"Its called Kawasaki Disease. Yes, just like the motorcycle."

I'm writing this for two reasons. One, because all the details are still fresh in my mind, and two, because I desperately want to help bring awareness to an illness that is somewhat rare. I posted on my personal facebook page that our oldest daughter, Maggie, had been admitted to the hospital for suspected Mononucleosis. That was Monday, June 30. Here's what happened after she was discharged. Well, actually, here's the entire story (brace yourselves, its a long story):

Thursday June 26, I brought all three of the girls to a local restaurant that has a pretty nice play area. Lots of space walks and games to keep them busy. We were meeting a few friends with their kids for lunch, and although it was crowded, we still had a great time. The next morning Maggie woke up complaining of a belly ache. She ate breakfast, so I thought it was just a passing thing. But by 10am, she was throwing up and had two bouts of diarrhea as well. I waited a while, and then offered her some water. She said she was starving and felt sure that her belly was better. She had a few bites of applesauce, but then my poor baby got sick again. After getting her bathed and her clothes changed, I tucked her into bed, and went back to the front of the house to keep an eye on the other two girls. I had been running back and forth between checking on Maggie and making sure Mollie and Adeline weren't getting into anything, and just as I finally got everyone settled, my phone rang. I immediately knew the number and my stomach sank. See, we are trying to sell our house before we relocate, and whenever I get a call from this number, I know that I'm about to have to speed clean the entire house so that someone can come see it. I mean, you can't walk around all day praying for someone to buy your house and then turn them down when someone calls to see it, no matter how inconvenient the circumstances. SO, I ran around for the next 3 hours cleaning the house, checking on Maggie and then cleaning up whatever mess the two little ones made behind me. Thankfully, my mom showed up to help, and within a few minutes we had packed everyone up to head to Grandma and Paw Paw's for a sleep over. We got to my mom's and although Maggie hadn't thrown up in hours, she was still feeling nauseated. I decided to just camp out on the floor of the bathroom with her until her tummy settled down. I curled up next to her and felt her forehead. She was burning hot. I took her temperature. 101.4- and this is important. Friday was day 1 of fever. She finally ate a popsicle, and some soup, her fever came down, and by the morning she seemed to be feeling a little better. I packed the girls up to head back to our house for a day to rest and relax a little, and to be honest I spent a good part of the day kicking myself for taking them to the indoor playground on Thursday. I never go to places like that because I've always been terrified of them picking up some kind of stomach bug or some other disgusting virus. I'm paranoid about those things, and trust me, I know its ridiculous. You can't live in a bubble. You can catch those things anywhere. I've heard it all, and that was what I was telling myself when I agreed to go. I waited all day for the next person to start complaining of a belly ache. My ultimate fear was realized a few months ago when each one got a tummy bug on different days, and each on a different surface in my house. It was a nightmare and I thought for sure the next one to puke would show herself any second.

Saturday we spent inside in the air conditioning, and Maggie seemed to feel okay, I suppose. They played quietly and she laid around a good bit. We made "slime" from a pinterest recipe, and they happily played for a little while with that. To be honest, I was so tired from the day before that I spent most of the day counting down until bed time. I was glad to make it through with no new sick people in my house. I patted myself on the back for somehow keeping Maggie quarantined effectively and keeping the other two from getting sick. If I would have only known....



Sunday morning Maggie didn't seem to feel good or bad, just sort of blah, somewhat cranky and a little emotional, but nothing that concerned me too much. Then around 1pm she started complaining of her throat hurting when she would swallow. I gave her a little Motrin and didn't hear much more about it, until bedtime, when she started saying it was bothering her again. Another dose of Motrin, a cup of water on her nightstand, and I tucked her in for the night.

Monday morning she slept in just a little, so after I got up with the baby and Mollie, I went in to check on her. I walked in to see my beautiful fair skinned little girl sitting up in her bed, her face beet red, eyes swollen, holding her mouth open. She could hardly talk, and managed to croak out the words, "mama I barely have any water left in my cup." I ran over to her and felt her head. Of course she was hot- I could see she had a fever from across the room. I checked her temperature, and this time watched as it skipped several degrees at a time. It finally stopped at 102.7. She told me that her throat hurt so bad she couldn't swallow, and her tongue was hurting terribly too. She wouldn't swallow and her lips seemed tight and dry. I thought we were dealing with strep, so I made an appointment for her to be seen later that morning. My mom came over to watch Mollie and Adeline, and I headed to the doctor with Maggie. Two and a half hours after her first Motrin dose, her temperature was still above 101.

We gave her a dose of Tylenol in the doctors office and we all agreed we thought it was strep throat. After swabbing for strep and flu and both coming back negative, I started to get nervous. Maggie was still very hot, and she was becoming more and more lethargic and weak. She would barely pick her head up of the table when the doctor came in the room. I could see the pediatrician was feeling uneasy too, and I knew she was concerned when she sent us over to have blood work done. I thought for sure Maggie would wake up and fight me and the phlebotomist once that needle went in, but her weak little body hardly moved. All she did was let out a low "owwwww" and then she went back to sleep. I could see something was happening with my girl. She had never been that sick before, and the more time went by the more I knew we were dealing with something bad. We went back to the office, and the pediatrician said that she felt fairly confident we were dealing with mono and it was really taking its toll on Maggie. She wanted to give her two Rocephin shots in her legs in the off chance that it was a bacterial infection, and then discuss possibly admitting Maggie for dehydration. In the meantime, the nurse came in to check her temperature, and I noticed some petechiae under her arm. We pulled up her shirt to see a bright red rash all over her back. It looked like a tight red lace, almost like a severe sunburn. She was given a hefty dose of Benadryl to slow down any potential reaction from the Rocephin, or really whatever was causing the rash. I told her doctor that although I haven't worked in a while, I was a pediatric nurse, and I felt comfortable that I could get Maggie to increase her fluid intake. I would rather sit next to her and tell her every 10 seconds to take a sip, than have to admit her, especially just for fluids. She agreed and said "if Maggie can finish this little cup of water you can take her home and get her to increase her fluids from there. If she's not drinking within the next two or three hours bring her in." Well, Maggie took three sips of her water and threw up everything that she had to drink that day. There was my answer. She was admitted for dehydration and possible Mononucleosis. Thank God we were in Louisiana for this. My mom and dad happily took Mollie and Adeline off my hands while I stayed with Maggie in the hospital. Poor Chris was in Kansas City working this whole time. Once Maggie was admitted, there was no question, he was flying home as soon as he could.



Her face was puffy and red, her eyes were bloodshot (I attributed this to being exhausted and sleeping off the Benadryl), and she had a thick white coating on her tongue and lips. I felt stupid for ever trying to talk the pediatrician out of admitting her. It was so obvious to me now how badly she needed fluids. After a night of IV fluids, Toradol for pain, and her fever constantly creeping up and then inching down, Maggie woke up the next morning looking a little tiny bit better. Her initial mono test came back negative, but we still thought it was mono because many times that particular mono test can show a false negative. She was still weak and not looking good, but the on call pediatrician and I agreed that if she was able to increase her fluid intake and improve throughout the day they would let her go home. By the evening, her energy level drastically increased, she was eating a little, and drinking water and eating popsicles. She looked better, but something still didn't feel right. By the time we got her home, her temperature was up to 101.6.

