her parents were feeling.  She just wanted to play with my hair and get kisses as I clutched her close.  I wouldn’t put her down.

When it was just Greyson and I, we really wouldn’t have worried too much about it.  But, now we sat there, staring at the screen, imagining the worst.  We decided we needed a game plan for pretty much any disaster, fires, hurricanes, even earthquakes, though we don’t live on a fault line.

I have been swamped at work, I got called in Sunday.  (I don’t typically talk about my unique profession on the blog, but if you leave a comment asking me about it, I’ll tell you about it in an email.)  I’ve seen the devestation first hand.  I’ve been praying extra hard.  Praying prayers of gratitude for our incredible good fortune.

 

What is it that’s so inherently creepy about the Easter Bunny?  Seriously, I don’t think I ever got my picture taken with a department store employee in a crudely put together rabbit suit.  However, since I’m a new mama and I want to make a big deal over every little holiday or event, I wanted to get Charlotte’s picture with the Easter Bunny.

I got my chance this weekend at a family get together.  Charlotte was adorable.  She gummed a little plastic egg one of the older kids found during the hunt and gave her.  (I cleaned out melted chocolate from the inside and washed it off for her.)

She smiled at the bunny, too young to run in terror like some of the 2 to 4 year olds did.  When I say “Bunny”  I mean my friend Mike in a rented costume.  He was the skinniest Easter Bunny to ever rock a pair of Rainbow flip-flops while handing out candy.

What’s wrong with this picture?  Honestly I didn’t even notice until I posted it on Facebook.  Look at his hand?! Where is the paw?!  Mike needs a refund on that rabbit suit.  See, I told you the Easter Bunny is creepy, no matter how cute the baby is in the picture.

I am so proud of my daughter.  At 5 months old Charlotte is already sharing.  Isn’t that what we all learned on Sesame Street?  (Or was it Care Bears?  Whatever.)  At mama-baby yoga class this weekend my polite little darling offered up one of the class’ organic, BPA -free, overpriced rattles to another baby.  She pulled it straight from her slobbery little gums and gave it to another little yogi to suckle on.  She is a giver.

The week-before-last I couldn’t help but notice Jackson had one of Charlotte’s pacifiers when I came to pick her up from school.  The teachers had attempted to put her initials in Sharpie on it, but it had worn off from either Jackson’s saliva, or hers.

After spending two days last week with my generous little girl as she fought a fever, cough, and runny nose, I decided to invest in these…

I’m all-of-the-sudden obsessed with Instagram.

In my college years and early twenties my opinion of what constituted a great Saturday night included how cute my stilettos were, or how many remarkably named cocktails I consumed.  (A Flirtini, anyone?) I felt sorry for suburbanites who were already tied down with kids.  I felt freedom.  Freedom to do what I wanted.

Last night I rocked Charlotte to sleep as the rain fell outside her window.  I giggled as I heard Greyson downstairs still cursing our favorite team not making the NHL playoffs as he sounded off on multiple message boards.

I listened to the rain and rocked my sleepy baby.  I realized, that those Saturday nights of the past were when I was most tied-down.  Tied to what people thought of me.  I felt sorry for my former self.  Last night I felt freedom.  Freedom to enjoy my beautiful, remarkably ordinary life.

Before I had a baby I really hadn’t even considered that diapers came in different sizes.  A few years ago I went to Target to buy diapers to make a diaper cake for a friend’s baby shower.  Not only did I not even know where the diaper aisle was, I just grabbed the least expensive pack.  (Yeah, I’m a great friend, I know.)  They were like, size 3’s or something, and they just took up closet space for months.  

1. I don’t want to add that attachment to the toilet and rinse them off.
2. I don’t want to do more laundry.  
3. I don’t want to make her teachers at school have to deal with that.
4. I spent money on two Diaper Genies.  (One for upstairs, one for downstairs.)  

One reason I would do it…

1. They’re so stinking cute, I can’t even stand it.  

www.everythingbabything.com

So, moms, convince me.  Why do you cloth diaper?  Should I just get a trial pack to try it out?  

If you stuck with disposables, why?  How did your baby fit in certain sizes/brands and for how long?