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.

Do you wanna build a snowman? No! Of course you don’t. You’re probably totally over winter like the rest of us. It’s freakin’ spring, thank the Lord. Speaking of the Lord, it’s almost Easter. If you’re like us, your child is totally “frozen” in the springtime. When we’re not watching Frozen with our 3-year-old daughter we’re acting out her favorite scenes. You’ll often hear, “I’m Olaf and I love warm hugs!”

I bought our eggs and thought, “I could make an Olaf Easter egg.” Please note I am not a crafty, DIY type, nor am I an artist so bare with me. Any crafts I do have one criteria: easy, really, really easy.  Here we go:

She was so happy! She grabbed them before I could even wipe the glue, as you can see from this picture. These were seriously so easy. She said, “Maybe we can have Anna and Elsa eggs too!” Uh. Not so easy. I’ll “let it go” at the Olaf eggs.

Yesterday I got off to a great start for a Monday. We were out the door and had grabbed Starbucks for breakfast before my 9:30am Stroller Strides class. No groceries. It was the ‘Bucks or starve. That aside, we were doing alright with just one threenager tantrum and only a little pee through the baby’s diaper on his pajamas. I even pumped milk before we left so I didn’t have to do it while driving when pervy truckers can peer into my SUV. I had all my clothes on behind the wheel. Win!

I told the instructor we had to cut out of class a little early to get Charlotte to gymnastics class. We were making good time and I got half a workout in. I’ll take it. I downed water on the way to gymnastics. Water is my thing now. So. Much. Water. Now that I have time to exercise in my new #SAHM life, I’m gonna take advantage of it. I’m embarrassed to tell you how long it had been since I did actual exercise before leaving my full time job. We’ll just go with “more than a year.”

The water has a downside, no doubt. I wear my baby in the carrier when I have to pee. I wake up in the night when I’m not breastfeeding to pee. I hate even having to say “pee.” It’s so crass. Sorry, but bodily fluids are my life, ya’ll.

Our relatively blissful morning was cut short when after gymnastics I made the risky move to take my brood to Carter’s to round out their spring wardrobes. It was before lunch. We were prime for meltdowns. After my successful hunt for size 3T capri leggings, we headed home. Charlotte started losing it while we were still in the store. We had a bit of a “come to Jesus” discussion between racks of 30% off cargo shorts.

No worries. We got back in the car to head home. We were still hanging in there for a Monday. That is until my bladder was overwhelmed by my excessive hydration. I had to go. Bad.

That’s when they started up, both of them. Henry, the world’s happiest baby, turned on me in my time of discomfort. He wailed and screamed. No bottle that I awkwardly poked in his face by reaching in the back seat would soothe him. That’s when Charlotte decided this was too much for her. She whined and wailed. More bodily fluids. This time tears.

She hollered, “This is ruining my whole day!”

Really?! You ruined my junk for the better part of six weeks when I pushed you out and you want to tell me how this car ride is ruining your day?!

The more I pleaded with my children to calm down, the louder they screamed. We hit every red light. I was sure people in other cars could hear the wails of my discontented babes. I panicked and looked for somewhere to pull off the road, anywhere. Why did I drink so much damn water!? Why didn’t I do kegel exercises to strengthen my pelvic floor like my OB/GYN told me too?! Where is a bathroom!?

I pulled off the only place I could, a small, quiet side road. I threw on the hazards and jumped out of the car. I took Henry out of his seat to try to find out what on earth was wrong with him. I continued to do kegels so I wouldn’t wet my pants. He stopped when I rocked him a bit. I looked around. I couldn’t take it anymore. My sniffling 3-year-old stared at me with teary eyes. I looked around.

I was gonna do it, ya’ll. I was gonna do it. I was going to hold my baby, drop trow and pee on the side of this road because I couldn’t take it anymore. Just then a truck carrying a crew of construction workers came around the curve of my quiet side street. Thank God I still had my pants up.

I put Henry back in his car seat and thought about what I was about to do. I stood with the car door open and laughed until it hurt. My children looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I am. I’m a kegeling, milk pumping, full-bladdered mess who almost flashed a construction crew who could very well know the truck driver who may or may not have seen me pumping milk on another day.

I see my husband’s intensity and mischievousness in my daughter. He is part of her. She is becoming her own person, no doubt. But, I see someone else more often.

During the Winter Olympics he asked her if she wanted to watch hockey, skiing or some other sport. “No, I want to watch figure skating, Daddy.”

Yeah, because that other stuff sucks compared to figure skating. I get it.

The other day I asked if she wanted to go to the toy store before we left the shopping center. “No, I want to go to the store with the dresses. ”

Atta girl.

My parents tell similar accounts of me as a 3-year-old. I make myself sound shallow with the girly-girl tales. It’s more than that. She is so much more. 

Yes, she dons her princess dresses with flair and twirls as all little girls do, but she is playing out a full-fledged saga in her mind. Her tales of heroes, villains and adventures have a beginning, middle and end. She feels the range of emotions of the characters that are real to her.

So like me.

My daughter chatters and chatters, telling us the tales of her imaginary friends who act out scenarios to make sense of her world. She immerses herself in books. She creates a heirarchy among her baby dolls. She seamlessly blends toys into the same make-believe family that never would have existed to others. She gives unique names to every toy.

I did the same.

She delights in being the oldest and the first, a little too much. She can be a bit entitled, but is wracked with guilt when it’s brought to her attention. The agony of disappointing her parents interrupts her need to push her boundaries.

I know the feeling.

She looks the part of a pretty, preppy girl, but occasionally feels the need to show on the outside that she is more on the inside. She has to show the quirk that makes her so unique.

I understand.

It is an equally funny and frightening thing to see your child have so many of your own traits. I watch her grow with hopes that she’ll take my strengths. I only hope that I can guide her through the weaknesses I know all too well.

Dear Henry,

I’m writing this as you lay sleeping on the floor in the living room on your belly. That’s right. You rolled over this month and decided you like it that way. While there is always a little lament of your milestones because your baby months are passing quickly, I love it because I know you are strong and growing.

You were five months-old on Sunday.

That morning I went to pick you up from Aunt Wanda and Uncle Mike’s house. You spent one night away from me and you were a champ! I knew you would be. You are a sweet child. Such a good baby. People love to hold you and tickle you. We’re all sort of addicted to making you giggle. Here is the evidence:

I’ve been giggling at the pink pacifier you’re sucking on tonight. While you have your own things, some of your big sister’s former belongings have found their way into your nursery or mouth.

Something else has found it’s way into your mouth, teeth! You got your first teeth at just four months-old. We couldn’t believe it, until you bit me! The two little front teeth on the bottom are sharp and it changed our nursing a bit. I have to pay attention to you, little stinker.

The movement hasn’t stopped with rolling. Once you got on your belly you started scooting to different toys you want to hold. You now love your baby toys that make noise. They go straight in your mouth. With all this rolling and scooting, I fully expect you to be sitting and crawling as your half-birthday approaches.

Henry, I look in the faces of you and your sister and I can’t believe that I have the privilege of being your mother everyday. Somewhere I must have done something right in my life to have you as a son. I’m so excited for all the months to come.

I love you, my sweet, sweet boy.

Love,

Mama