Thank God for the wonderful doctors at Pearl Acres Pediatrics, her doctor wanted to see Maggie first thing the next morning to check on her. We woke up Wednesday morning to a VERY cranky and VERY angry Maggie- so angry I started calling her The Hulk. Her tongue was so sore that she couldn't even take a sip of water without cringing. I gave her Tylenol for her pain, in hopes that it would give her enough relief for her to be able to drink fluids. When we arrived at the pediatrician's office, she was itching her entire body from the rash that was still on her back and had now spread to the rest of her body. I put her onto the table to be examined, and when she took her shoes off, I noticed something about her feet that sent me straight back to nursing school. The skin was peeling off of the bottoms of both of her feet. It wasn't extreme, but they were definitely peeling. And let me just tell you, in nursing school, there are a few "key phrases" that stick out in every student's mind, phrases that make their way onto your tests, phrases that come up on the state board exam to obtain your license. "Skin peeling off of hands and or feet" is one of those such phrases. And instantly I knew what her doctor was going to say when she saw her. After examining her, without hesitation, her doctor wrote direct admit orders for us, and for us to see a cardiologist upon arrival. And then, there it was, just like I knew she would say: I think Maggie has Kawasaki Disease. She'll need some additional blood work and an echocardiogram to confirm it, but she has all the signs.

We went home, packed a bag, dropped poor Mollie and Adeline off to my parents again, and headed into New Orleans. I worked at Children's right out of nursing school, so I felt confident that our girl was going to be taken care of, but of course I was googling the entire way into the city, trying to remember every detail that I could about it. I remembered that its treated with high dose aspirin, and I could remember it was somewhat serious, but that was it. I couldn't remember anything else. And I couldn't find much either... which is probably a good thing. Dr. Google is an awful beast. I called my incredible cousin, who is also a pediatrician at Children's, and told her we were on our way. Luckily she was in the ER that day, and was there when we arrived. There is no way for me to describe how thankful I am to Maggie's pediatrician, to my amazing cousin, and to the rest of the Children's hospital staff for being so knowledgeable, and for being so genuinely concerned for Maggie's health. Her case was puzzling, and at this point, we weren't 100% sure hat she had. Thank GOD her echocardiogram came back with no damage to her heart at this point, but she's no where near out of the woods. She was presenting clinically at this point like either Adenovirus and Kawasaki Disease. The plan at that point was to run full blood work panel, to see how her ESR and CRP looked, and to run a viral panel to test for Adeno. Around 10pm, one of the doctors came in to tell us that the viral panel came back negative and that Maggie did not have Adeno. The next step was to treat for Kawasaki Disease, which would be an infusion of IVIG. She tolerated the infusion well, but developed a severe headache, a 102.2 fever and was throwing up within a few hours after it was completed. She became extremely irritable and refused to take any medication by mouth to treat her headache. We watched our beautiful, vibrant, smart, incredibly funny little girl literally writhe in pain on her hospital bed from the severity of her headache. Our hearts were broken. We were on Day 6 of her being completely miserable, with very little to relieve her pain. Finally, she started feeling a little better, but only after throwing up her first dose of Tylenol. The doctors were confident that the headache, fever and vomiting were side effects of the IVIG, and they would watch her for another 24 hours before making the decision as to whether or not they would do a second infusion. 24 hours later, she hadn't developed a fever, and had no other symptoms aside from extreme exhaustion, and a pretty scrawny appetite. They released her Friday afternoon, exactly one week from the day her symptoms began.

Kawasaki Disease is an illness that absolutely must be diagnosed within the first 10 days after symptoms begin, or severe irreparable heart damage can occur. Follow your intuition. We were lucky enough to have doctors that are very concerned and cautious regarding the care of their patients, but some kids aren't so lucky. If you feel like what your little one has in more than just a virus, and they develop any unusual symptoms, don't just brush it off. If they have fever persisting for longer than 5 days, and two or more of the following symptoms: red, swollen, extremely sore strawberry tongue; peeling, swollen hands and or feet; and what looks like pink eye without drainage; rash; and swollen lymph nodes they might have Kawasaki Disease. Its an inflammatory response of the body, not contagious, not genetic, and at this point they have no idea what causes it. (Which means she didn't catch it from the icky play place!) It is the leading cause of acquired heart disease in children. That means Maggie will likely have to see a cardiologist on a yearly basis (at least) to be sure that the illness didn't cause heart damage.



Maggie is looking better every day. Her appetite is returning, and she's regaining more and more energy every day. Its probably better that Dr. Google wasn't giving me any good answers on the way to the hospital that day, because since being discharged, we have learned that left untreated, KD can cause coronary artery disease, coronary aneurysms, and in some cases it has been fatal. Chris and I were terrified for our precious daughter. I was reluctant to share this story because I felt like it got to be too personal to put on facebook. But once we were "in the clear" to a certain extent, I realized that we had to share this. We have to bring awareness to this illness, because as "rare" as it is, one of my close friends tells me that her son, who is one of Maggie's best friends, also had it. That means it can't be that rare. This illness can be extremely serious if its not caught in time. Be aware of the symptoms and look out for them so that if by chance your little one does get sick, you can catch it within the ten days to treat it effectively and prevent serious damage. Our babies are the most important part of our lives. We protect them, we'd do anything for them. I am still in shock to a certain extent, that this even happened. That I held my baby down so she could have an IV inserted, that we have to play games and come up with songs to convince her to take her aspirin. I can't believe that had her pediatrician not been on her toes, very concerned, very in tune to Maggie, we could be in a whole different situation.

Oh, by the way, our house is being packed up and we are moving across this country to Chris' next territory this week- its changed a few times, but we're going to keep the actual location private ;). So when it rains it pours. Our stress level maxed out about 4 days ago, and we are trudging through this insane time in our lives by the grace of God. It seemed as if the Gospel this morning must have been talking right to us when he said "Come to me all who are weary and burdened, for I will give you rest. Take my yolk upon you and learn from me, for my yolk is easy and my burden is light." If it were not for our faith and the doctors taking care of Maggie, we would be in a completely different place.

www.kdfoundation.org

To My Girls, When You Turn Sixteen

I can remember waking up at 6:45 in the morning, dragging myself out of bed, putting my high school uniform on, fixing my hair- curling it just a little, and then up into a pony tail with a ribbon tied in a bow. I put on a little make up, slip on my penny loafers and throw a sweatshirt on. I walk into school, and look at the faces I've been in classes with since I moved here in 5th grade. I think I know everyone, and most of all I think I know myself. But at just sixteen? I barely had a clue of the woman I would become. When you turn sixteen, my precious girls, you will feel so grown up. Sometimes you will be so confident in yourself that no one could break you. And sometimes you will be so insecure that no one could build you up. At sixteen you aren't a little girl anymore. Your face has changed and matured, you have grown tall, your clothes are much different than when you were little. You might feel so old, so independent, so ready to be on your own, but my precious girls, not yet. You still have so much to learn.



