8 months

what I'm doing: crawling like a wind-up toy, pulling up on everything, standing while holding on with just one hand, babbling, and sometimes trying to cruise on the furniture

what I love: my daddy (I'm pretty obsessed), my brother and sister (especially my sister who really makes me laugh), putting any and everything in my mouth, plastic water bottles, laptop cords

what I don't love: getting into my car seat, being put down in my crib at nap time, when Barnes and Frances get upset

what I eat: I love all varietals of gerber puree,  I love putting finger foods in my mouth but promptly gag and wretch until they fall out, and I love dog food when I can sneak by mom

first last day of school

Y'all, where did my babies go? How can this possibly be the difference in October to May--not even a whole year?

Today was the last day of Mother's Day Out for this year, and I am dumbfounded by how much B&F have grown and changed over the last seven months. In October I had babies who would wear what I picked out and stand relatively still for a picture. Now I have big kids who are independently minded and prefer not to match. The first time I took them, they clung to me and cried giant tears, making it so difficult to leave. Now they hurry me along and can't wait to get to school, and tell me stories all afternoon about their friends and activities.

While they've learned countless "academic" lessons this year and really, really enjoyed music time, the most important thing they have learned is resilience. They have found that it's okay if mommy leaves...she always comes back. They have learned that new things may be scary, but usually turn out to be fun. They have learned that they can play with other children, not just each other. According to their teachers, they have learned that friends have the power to comfort and distract, and their natural inclinations toward empathy are already developed. And they have found that when things get sad or lonely and mom isn't around, having each other is the best possible cure.

I am so proud of my little monkeys' first year at "school." And while it's adorable when they sing the alphabet or point out a color, I'm most excited about the life lessons already instilled in these two precious souls.

documenting my littles

Andrew says I need to join a 12 step program. I am officially addicted to pictures. And while I love snapshots and photograph my children on an almost daily basis, nothing compares to a session with a really good photographer. I try to limit these to once (or maybe twice) a year, but during the first year when a little one is growing and changing so quickly, we do a 6 month session as well, so we recently had Shep's 6 month pictures done.

We have been lucky to find some amazing photographers over the past few years. I have loved the results of every photo session we've had done, but every once in a while you find a photographer that is perfect and seems to really get your family. The day they are scheduled to come happens to be sunny and warmish and your children are awake and cooperative. And in those magical combinations, you end up with unique treasures that capture the true spirit of you, your little ones, and the dynamic that you all share. This session was one of those times.  Please excuse my inability to narrow it down to a few to share.

our happy 6 month old, Shepherd Louis

my two ever present "helpers"

I love how she captured mine and Andrew's love for this precious boy.

and some almost impossible to get family shots of mom, dad, and our three under three

easter truth

What a glorious Easter weekend we had in Nashville! Easter has always been a favorite time for me, and it's quickly becoming one for the twins as well. Family time, crafts, and being outdoors are some of their favorite things, so Easter is really a perfect fit.

For the most part, Shepherd's first Easter was picture perfect. Gorgeous weather, adorable baskets, perfect outfits. Time with Aunt Rebecca and Nana & Papa. A yard full of eggs and sunshine. Lots of moments that were completely picture-worthy. But as is always true with three kids under three, there were lots of less than perfect times. Barnes lying on the convent floor and screaming. Frances busting her chin stitches open and proceeding to cry endlessly. Barnes freaking out when we prayed before lunch. Shep getting overtired and cranky.

But the joyful news of Easter is that it doesn't matter whether life seems to be going perfectly....the truth of Easter is always true, whether things feel bright and shiny or a little more ragged. Our Lord came. And died. And rose. And this magnificent news isn't dependent upon us or how we feel or what we do. Life can't be good enough to make this more true, nor bad enough to make it untrue. On that first Easter, Jesus defeated death and provided an anchor for our hope in all times, both the pretty and the messy ones.

So Happy Easter, friends. May we find hope and comfort and joy in the mysterious truth this season celebrates.

on milk

I officially called it on Monday. After wrestling with guilt about not continuing longer, I finally concluded that for our family's sake, it was time for the pumping to end. The physical and emotional drain was beginning to outweigh the benefits, the time it required was harder to find as Shepherd becomes more and more mobile, and the dietary restrictions were making family eating more difficult. So I returned my hospital rental pump and declared breastfeeding journey number 2 to be over. And while the term "journey" may sound a bit dramatic, my time trying to feed Shep really can't be described any other way.

You would think that by now I would realize that life, and especially parenting, rarely goes as planned. Between babies that didn't make it, IVF, preemies, twins and all the other twists along the way, surely I would have learned this lesson, right? Of course not. When I found out Shep was on his way to our family, I immediately assumed that we would have a lovely, intimate, storybook nursing relationship...and I was thrilled. As I've written before, that's not exactly how things went down. After two weeks of consistently losing weight, we realized that Shepherd was not eating from the breast and had to begin feeding him expressed milk. Despite swearing that I would never exclusively pump again, I tied myself to that yellow machine at least four times a day every day for over six months. And I made his milk. I'm proud of myself for that. I don't think it makes me a better mother than feeding him in any other way, but I am proud of the sacrifices of time and comfort (and cheese!) I made to give my son what I thought was the best choice for him at the time.

