Monthly Archives: July 2011

I wish…

I wish I could cradle you with both of my arms and snuggle up close to you, skin to skin.
I wish I could use my own body to comfort and care for yours.
I wish I could feel the closeness, connectivity that only a nursing mother and babe can feel.
I wish I could have, for just once, felt the rush of milk at the sound of your cry.

But I can’t and I couldn’t.
And usually I’m okay with it.

But there are days that my heart aches
And I yearn for something I know can never be.

I don’t regret it.
I don’t regret the surgery that left me unable.
I don’t regret the hours I spent feeding and pumping to no avail.
I don’t regret the tears shed in the process.
I don’t regret the tears that fell when I finally gave up.
I don’t regret any of it.

But sometimes…
Sometimes it does make me sad.
And sometimes I do get angry.
And sometimes I do get jealous.
And I want to yell to the nursing mother who looks down her nose at us and the formula:
“I wanted that!  I wanted what you have!  Don’t look down at me.  I did the best I could.”
And to the mom who chose not to breast feed, I want to scream:
“Why?  Why did you stop??  I’d give anything to have that.  And you just wanted to stop.”

But then I take a deep breath.
And I close my eyes.
And I let my heart-gut fill with peace and love.
And I realize that maybe the nursing mom wasn’t looking down at me after all.
Maybe she was looking at me longingly, wishing that every-now-and-then she could have a break.
And maybe that mom who decided it was time to stop?
Maybe she has health problems or supply issues or who-knows-what.

Or maybe the nursing mom really was looking down at me, at us and maybe she is thinking what a horrible mother I am.
And maybe the other one gave up because it was too hard, or too overwhelming or just not convenient.

But you know what, kiddo?
It really doesn’t matter.
It’s you and me.
Doing our thing, our way.
And we’re doing the best we can.
And I think you’re pretty great.
And you seem to think I’m pretty nifty, too.

And I’m fairly certain that they won’t ask “Breast or Bottle?” when I go to register you for school.



Our days are fat with laughter and UNO and happiness and fun.
The sun rises and my little birdies sleep late(r).
Leisurely mornings of TV and cuddles followed by a late breakfast.
A light lunch and then naps for the littles.
And reading time for the bigs.

We plan play dates and we swim and make icees.
We color and craft and bake.
We talk about fun things we’d like to do.
We dream.  We play.

Our days are full, full, full…
But generally full of nothing.
Many days we never get out of pjs.
Some days (ok…most days) pool time counts as bath time.
And dinner is sometimes nothing but brownies and popcorn.

We break the “rules”
Or make our own.

Often the sun sinks behind the horizon long before bed.
But playing with friends or having family fun is more important right now than bed time.
There’s plenty of time to sleep, I tell myself.
When they are older, I will sleep.
(I hope.)

But with all the doing and laughing and playing, and staying up late…
I’ve lost my “me” time.
By the day’s end, I am exhausted.
Too tired to write.
Too tired to edit pictures.
(Or even download them onto my computer.)

I’ve said before that I write so that I will remember.
And that I take pictures so that I will remember.
But sometimes there is nothing better than good old fashion memory.
The kind that snuggles into the deepest parts of your mind
and comes sneaking up years later…
one detail at a time, one flicker of a moment
that cascades into a ripe, wonderful story that you’d completely forgotten.

And so I’m not writing as much or taking as many pictures,
But it’s good.
It’s all good.
We’re making memories.
Beautiful, happy, forever memories.

(I just wish it weren’t so dang hot!)

Four at Five

Anna Alden will occasionally make a face or do something just like one of her siblings.
But for the most part, she doesn’t look as much like the others
They all look a lot a like (I think), but Little Miss A is her own woman!

Below are similar pictures I have of all four of my kidlets at 5 months old.
What do you think?  Does she look like the others when they were her age?

p.s.  It seems like that first picture was 2 years ago, not 6.  You know, waaaay back in the pre-digital photo days.

Sentences on Sunday…I mean Monday

I keep forgetting that today is Monday.
This week has been all out of whack and my birthday seems like it was weeeeks ago.
But there are things I want to say to you, my sweet littles.

Dear Asa,
Just this week you’ve started talking in complete sentences.  I love to hear and see your excitement when you are able to get your point across.  I am so proud of you.  (But maybe a little I’m sad.  Because the toddler-i-ness is fading ever-so-quickly.)  We had a very busy few days and you have been quite a trooper.  Less nap time, later bed times, early mornings…and yet you’ve remained the calm-cool-and-collected little thing you always have been.  Maybe I could take some lessons from you on how to just relax!  🙂

Dear Lydia,
I spent a big chunk of today with just you.  It’s not often that I get to spend time with just one child.  Yet I love it when we have one-on-one time.  You were so patient during our 4 hour stay at the car repair shop.  You never complained.  You made me smile and I made you smile.  We laughed at silly jokes and danced in the middle of the tire show room.  When it was time for us to go, the employee admitted that they’d been watching us on the monitor in the back.  “More people should be like that.  Y’all just had fun doin’ nothin’.”  And I hope you are always able to find joy in the little things, even if it means singing and dancing in circles around stacks of tires.

Dear Alden,
I promise you that you said “Hey, Ase” this morning.  And then again tonight.  Every morning Asa gets up and says to you “Mornin’, Ah-Alden.”  And today I really, really think you said hey to him.  At first I thought I was hearing things, but Daddy heard it, too.  And then tonight Gramama and Carol heard it.  Lydia and Carter have been praying for you to talk from the moment you were born, so who knows.  🙂  Whether you said real words or not, your little voice is just too sweet.  You babble on and on and will occasionally squeal in delight, but it’s not shrill at all.  Smoothing and comforting and warm.

Dear Carter,
You are my big thinker.  You asked me this week about adoption.  We talked about it some, but I can tell I left you with more questions than answers.  (I hate to tell you, but that’ll happen a lot in your lifetime.)  I love to see you processing information.  You stare off at nothing and I can see you processing each tiny detail of what I’ve said.  It’s fascinating to watch your thought processes evolve.  You are destined for great things, my little man.  Keep thinking those deep thoughts.

I love you all to pieces.
You’re all my favorites.