Don't be a mean girl. Be the type of girl that is genuine and real- but never judgmental. Do everything you can to build other girls up. There will be some who will do what they can to tear you down, they will mock you, they will judge you. Don't be that girl. Be the girl that is so sure of herself that she has nothing to lose by pumping up the confidence of other girls. Don't judge anyone by what they wear, where they go to school, what kind of car they drive. I drove a 1993 4 wheel drive Chevy Suburban for 4 years (starting in 2001!). That truck became my signature, in a way. Go a step further- don't ever judge anyone for any reason, and certainly don't judge them by their mistakes.

Avoid toxic friends. There will be people that will come into your life and change the path you were on completely. You will meet people who will help you become a better person, who will support your decisions, who will build you up- and you will be the same for them. You will also meet people who will think only of themselves. They have no interest in anything except what makes them happy. They may be on a spiral downward, their parents have no input in their wild and reckless lives. If you can help them, then do it. Be there for them if they need it. But always, always, my dear, be guarded. These are people who will sabotage every relationship or friendship you have. Be careful with them.



Value yourself. You are worth a hundred million times your weight in gold. Don't give the most precious, sacred part of yourself away. There will be so many boys that you will feel sure that you are in love with, and they will gladly fill your innocent heart with promises of loving you forever, planning your wedding, mapping out your life together- if that's what they think you want to hear. The boys who will really take care of you, who will be so careful with your heart, the boys that would do anything for you, and respect your morals? Those are the ones you should get to know. Forget about the ones that are trying everything they can think of to go as far with you as they can. The boys who spout out how much they love you, when really you're a little surprised because you just started dating? Those are the ones who will steal what they can from you, and then they will move on to the next girl. Guard yourself, sweet heart. The one guy who waits patiently for you is the one who is worth marrying. The rest are just boys who think they are acting like men. A real man would never try to talk you into anything.

Never, never, forget who you are. Maybe you love dancing, or softball, or fishing. Maybe you love to draw, or you love theater, or you would rather curl up with a notebook and write more than anything. Your favorite movie might be an Adam Sandler classic. You might love tennis, or knitting, or reading. Whatever it is, whoever you are, be true to her. The right people will come into your life and fit just right. The people who don't will find their way out of it.

Be confident, but not conceited. There is nothing more beautiful than a woman who holds her head up high when she walks into a room, isn't afraid to have a conversation with people, and isn't self conscious. At the same time, being self centered takes away from your true beauty. Know that you are breathtakingly beautiful, but be humble. You are a precious gift from God, always remember to act like it.

Find beauty in everyone you meet. Whether its a teacher who seems to understand you, a classmate who you heard has a crush on you, or someone you know who seems to be having a hard time. We all have a story, we all have struggles, and seeing beauty, seeing God in everyone who crosses your path will help you empathize with them.



Study hard. Now, in high school, and even more so in college. You are actually preparing yourself for adulthood, and with good grades come good jobs. And like it or not, one day you'll have to have one. And even though it seems so far away, when you get to college, major in something with a specific job in mind. As in that degree is required for xyz position. Its important, trust me.

Stand up for yourself. Don't let anyone talk down to you or make fun of you. Its very important to (respectfully if possible) enforce boundaries and never let anyone make you feel bad about yourself. Demand respect. People will only take as much as you let them. Remember this quote- "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." - Eleanor Roosevelt. Its the absolute truth, and you will be surprised by how many times you will have to tell yourself this.

Dance. Always dance. If the choices are dance or don't? ALWAYS DANCE.

Hold tight to your faith. I pray you don't but one day you might feel totally alone. When you feel like you have nothing, you will still always have your faith. Pray every single day. Pray out loud and in silence. Talk to God, but also be quiet and listen. Pray for yourself and your family, thank God every day for your blessings.

Try to remember that when we look at you, sometimes we will still see the little girl in pigtails. We see the princess with the fairy wings, the toothless grin, the precious girl who needed a nightlight. We know that you want to be independent, trusted, and on your own. But now that the age 40 is closer for us than the age 16 (ouch!) we can see your teenage years from a different perspective. Living on your own, making your own choices, and doing everything on your own, will come in time. Try not to hate this time in your life too much, because the time between now and when you will be an adult is brief. We are cradling our time with you, wishing every day for the hours to slow down, just as we have since you were a baby in our arms.



Remember that no matter what road you take in life, good decisions and bad, we will always, always love you. Always.

My Dear New Orleans, I'll Be Seeing You

It was like any other Saturday, nothing particularly exciting going on, except one little thing- it was date night. Chris and I don't do date nights all that often. Maybe once a month or every 6 weeks or so. We usually decide that the hassle of getting a babysitter and the anxiety of leaving all three girls just isn't worth it, and we wind up buying steaks and wine from Whole Foods and we stay up late and drink too much all at home, and we call that a date night. But this night was different. We had planned a big date night. Which meant we were headed into the City- something we only do once in a blue moon.

Some couples go out to one of the bajillion incredible restaurants in New Orleans every weekend. Some go several times a week. I am not-so-secretly envious of those people. There are more non-chain places to eat here than you could ever, ever imagine. I've lived here my entire life (save the last two years spent up north) and I'm not even close to being able to say I've tried them all. After a week of throwing ideas back and forth, we had narrowed our restaurant choice down to two places we had never been. Emeril's and Herbsaint. (I know, if you're local you're probably wondering how we had never eaten at either of those places. Just bear with me.) We have eaten at many of the notable New Orleans restaurants- Commander's Palace, Antoine's, The Rib Room, Galatoire's, and Couchon, among a few others. Which is like barely a blip on the radar. I know this. Which is why when we do decide to go out to eat, we pick one of the places we've never been to, instead of somewhere we've already been. We also expect to spend anywhere from $150-$200 on dinner, which is yet another reason why its not something we do every weekend, or even every month for that matter. Its usually reserved for special occasions.

(from our anniversary dinner last year)

So we got all dolled up, kissed the girls goodbye, high fived my fabulous niece/babysitter, and all but ran to the car. We talked the whole way down to the City, on gorgeous St. Charles Avenue, parked, and finally, we had made it. In the end, we had settled on making reservations at one of the incredible Donald Link restaurants, Herbsaint. We were seated at a small table, fairly close to the entrance, with what seemed like half of the city packed into the building. It was loud, but so comfortable. I didn't know anyone else in the place, but it was like we all agreed on the same restaurant, so we all must get along on some level. The atmosphere was lively, fresh, and personal. We each got a drink- Chris, a classic Sazerac, and myself, a Ponchatoula Sour (they had me at homemade strawberry syrup- yum!). We ordered our appetizers, and a few sips into my incredibly delicious cocktail, I was finally winding down. I looked up at Chris and felt so, so at home. I mean, here we are, at one of the best restaurants in the city, only a half hour from our house, and we were surrounded by more history and culture than anywhere in a several hundred mile radius. New Orleans is famous for its history, its food, and its culture. And of course its people. And we were submerged in it. At that very moment, I looked up at Chris to see him staring over my shoulder. I turned to see what had his attention, but before my eyes focused, I knew what it was. I felt the rumble and heard the low hum of the streetcar making its way through the city. I looked back at him, and he said it. The words stung, mostly because I don't think either of us believed him, but both of us desperately wanted to. "We're never moving away from here." Then he got romantic on me. "I'm sitting here, in this amazing place, drinking a Sazerac, eating this insanely delicious dinner, watching street cars go by. We have all of this at our fingertips. Why would we ever leave?"