But that's not the full story of our journey. When breastfeeding didn't work, I grieved. And I don't mean that I was a little sad...I truly grieved the loss of something I had so eagerly anticipated. In those first two weeks when I was nursing my Shep, it was intolerably painful and definitely not going well, but it was also beautiful. Those moments of looking down at my son felt so special and love-filled. When I realized those moments were ending, I was heartbroken. Through time and therapy and reflection and prayer, I now know that the heartbreak tied into so much more...my feelings about my reproductive system and body never doing exactly what it is supposed to do...but at the time it felt like the loss of breastfeeding my son might just bring my world crashing down. I had to remind myself over and over again that when I prayed and longed for a third child, I wanted just that--a child. And I had a healthy son...so much more than I could have ever imagined! So I processed my grief and I  pumped, and I found solace in my ability to feed Shepherd my milk exclusively. It felt like an accomplishment--something that was right--amidst a situation that disappointed me immensely.

But a few months in I found myself doubting my efforts, feeling like I hadn't tried intensely enough, hadn't pushed hard enough. So at two months, I hired a lactation consultant to coach Shepherd back onto the breast. I had so many hesitations. I know myself well...I knew that the first time it failed was gut wrenching, and that a subsequent failure would likely set off the same emotions. But I wanted it so badly. So we tried.  And to say it failed is an understatement. Shep was miserable. I was in pain. Everyone was crying. For five days we spent agonizing hours "breastfeeding," and it was anything but a bonding experience. And I finally accepted that being a good mother to Shepherd meant the same thing being a good mother so often means--putting my own desires aside for the sake of my child. While I so wanted to breastfeed Shep, that desire had become about me. I wanted it. I wanted that closeness and those sweet moments. It wasn't about him anymore, so it was time to stop.

And once I finally accepted that Shep was going to be bottle fed, I was able to more fully embrace the beauty of that route. Cuddling him close while he drank. Being more available to the twins while feeding Shep, keeping them from resenting those moments. Seeing the love in Andrew's face as he was able to participate fully in the feeding process. For us, for our family, bottle feeding ended up being the best decision. And that's okay.

By the Numbers:

• Over 784 pumping "sessions"
• Over 392 hours pumping (or over 16 full 24-hour days)
• Over 5,880 ounces of milk pumped= 183 liters= 92 two liter bottles

in stitches

Please add the following to my list of "things I hope to never have to do again:" take my 2-year-old to get stitches. Frances took a tumble off her racer yesterday and landed directly on her chin. Of course I was the one pushing her when the incident occurred, so I feel terrible and have officially deemed myself the worst mother ever.

Frances can sometimes be a bit dramatic (no idea where she gets that), so we knew we were in for a rough day. And as expected, it was bad. Hearing her in pain literally broke my heart. I kept thinking of how brave the parents of children who often require medical procedures must be. Despite the difficulty, we made it through. And afterwards we were rewarded by being entertained by our sweet girl on silly medicine. She made funny faces, kept laughing when she held her popsicle upside down, tried to throw away the sweet stuffed dog the ER gave her (and thought that was hilarious). And proving that their bond is oh-so-strong, when the procedure was over and she sat up, the first person she asked for was BB. And she kept asking for her BB until we got her home to him.

So our Monday turned out to be even more Monday-ish than most. And for some reason I believe this might not be our last trip to the ER.

the anti-wholesome baby

I'm nowhere near a "green" parent. I use disposable diapers, I give my kids plastic toys, and (gasp!) I don't even recycle. But I try where I can. Though my granola-ness is minimal, I truly attempt to be mindful in the areas I feel matter most.  One thing that I have consistently cared about with each of our children is the food that they eat, especially during their first precious year of life.

When B&F were ready to add solids to their milk-only diet, I went a little research crazy. I couldn't find a baby food option with which I was completely pleased, so I made most of their food. Sure, we had containers of gerber for the diaper bag and the days we ran out of the good stuff, but about 70% of their baby food went straight from the produce aisle to the food processor to their tummies. They loved the food, I loved knowing exactly what they were eating, and I honestly enjoyed the food-making process. So I planned to do the same with Shep.

My first tip that Shep's palate was a bit different came when we started transitioning to using formula.  After he turned 6 months old, we began introducing formula into his diet and he LOVED it. And he didn't just love it as much as my milk...he loved it more. He actually began fighting against drinking the pure breast milk bottles.

Then came the solids. He was fine with the purees I made, eating a few bites at a time. One day, though, we were out of fruit and gave him a gerber package. OBSESSED. The kid could not get enough. Since then, my homemade squash and sweet potatoes have been met with coughing, gagging, and the occasional forced vomit, while anything gerber (even the funky varietals) are met with scraping the bottom of the bowl.

Sweet Shep, I have a feeling you may not be a foodie.  But with a face like this, how can I tell you no?