Saturday, January 30, 2010

This One's For You, Aunt Laura

With all three of the kids, we've taken their pictures every month during their entire first year. I wanted to see how they grew and changed.

January marked Chubs' ninth month, and we had his picture taken today.

Since he's nine kinds of handsome, I thought I'd share them with you.

You're welcome.

He's really trying hard to crawl. He moved all over the muslin curtain during the photo shoot.

After we finished up, my in-laws took us out to eat. I ate Chubs' fat little cheekies for dessert.
Can you stand all this adorable cuteness?

And now, a little sumpthin-sumpthin for Aunt Laura, who (still!) proudly displays a picture of Christian at 10 months old, wearing a gold diaper and angel wings.

See? I had to eat his fat little cheekies for dessert. They were even gift-wrapped for me.

It would have been rude not to.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

I Hate Nights Like This

Last night was one of unending nightmares.

The kind you pray to wake up from.

The kind that leaves you exhausted in the morning, and unwilling to go back to sleep.

I dreamed about Christian last night.

I was talking to one of my old college professors, when he mentioned "they" had gotten some test results back about her. The tests revealed she had some learning problems, and that she would begin to regress mentally. She wouldn't be able to live a normal life.

Putting this dream into words, hours later, is breaking my heart all over again.

Suddenly I was in my church, where Christian learned and was cared for until she was five. All of her, and my, former teachers were there. I passed them as I ran, sobbing, through the halls, looking for a phone. I think I needed to call her doctor. I ran by so many familiar faces.

When I got to a phone, her doctor was already on the line. He told me not only was she mentally delayed, but there was a problem with her reproductive system. She would never be able to have children. As I processed this, I started to panic again. I wanted to know what they were looking for when they discovered that.

I dropped the phone and ran to the hospital. When I got there, I found that dozens of people were at the counter in the waiting room. They were all looking for answers about their loved ones. I was alone and began asking strangers if I could borrow their phone. Finally someone shoved a black flip phone into my hands.

I needed to call my mother but couldn't remember the number.

I looked up and saw my brother visiting a friend of his that worked in the hospital. I asked him repeatedly, desperately, if he would tell me her number, but he ignored me.

I kept remembering Christian as a toddler. Throughout my dream, I saw her as she was before the boys were born, when it was just the three of us.

I can't wait for school to end today.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Wardrobe Malfunction

Hubs has been sick today.

And you know men. When they get sick, it's the worst. disease. EVER. Nobody on Earth has ever been as sick as they are. Ever.

Anyway, we ran out of just about everything we need to function as a family, so I took Christian and Cullen to Target and then to the grocery store.

I ran into several people I know, and chatted briefly in the store. I didn't ask for help on the way out, so I loaded my own groceries into the car.

As I'm putting groceries away back at home, Hubs walks into the kitchen (should I say hobbled? he is very sick, you know) and casually asks, "Your pants ripped?"

I'm sorry...


I reach around, and feel nothing but underwear.

Oh. Heavenly. Father.


No. No I am not.

At some point in this delightful evening, my pants ripped wide open, and I never noticed it.

I choose to believe it happened in the car on the way home.

Friday, January 15, 2010

I Cry

MckMama’s post really struck a chord in me. She put into words what I’ve felt for years.

I don’t like change. I’m not fond of moving forward. With just about anything.

My mom says I cried at my second birthday because I didn’t want to get older. I’ve cried at every single birthday my children have had. As I hear and sing “Happy Birthday,” my throat tightens and my chest constricts. My eyes water and my voice trembles.

And I cry.

I don’t want to mark another passing year.

I don’t want them to grow older.

I don’t want them to get bigger.

It kills me to look at old pictures and home movies. I miss their tiny hands, their little faces. I miss the smell of their breath; their upturned noses. I miss their baby laughs.

Baby laughs.

Last night as I cried, Hubs tried to comfort me. He mentioned having another baby. While that would be wonderful, it’s not what I want.

I want my babies to be babies again.

I want to hold Christian, as a baby, again.

I want to hold Cullen, as a baby, again.

This morning as Cavan fussed, I held his sturdy, strong little body to mine, and thought, “I’m going to miss this so much.”

I stroked his bald little head, and tried to burn into my memory the feel of his peach fuzz. I breathed in his scent and hoped someday, years from now, I’ll be able to remember this moment and smell him all over again. I want to remember the feel of his head in the crook of my elbow. I want to remember the feel of his soft little bottom in my hand. I want to remember how he waves his arms and kicks his legs when he sees me. I want to remember how he opens his mouth wide and bites my cheek with his toothless gums when I snuggle him. I hope I remember that his beautiful skin is the softest thing God ever created.

This morning as he looked out the window at the rain, I tried to memorize each curve of his profile, storing it away in my mind, exactly how he looked at that moment.

But the fact is, I won’t.

Years from now as I cheer them on at their volleyball and baseball games, as I sit in the audience at their high school and college graduations, as I watch them speak their wedding vows and cradle their own babies, it won’t all come back to me.

I won’t recall just the way their voices sound; I won’t recall the way Christian always asks about what I did when I was little; I won’t recall snuggling with Cullen on the couch as it rains; I won’t recall the way all three of them talk and sing in the car, trying to drown each other out; I won’t be able to feel a little body next to mine, or their hair against my lips, their scent filling my nose.

And that’s what hurts so much.

So I cry.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

If You're A Mom, You Need to Read This


As I read it for the first time, I fought back tears. As I read it aloud to Hubs, I let them fall.

And they just kept falling and falling and falling, until the words on the screen were a blurry, jumbled mess.

I'm sitting here in tears right now... it sums up my feelings perfectly.

Go now.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Please Excuse the Food on the Baby's Clothes...

But he had just eaten, which may explain the wonderful mood he was in, despite waking us up all. night. long.


Apparently puppy noises are quite funny.


All my e-mail addresses are gone.