About a month later, that night came crashing through my mind like a freight train when I got the phone call I knew would one day come, but prayed it wouldn't be this soon. "We're moving to Louisville."

I grew up in New Orleans East, and moved to the Northshore when I was 11. I have seen New Orleans at its best and at its worst. I cried as I packed my bags to evacuate from a hurricane when I was in high school. I was 15, dramatic, and full of anxiety, I just knew that every hurricane that brewed in the Gulf would be The One. If you're from here, you've heard about Camille and Betsy, the two most notorious Hurricanes to hit the Gulf Coast before Katrina. I had heard stories my whole life about people having to use axes to tear through their roof to escape the rising water in their house. That hurricane was not The One. It would be about 6 years later that we would meet Her. I cried as I watched the roof of the Superdome cave in on the news from my sister's house where we evacuated to, in Jackson Mississippi, in the early hours after Hurricane Katrina (that bitch) ravaged the whole state and coast for that matter. I prayed that my parent's house would still be standing when we came back. (It was). I was here as we (Southeast Louisiana) bonded, rebuilt, and came back stronger. I said my vows in the same beautiful church that I made my First Communion in so many years earlier, and spent my wedding night in one of the most romantic, historically rich hotels in the city- Hotel Monteleone.




I have been drunk on this city, among other things, yelling for beads at Endymion, sucking heads and pinching tails at crawfish boils every other weekend, screaming "Who Dat!" while watching the Saints year after year. I walked through the doors of Miller Hall on LSU's campus, pledged my sorority (Kappa Alpha Theta), and locked eyes with a brown eyed boy that stole my heart. I've fallen asleep on the parade grounds in early spring, yelled at the top of my lungs "Geaux Tigers!" until it felt like my throat would bleed, and as a victim of beer funnels and best friends, Chris managed to get us thrown out of an LSU game before it ever began. Ahem.






I've bonded with this city. I have a relationship with this area, and I feel like I'm leaving with so much left unsaid. I mean, let's face it, this city is so much more than Bourbon Street and voodoo dolls. There are so many things that I've never done while I've lived here that I'm ashamed of. How is it possible that I will be 30 this year and have never been to Jazz Fest? I hang my head in shame. Does this make me a, dare I say, "poser"? Gosh, I hope not. I will be back, I will fill my soul with this precious city once more. I will again shop Magazine street, picnic in Audubon Park, and go to mass in the Cathedral. Eventually, we will eat at every restaurant this city has to offer. I will hang a Michalopoulos painting on my wall (one day!) and remind my girls every day to never forget their roots. Because even though we will move again, (and again...) their roots are already planted. They will know Louisiana like I do. They will reel in massive bull reds in Hopedale, watch speckled trout dance just under the surface of the water from a glowing light on a pier over the lake, and taunt large mouth bass in the brackish waters in the neighborhood canals. They will stand on that very same St. Charles Avenue, elbow to elbow with their cousins, first and second, and wait as the men in our family crawl march in the Irish Channel Saint Patrick's Day parade, with half of the city, handing out flowers for kisses. Yes, they will know this city well. Come to think of it, they already do.

(With Paw Paw)



New Orleans, you are full of romance, history, and intrigue. You are so much more than even what I've mentioned. I'm sorry I have to leave you, again, before I could learn all of your secrets. I may be leaving for now, but know this: I'll be back after not so long. My Dear New Orleans, I'll be seeing you.

In Pursuit of Perfection

My previous post about little girls clothing was viewed about 72,900 times more than I expected. As of this morning its been viewed over 73,000 times. For me, that is shocking, exciting and a little scary. I put my opinion out for public viewing expecting a handful of friends to read it and move on. I never imagined it would have been shared and read anywhere near what it has. I posted my opinion and a few pictures. My intention was very simple: I am looking for classic, modest, and affordable clothes for my daughters. That is the bottom line. But by reading the post, many people drew some pretty wild conclusions. Instead of seeing what I hoped everyone would see, a few people twisted into something else. I have been accused of many things, as some people assumed that I have taken some major life choice away from my 5 year old instead of guiding her and helping her form her opinions. Without knowing anything about me, other than I that I like smocked dresses and classic children's clothes, anyone who read this blog filled in the blanks of my life on their own. Many people agreed with it, and some disagreed. My intention has never been to give off some impression that my family is perfect because of the way I dress them. My opinion is my own, just as my life is also mine. I opened my life for scrutiny and compliments, alike. The fact is, we draw many conclusions from one glance at a picture, and one quick read of a blog post. We are not perfect. As mothers, as women, and as people.




We see pictures and we instantly form an opinion. We see other moms lives and begin to feel like their lives are better, or we feel like they think their lives are better. We have gotten so wrapped up in the image that our family gives off that we are willing to literally stage a picture to give off the impression that our lives are perfect. Our houses are perfectly clean and perfectly decorated. We are all perfectly dressed, perfectly accessorized and perfectly designed. We throw perfect parties, create perfect crafts, and spend money that we want everyone to think that we have, just to avoid them knowing the truth. And I know how difficult it is for that truth to get lost. There is a secret in this perfection- and the secret is that the perfection itself is a lie.


(Five minutes into our 9 hour drive to Orlando. Everyone was happy at this point. I didn't post a picture of when everyone was tired of being in the car and on the verge of melting down. Who wants to see that anyway? On the surface, it looks great. The truth? It was a very long 9 hours.)


(First trip to Disney world! Happiness overflowing. At this point. Check back three days later when we were all exhausted and in desperate need of naps! Still, overall a great time, but no trip is perfect with this many little ones in tow. And Disney World? Temper Tantrum World. It was nice to see that we weren't the only ones dealing with the occasional rogue 4 year old...)

I'm a photographer by accident. I received a camera several years ago as a gift from my mother in law and now, about 7 years later, I'm a paid photographer. I chased my daughters around for years, played with editing programs and fell in love with photography. I love what life looks like through the lens of my camera. It is my job to stage pictures, to a certain extent. But I don't like pictures that are too perfectly posed. There is nothing wrong with a fresh set up and background, with coordinating colors and outfits- of course you want to look your best in the portraits that will be on display. But don't miss the real moment- don't stage a moment that didn't happen. I like to give a general setup and then I encourage everyone to get comfortable and really, truly be themselves. I would rather have the mom and dad smiling, full of love and life, and not have a single child looking at the camera than to have every kid looking at me with a fake smile. Its not reality. I crave what is real about life. Two year olds are not wired to sit still. Boys are not wired to be perfectly clean. Little girls love to twirl. Almost all kids love to jump. I want every family to look at their pictures and see what I see. Eyes squinted nearly shut from a smile so big their cheeks overflow. Daddies laughing while they throw their little girl into the air. Mommies giving kissies and getting snuggles from their little ones. That is reality. In ten years when you look back at your pictures, what will you see?





I feel the same way about pursuing perfection with each other. Facebook is great in a million ways, but it can also make a difficult life harder. If you wake up and feel like nothing is going right, your marriage isn't going great, you're always stressed out, your kids haven't been listening, whatever it is that's going on... and you get on Facebook to see someone has posted a series of pictures fit for a parenting magazine. They have planted the most beautiful garden with their 3 year old. The little one is wearing a darling outfit, rain boots to match mommy's and she even got her own gardening kit. Its almost sickening how cute this picture really is. And then you start to feel like if that mom can get everything done in her home that she has the time (and energy!) to engage her little one in such a messy project and still manage to look, you guessed it, perfect, then you must not be as good of a mother as she is. You barely got the laundry folded today after turning the same load on in the dryer on for a fourth time. You don't have any idea what to cook for dinner, the house is a mess and you're just. beyond. exhausted. OR you're a working mother, in a completely different situation, and maybe today is just one of those days that you are missing your babies more than usual. Whatever your situation may be, almost all of us have felt it. Its that pang, the initial thought of "Oh, come on!", and then it happens. You compare your life to theirs. There is a quote that always rings in my ears. "Comparison is the thief of joy." And it absolutely is.


(This picture looks sweet and effortless. The 3 year old helped mommy bake muffins while the baby sat quietly in her seat and watch. Ha! Yeah, right. The mess was unreal, and the baby cried half time. This is a great memory for me though. Sometimes the mess and crying is worth it in the end.)


Don't think for one second that there isn't a not-so-glamorous story behind almost every perfect Instagram pic. They just haven't posted the picture of the not-so-pretty stuff. Just because someone posted a picture of their perfectly clean living room and their impeccably dressed toddler finger painting doesn't mean that day was as serene and therapeutic as it appears. While it is easy to look at a friend's life and envy her creativity/style/house/whatever, the reality, the real meat of life, isn't what we see in pictures. We can look to those pictures of the pinterest over kill birthday party, or the family pictures, or the straight-off-of-food-network dinner she cooked from scratch, and we can roll our eyes, or we can smile and maybe even draw inspiration from it. I know I'm not the envied mom. Most of my crafts turn into colossal messes with toddlers eating finger paint and big sisters throwing tantrums. All too often I burn dinner, my clothes aren't brand new, and as much as my last post was grossly misinterpreted, my children are not dressed in smocked clothes or boutique dresses to play in. Our finances aren't perfect, my kids usually lose their minds at the most inconvenient times, and I have usually "given up" by 5pm and am drinking a glass of wine while I throw something together for dinner. But what I don't post pictures of are the moments I treasure the most- the ones too precious to stop to take a picture for Instagram. Every single day I pray that I can find grace in my own life, in my every day chaos. Instead of hating the mom posting the gag-worthy perfect pictures, I try thank God for my crazy, wild, adventurous life, and I find myself falling deeper in love with everyone in it. Embrace your life. Be thankful for your gifts. Your life might not be perfect, but its perfect for you.



(I love this guy more than words can say. And that's the truth.)


(Glass #2 for that night, ending a weekend where each of my children took turns with a stomach virus, and threw up in various locations in my house. Oh, and the dog had surgery and was coming off of anesthesia so he was dropping bombs all over the place too. Lots of bleach and disinfecting. And Merlot. Lots and LOTS OF MERLOT.)

Girls Size 6: Why I want to punch children's clothing designers in the face.

Hearing "its a girl!" was one of the most exciting times of my life. (Well, it was three of the most exciting times.) Having my baby girl dressed in a cotton gown, wrapped in a soft light pink minky blanket and put into my arms filled my soul in a way that I didn't know was possible. I pull the sweet bundle close to my face and breathe her in. I nuzzle her cheeks, I run my fingers through her few strands of hair, and I am overwhelmed. I spend the next year of her life putting her in soft patterns, rose buds and pastels, whites, creams, and pinks. I spend a fortune on bows as big as her head. And even though she kicks them off within a few minutes, I slip ruffled socks onto her feet and work ballet slippers on. She wears smocked dresses with puffy sleeves and holiday scenes embroidered on her collar. Gradually, she becomes "bow trained" as my sister puts it, and sits still while Mommy clips a light pink grosgrain bow into her hair, and leaves it there all day. She learns to walk and before I know it she's old enough to actually play outside- riding bikes, scrawling her name across the driveway in sidewalk chalk, and fluttering around the yard with her sisters, all three pretending to be fairies. I'm not describing one of my daughters in particular- it could be any of my three, because the first years of their lives were all nearly identical. I am raising three daughters, and I am trying my best to raise them to be young ladies.




But I've reached a road block. You see, Maggie is now wearing a size 6, and up until size 5, children's clothing stores cooperate, somewhat, with what most mothers are looking for. I'm willing to work with what is offered. But now, she has reached magic size 6.




And something absolutely mind boggling has happened. I walk into the Girls section to see what I can scrounge up, but as I make my way in I feel more like I'm walking into a rave. There is so much glitter, air brushing, neon colors, mesh, spaghetti straps, cut off jean shorts, and cropped tops that I have to actually look up at the sign above my head to make sure I'm in the right area. Yep, "Girls". I stand there in complete disbelief and denial. Maybe if I stand here long enough with my eyes closed, I'll open them to see racks and racks of cotton play dresses, ruffled shorts long enough to cover her backside, and sweet little rosebud tee shirts. But no. I open my eyes again and attempt to focus. "Okay, there has to be something here. Anything." I turn and immediately feel my throat tighten as I try to keep myself from dry heaving right there in the middle of the store. The bathing suit rack. I won't get too far into this, but y'all, why are there leopard print and hot pink string bikinis in the Girls section? A child in sizes 6-14 has NO BUSINESS WEARING STRING BIKINIS. Okay, yeah, I said it. And I mean it. I turn around to see the most repulsive 80's teenager inspired, neon pink, mesh "shirt" on a hanger next to a table of camisole tops and jeggings. So I'm assuming that the intent is to layer. And why, OH WHY, do size 6x pants come in "Low Rise"?? Y'all, I just can't even. I run out of there like a total Mommy psycho walk away feeling defeated, and so so confused. I feel rage crawling up from my stomach. I want to tell off whatever ass hat that is responsible for this spread of clothes that I'm left to choose from. I mean, do these designers have kids? Better question- Have they ever even seen a child? Do they know that they are not just like super petite grown-ups? If you have shitty questionable taste as an adult, that's fine by me. Do your thing. Wave your freak flag, I don't care. But we have an obligation to our daughters to dress them like little girls while they are still little.





What is it about a size 6 that has led anyone to believe that a child that fits in that size should be wearing the same outfit that a 12 year old would wear? Is there some imaginary milestone that we hit? We're talking about little girls, not tweens. Where are the ruffles? The puffy sleeves? The flowing dresses? My 5 year old still wears princess dresses nearly every day. She's having tea parties with her baby dolls, she's pretending to be a mermaid in the bath tub, she's wearing fairy wings and tutus. So, I ask you, WHY WOULD I DRESS HER THE SAME AS A GIRL MORE THAN TWICE HER AGE?! Why is she banished to a department that has pleather jackets, mini skirts and padded training bras?! I have a 5 year old that still wears pigtails, bows in her hair, and loves nothing more than a dress she can twirl in. My daughter, my sweet, innocent, little girl, is not a run way model. She is not a tiny adult and she is no where near being a "tween".



(Eating a beignet)


My solution? Well, I buy the least expensive and least trashy of the trash that is available. And I let her play in it. Usually its a t-shirt with some awful design on the front, covered in peace signs and glitter. And when she comes in and its covered in grass or she's sweating like crazy from running around, I don't bat an eye. Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on clothes from stores hell bent on making my 5 year old look 18, I have become enthralled in the world of online shopping. And I finally understand why people pay more money for clothes for their kids! I also understand why some people invest in a sewing machine! It seems so old fashioned today to actually make your own clothes for your daughters, but guess what? I totally get it. The women that own these online shops? They totally get it. That's why so much of it is so expensive and why auction sites are so popular. If we stop buying the garbage being geared towards our kids, they'll stop making it. I've seen a handful of things at Target that look strangely like outfits that I've fallen in love with on online boutiques. We have to stop buying the lie. They will catch on. Its not okay to dress little girls like teenagers. Its not okay to train our daughters to use their bodies to get attention. We have to change the way we teach- I want my girls to know that they don't have to use the clothes they wear to get anyone to look at them. Clothes for little girls should be a representation of what they are, NOT what designers think they should be. So let's all band together moms! Let's leave the funky, completely age inappropriate "clothes" geared towards our baby girls on the racks! Let's vow to bring back all things feminine! Girly! Ruffles! Pink! Ribbons! Sweet details! Eyelet lace! Ruffle socks! Let's preserve what makes them precious and innocent instead of attempting to objectify them before they even know what it means!






Long live smocking, apron dresses, and all things girly!

{After nearly 40,000 views on this post, I have to acknowledge a group of little girls that I unintentionally left out- the tom boy! My girls are the girly girl type, so when I wrote this I was thinking of my own experiences. But as a little girl, I was a tom boy and I loved to be outside, climbing trees and in the mud. Fishing is still one of my favorite things to do! Those little girls deserve the same as the girly girls! Not every little girl will wear pink or ruffles and lace, but that doesn't mean they have to wear the clothes being targeted to them either! I mean, let's face it, what tom boy is actually interested in wearing low rise skinnies and a crop top anyway? They wouldn't wear the clothes on the racks right now either! We all want the same things for our little girls- Classic, modest, age appropriate and affordable. I can't say anything about little boys because as the mother of three little girls I have no experience in that department, although I am told that the little boys section in stores is just as bad! Maybe there will be a little boy in our future and I can write about it then :). ALL of our children, boys and girls, deserve better than what is being marketed to them! Thank you for your overwhelming support!!}

The Patience Well

You might have one baby and think I'm crazy for having three. You might have eight kids and think I've got no clue. But regardless of how many you have, whether you think I have it all together or I'm a total mess, no matter what stage of motherhood you are in, you can probably relate to this post. Sometimes being a mommy is all rainbows and butterflies and baking and pinterest. And other times? Notsomuch. This little slice out of my life might not be much different from your life of having two or four, or it might be completely different. Its a truthful, honest, raw description of the not-so-fun side of motherhood. The times when you really have to try, because sometimes being motherly just doesn't come easy.

Here's what I will tell you: Some days, its hard. Like, a few weeks ago, I opened my eyes at 6:45 on a Saturday to hear my 4 and 5 year old fighting in the living room, the baby screaming in her crib and I realize, almost immediately, that my patience well did not refill over night. Its too early, there was too much whining yesterday that lasted all the way until bedtime and even after, when they found 10 reasons to get out of bed. There was too much fighting between the older two, too much fussing from the baby, too much yelling from Mommy. If they would have slept in another 30 minutes (or an hour- or two!), or played happily and quietly for just a little while longer, the morning would probably go completely differently. I wouldn't feel the urge to jump out of bed and fuss at them for the same reasons I did yesterday. For some reason it feels like I didn't get any rest, and I'm waking up to the exact situation as yesterday. And its like it all hits me at once- the exhaustion, the frustration, the sick-of-the-same-crap every single day rut. I've found myself here before, and I know that its going to pass. But when I'm in it, it feels like I'm the worst mother in the world when all I can do is day dream about being left alone for five whole minutes. My patience well is empty. I know it, and they know it. But that doesn't change anything. Everyone still needs to be fed, diapers need to be changed, teeth need to be brushed... fights need to be broken up, toy sharing needs to be regulated. The house is a mess, and its been one of those mornings. The dog needs to be let out and fed. Of course when I open the back door he bolts across the yard like lightning (we don't have a fenced in backyard). So I spend the next 15 minutes trying to coax him back to the house. I get within a few feet and he's off again, like a race horse. I hear banging on the window from the dining room. Its Maggie yelling, but I already know what she's telling me. Someone didn't push their chair in and I can see a tiny little 15 month old standing on the dining room table holding a cup full of water. She's dancing and splashing the water into the air like she's at a Taylor Swift concert. I run inside and take the baby down off the table, push in the chairs and put the baby in the play pen. She's screaming bloody hell, but she has to be contained for a few minutes while I deal with the rest of the chaos- the dog running laps through muddy puddles in the backyard and the older two girls fighting over yet another toy that neither will care about in an hour. I run out to the back porch and yell/beg the dog to come back, and finally bribe him with a treat. Once the dog has been dealt with, I walk back inside just in time to see Mollie drinking my coffee (just what she needs) and Maggie standing on the couch pretending to be a princess in a tower (which is so typical). Then, I turn around to see this:




See, this is the play room. I'll be honest...The playroom is usually clean for about 30 minutes. I have learned that there is nothing more inviting for children to play in than a clean play room. So yesterday, when I spent 45 minutes cleaning, organizing and getting everything just right, the girls followed me in and immediately dove into playing for the next hour. I knew the room was being destroyed, but I was trying to make dinner and I needed them to be busy for a little while. Besides, its a play room. Its meant to be played in. I'm trying to convince myself more than you, because nothing irritates me more than a room in complete and total disarray. I'm not an OCD clean person, I'm actually the opposite. I'm more of a "sanitary" person. I don't like things to be gross messy. If you know me, you know I'm not a "Pottery Barn Perfect" house kinda person. I'm all about vacuuming and sweeping and keeping the house tidy, but its never ever perfect. But something about a toy shelf totally dismantled for no apparent reason really gets under my skin. I try hard to ignore it, but with me running at a 0 on patience today, I can't. I corral everyone into the play room. "YOU MADE THIS MESS. I didn't. You will stay in here and help me clean it." I have to point to every little thing to be picked up. Of course whenever its time to clean up, they are "sooo tired" that they just can't lift a finger. Well, I am in no mood for that. After 30 minutes or so they finally bring me all the small toys and I start to put them away in their designated bins. Finally the room is clean again. It feels much better. I'm starting to feel a little tiny bit better. The girls seem to start acting a little better.



(You might be asking yourself this question: If its a Saturday, then where is Chris? Well, he was called out at 12:30am to work and came home around 4:30 smelling like grease. Or train tracks, as I like to call it. He's exhausted, and I'm exhausted. But I slept way more than he did, so I'm dealing with the morning routine while he catches up on sleep.)

I hate being in a mommy rut like this. I really hate to fuss and yell. I hate when I wake up in the same crappy mood as I was in the day before. I hate it when my patience well doesn't refill. Sometimes after a hard day, I fall into bed like its a cloud. And everyone wakes up feeling refreshed, I can handle being woken up at 6:30 for no reason, and life is good. It seems like they could do anything and I wouldn't bat an eye. I have nothing but patience and love for my beautiful children. And then sometimes I wake up and feel like I never went to sleep. It always seems like when I'm at my wits end, the girls are non stop. Some days are filled with crafts, baking and hugs. We take trips to the library, we go shopping, we snuggle and watch movies. Other days are filled with time outs, fussing, and fighting naps. Being a mommy is not always sweet and fun. Being a mommy is not always easy. Some days, I literally have to pray my way to bedtime. I repeat over and over in my head: Lord, calm my heart and give peace to my soul. Sometimes I pray Please God let this be a good day. Because I really don't like having bad days. But when it seems like all day someone needs something, and while I'm getting that something, someone else needs something else, and it all just snowballs. Its very easy to feel overwhelmed. Its easy to get so far into the rut that just hearing someone say "Mommy" can make you cringe- as awful as that sounds. Now that the girls are older, I will literally say to them "I don't want to have a bad day. I want to start over. Please try very hard to be nice to each other, and listen to mommy today. Let's have a good day! Okay??" And then we high five. (You'd be surprised how much that helps too!)

Somewhere around 9:30, I lay the baby down for her morning nap. I make a second cup of coffee, and sit down on the couch. And slowly, I start to feel better- the girls are playing well together (finally), I've done a speed clean over the kitchen and front room, and gradually the day has started to feel less chaotic. Chris wakes up and he's still tired, but he's in a good mood. I've repeated my prayer over and over in my head, and I start to feel it- my well is refilling. I start to feel overwhelmed with emotions- guilt, for one, and love. And also? Perspective. Suddenly, I step outside of the tiny world I've been sucked into. I step away from the every day irritations that have gotten under my skin: the messes, the fighting, the disobeying, the wild tantrums. I see my babies. I'm not dealing with little adults here. They don't have the capability to reason like adults do. They just do what they want at that moment. Its incredibly difficult to think like a 3 year old. It doesn't matter if you cannot, for the life of you, make sense of what they've done. They might not even be able to makes sense of it. But if its done, then its done and there is a reason why in their minds. Before I realize it, I am staring at Mollie, watching her build a lego tower. She's meticulously choosing which one will be added next. She's sitting on her tiny little knees, and every so often pushes her hair behind her ear. She pauses and puts her thumb in her mouth, almost as if it will help her think. A minute or so later she pops it out and picks up her tower and turns right to me. "Look Mommy! Its Rapunzel's tower!" She is beaming with pride. And suddenly she looks so little. Because she is. She's a tiny little 4 year old person. And she's just so adorable. I think of how hard I was on her earlier when she was screeching and running in circles around me. She needs to be disciplined, but she needs to feel how much I love her more. I spend a lot of time praying that my girls can feel how much I love them, even when you can't hear it in my voice or see it on my face- because it is masked by frustration.

Some days I have spend so much time counting to three that the baby finishes for me after I yell out "ONE!" by yelling "CHOO! FREEE!!!" And no matter how annoyed I am, I have to laugh. She's adorable. I mean like, make me want to snuggle her and smother her with kissies adorable. (And I mean, who can resist a baby who climbs like spider-baby?) Even when its hard, even when it seems impossible, my blessings surround me. These little ones who drive me batty sometimes? I prayed I would get pregnant with them. I spent half of my teenage years wishing this time of my life would come. And here it is. So why can't I wake up every day feeling like I'm Gwyneth Paltrow- Mommy of the Year? Why can't I enjoy every last second of it, really soak it all up, and have never ending patience?? Because, this is real life. Everyone has a limit and everyone needs a break. Even Gwyneth. I look over at Maggie- the same child who just minutes earlier was trying to rip a toy from her sister's hand- and all I can see are red curls cascading down to her waist. She's wearing her Rapunzel wedding dress, and she's looking down at her feet. She slowly starts to dance around the room, and she really looks like a little cartoon character- with her bright red curls and big dark brown eyes. There again I see it- how blessed I am.

When the day begins and I can tell already its not going to go well, I have to remind myself of how abundantly blessed I am. Its also so incredibly important to communicate your feelings to your spouse, let them know how you're feeling and ask for their help. You are a team! We've been married long enough that Chris knows almost immediately when he walks in the door if I'm not feeling 100%, and based off the way the kids are acting, he usually doesn't even have to ask why. Mommy alone time is critical. Find time to be alone, to "get away" from being Mommy for a few minutes. With prayer and a few minutes to yourself, the well begins to refill. You can handle more if you've had a few minutes to think clearly. Get a message. Or go to Target alone. Or take a bath and drink a glass of wine. Find yourself. Remember yourself. Do what you love. Remember what you love. Did I mention you should drink a glass of wine? Relax. It gets better- so much better. Refill your well. When your well is empty, you know it, and they know it. When your well is full, your heart is full. You can discipline lovingly, which is how it should always be done. Being a mother is hard sometimes. Its okay to admit it. But sometimes, being a mommy is better than anything else in the world. My mom always says "Being a mother is the hardest job you'll ever love."

Baby B and Mama Photo Shoot {6 Weeks Old}: A Post on Pregnancy and Newborns

{This post is about being a first time mommy, with pictures from a session that I was so lucky to do with my cousin's first baby, Baby B, and baby B's beautiful mommy. Their session was lovely. The weather was perfect- warm and sunny. I got to watch this beautiful new mama with her precious baby, and it reminded me so much of when I had Maggie. How everything is new and scary, but so fun. She was such a sweet mommy with him, snuggling him and doing everything she could to keep him happy. You could see how much she adores Baby B. I can't tell you how much I loved snuggling with a bitty baby boy- something I don't get to do very often....! He was absolutely darling, and it was so fun to be with him the first time he got to breathe in some country air. What a session! It was perfect! And Mama, remember when times get rough with little man, hang in there! It gets better! I promise!}

I'm no where near an expert, but if I can share my experiences and advice that I've been given, and help anyone else out, then its all worth it.


There is nothing like having your first baby. When you take that test and find out that there is definitely a little bundle on the way, there can be a million different emotions all at once: excited, scared, nervous, thrilled, terrified, and one that I've felt a few times... the "oh shit" emotion. Its not negative or positive necessarily... Just a feeling of "okay, um, here we go!.... I guess.....???" And then you go. You go to the soon-to-be daddy and tell him. You go to the doctor and go through all the blood work. You might even get to have an early ultrasound. And for me, once I actually got to see the little jelly bean, that was it. Nothing else in the whole world mattered more than that baby in my belly. Like every other mama in the world, I was madly in love.






Then, your belly starts to grow. You might wake up one day with a big lump under your belly button like I did. Then one day you'll feel a little wiggle. Then a few weeks later you'll feel a big wiggle, which will turn into kicks. And those kicks might get to be a little painful. You'll likely have a very "glamorous" pregnancy, like every other woman out there. Lots of heartburn, sleepless nights, up to potty every few minutes, leg cramps that should never be called a "Charlie horse" because that just sounds too cute. It should be called "the leg cramp that will try to kill you." I would wake up, 9 months pregnant and LEAP out of bed to literally force my foot to be flat on the ground. Yes, good times. And you might have great skin during your pregnancy (some women are lucky that way) or you could be like me and have the skin of a 14 year old boy while you're pregnant. You might gain little to no weight. Or you could be like me when I was pregnant with Maggie and gain... well, you could just gain a lot. (We'll leave it at that.) You might go into labor on your own, you might be induced, you might have a planned C-section, or you might have an emergency C-section. You might be like me and bring your pre-pregnancy clothes with you to the hospital because you don't realize that if you have an 8 lb baby, you will lose approximately 8 lbs by the time you're ready to go home. Maybe less if you're still hanging on to all that IV fluid. So, don't be surprised if you still look 7 months pregnant on your way home. Unless you are Giselle. In which case, whatever. And don't be surprised if you're still wearing pants with an elastic panel for a good 4 weeks after. Okay, 6 weeks. {Although Baby B's Mama in these pictures was one of those mamas that put those pre pregnancy jeans right back on! Lucky duck ;) } But look, right after you have the baby, you'll feel like a million bucks! Your belly will feel flat, you will feel light as a feather. And then you will look in a mirror and go, "wait-a-second. What the heck is this??" Its okay if your belly isn't perfectly flat right after. Because you just had a baby. Be gentle with yourself. You just birthed a human. That's a big deal. You won't think it, but you will be glowing. You might be exhausted, cramping, and annoyed. And that's okay. Whatever you are feeling is normal. I remember when Maggie was born I wanted to cry. You're suppose to cry when you have a baby aren't you? I couldn't. The tears wouldn't come. And that was okay too. You might take one look at that baby and fall madly in love all over. But if you don't? That's okay. The bonding will happen. I promise. Pretty soon, you will feel whatever that baby feels. And when they cry because they are hungry/gassy/pooped/tired, you'll want to cry too. It'll start to hurt to hear your baby cry. That's being a mommy.




And then in the next few weeks, you will get very little sleep. If you're like me, it'll be because even though everyone and their mother told you "SLEEP WHEN THE BABY SLEEPS" you just. can't. do. it. You have to watch the baby sleep. What if she needs you? You know, like she squirms a little and you just have to pick her up?? So then you'll be tired. And you might have that awesome hormone drop called "baby blues". And you might cry. A lot. And you'll have no idea why. And if its the baby blues, it'll go away in a week or so. (If it sticks around much longer call your doc!) You might formula feed, or you might breast feed. (You're still an awesome mama either way, and don't let anyone tell you anything different! People choose one or the other for various reasons, so let's be supportive not judgey! Breast feed if you can!) I breastfed, and nursing your first baby is quite the experience. It might hurt a little at first, but stick with it! Its so worth it. (#1 reason I loved breastfeeding? When the little darling wakes up wailing at 1 am, you don't even have get out of bed to feed them. I'm lazy, so I stuck that baby in the bed next to me. But be smart about co-sleeping! No Rx meds or alcohol that night!) Your baby might cluster feed, which is when they decide they would like to nurse non stop for forever hours at a time. They are building up your milk supply. You might get engorged from all the nursing. You might wake up after a day or so of cluster feedings to a chest that would make Pamela Anderson blush. Don't pump because your body will think you used all the milk it produced and it will only make more! Your body will naturally leak, and your baby will eat like they are at an all milk buffet. They will go down. If you are painfully engorged, you can buy these amazing warm/cold packs made by medela. They are ahh-mazing. Warm one up and place it on the opposite side you are feeding on to help that side drain. Drink lots of water and eat lots of good food! You will still lose weight! You learn so much in the first few weeks after your first baby is born. But the best advice ever given to me? Do whatever it takes to get everyone the most sleep.



Within the next month or so, you'll get to know that little angel a little better. They'll fall into a little schedule. If you're nursing, they'll let you know when they don't like certain foods. They'll surprise you with poop when you least expect it. They'll wake up the moment you get in the shower. And it happens so often that you might begin to look at showering as a chore. Your baby will start to cry at random times and you might have no idea why. And that's okay. You will learn to try different things. Maggie and Mollie loved to be bounced and rocked when they were fussy. Some babies have such ferocious belly pains that the colic hold is the golden ticket! Adeline wanted to be put down and left the hell alone. Seriously. The first few times she got fussy for no apparent reason (likely gas), I bounced her around like I did the first two. And it did nothing but annoy her. I finally had enough and gave up. I laid her down on the boppy pillow next to me and just like that... she was quiet. She wanted to be put down.




And then, just as soon as you get them into a routine, they will protest. And with every child thus far, I've called my mom and sisters and begged for help. "I just don't know what to do! I can't seem to make them sleep/eat/happy." And every time they say "It sounds like they are changing. They are probably either teething or going through a little stage. Hang in there, it'll get better." And it always does. So hang in there. You will be exhausted, dizzy, and hungry. You might not remember the last time you took a shower. You might have baby poop and puke all over you and and yet have no idea that you could ever be that happy. You didn't know the air could smell so sweet, or that life could be this good, even if on the outside its tough.




You will find that few things can calm the soul more than a baby snuggled up in your arms just after a bath. You will begin to see yourself, their daddy, their grandparents and even aunts and uncles in that baby.




You will gradually begin to feel like this little person, this itty bitty human that poops, and cries, and eats and wash rinse repeat, is the most important person in the whole wide world. You will fiercely protect them. You will feel deep down a grizzly bear that would do anything, and I mean anything to protect that baby, to keep them out of harms way, to keep them happy and healthy.




You learn what its like to care for another person more than yourself. You grow with them. You become more than a woman with a baby. You become a mother. And in a few months, when that precious baby finds their voice, you will burst inside with excitement, because now you have a name. You are "MA MA!" And you will never forget the way it feels when someone else is holding them and they look at you with pleading eyes and arms wide open and lean towards you and say "Ma Ma! Ma Ma!" And you instinctively take them back into your arms. Because they are your heart, walking around outside of your body.






"No one else will ever know the strength of my love for you. After all, you're the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside..."