Cecelia's One Year Photo Shoot

When Andrea asked me if I would 'let' her take pictures of Cecelia with the pink highchair, I practically squealed. I mean, I had attempted some photos of my girl in her chair in our backyard but my professional photographer friend wanted to shoot it? Duh!

We picked a night to meet near Andrea's house and all day long it was rainy and overcast. I was bummed thinking that we might not get the chance to do this photo shoot but later in the afternoon the clouds parted for us. I packed four outfits for Cecelia but figured we'd never make it through more than one or two. I just didn't have high hopes for my wiggly girl to sit still long enough for the camera. I mean, she basically looks at my camera for 0.2 seconds and then she is off to the next activity. But I was pleasantly surprised with her attention span for Andrea.

I dropped the boys off at Andrea's house so that Nate and Truman could hang with Jim and Eli and Gabby. Then the rest of us girls headed off to the field as the sun was setting. If ever there was a perfect night for photos, this was it. The light in the images is so freaking pretty (and so is my girl, obviously) I can't believe how much we lucked out with the weather!

And then we went to town. I shoveled chocolate chips at Cecelia and wiped away her chocolatey drool frequently. I ran in and out of the frame arranging her and standing her up and then I danced around behind Andrea to assist with the smiles. But mostly it was all Andrea and Cecelia's show.

Could not be happier with these images. I feel another big canvas print coming on.

New purple dress.
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May blow this one up to the size of an entire wall:
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Then she showed us her longevity in standing:
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A fave, since it's such a CC face.
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Sweet girl.
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And then the tutu she has had since birth, but has never worn. Plus the birthday crown, pink balloons, and the high chair. I die.
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FAVE
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Andrea mentioned the symbolism with pink balloons, considering the gender reveal we did back in January of 2012. And then I almost cried.
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In her birthday dress for the finale.
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I want to reach out and hug her in this one.
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Hi, CC!
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Clapping, but not happy with the balloon on her wrist;)
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Oh, the yummy light was too much. Love these more than words.
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Must be the super moon

Holy super moon-craziness, blog world. Something really weird is happening with Cecelia and I think I'm going to blame the eerie super moon (although I don't even really know what that means). Because there is really no other explanation for this insanity.

CC was pretty fussy after daycare on Monday, but we chalked it up to being tired and put her to bed at 6 pm. I was a little nervous about veering off our bedtime schedule of 7:30ish but sister obviously needed to be asleep and not awake. Also, Lori put CC's hair into a pony tail at daycare that day and it make the mane extra crazy when I took it out. See also: generally grumpy baby with hilarious hair.

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Ibuprofen was had prior to this early slumber and I marveled at how angelic she looked curled up like an infant in her crib. I then Instagrammed this shot saying that she's still my sweet little baby, blah blah blah. Blissfully unaware of the drama that was to happen next.

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I should mention that Nate has been home on Monday and Tuesday of this week, off of work since he was out of town all weekend long at a course. THANK THE LORD he has been here these past two days or I might have seriously lost.my.stuff.

Anyway, Nate, Truman and I were just hanging out downstairs after CC went to bed. I was doing my paperwork from working that day, Nate was complaining about how hot it was in our house (after installing one of our window AC units that day, but trying to will himself to install the rest), and T was enjoying The Brave Little Toaster on Netflix (one of my favorite movies from my childhood!). And then? CC woke up and it was only 7:50 pm. Uh-oh.

I went up there and figured she was confused, thinking it was nap time and not night time. So I nursed her again, rocked her, sent her sleepy vibes through my laser eyes. But nothing worked. She was fidgety after about 20 minutes of relaxing with me and after 40 minutes of failing this attempt at a return to sleep I gave up. Tried to let her fuss a bit in her crib but um, no---sister wasn't having it. At all. So I figured it was early enough that I could bring her back downstairs and revisit the bedtime thing shortly since I still had a lot of paperwork looming over my head and Nate would just have to help me watch her.

She was happy playing with toys, munching on cereal, and drinking some milk. She seemed wired, totally not tired. Truman went to bed around 8:30 and sister was still all amped up. Nate fell asleep on the couch at 9 and she remained awake. Happy with sudden bouts of crying, mini-temper tantrums on the floor, and general discontent. Flip flopping between being our happy CC and being some other angry child. But awake. Still awake at 10 freaking pm. And 10:30. I told Nate just to go to bed at that point because I wanted to be entirely sure she was tired enough to go to bed before I tried again.

At about 10:45 I took her upstairs and Nate was installing Cecelia's window unit AC. Maybe she was too hot and that's why she wouldn't sleep? Immediately upon walking into her nursery she began freaking out. After Nate was done with the AC I tried rocking her, giving the pacifier, nursing....but all she would do is push me away. With aggression. Diaper clean, Ibuprofen still not ready for another dose, fed, clean, etc. So whatever, I figured it was time to let her cry.

And cry she did. No wait, it wasn't 'crying' that came from her nursery. It was full on, bloody hysterics. Like, gives-you-the-chills screams from my baby. She did not sound like herself. She did not sound like a baby. She sounded freaking possessed, you guys. Nate and I looked at each other after about 5 minutes of listening to CC shred her vocal cords and gave each other perplexed looks. What.The.Eff?

So I went back in there and tried everything again. She clawed at my face. I brought her to our room. She kicked me in the head. I started to lose my cool because COME ON kid, it's time to sleep and not physically assault your mother. I took her downstairs and laid her on the rug and let her thrash around to get the demons out. We had our family room windows open and I was seriously concerned that someone would call the cops. More attempts at hugging, cuddling, feeding, ANYTHING and nothing worked. Finally she just sort of crawled over to her toys and started playing again, whimpering and whining through the puffiest/saddest baby eyes ever. I literally made a list of what could be happening at that point. Nothing seemed to fit.

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Nate came downstairs at 11:15 and asked if we should take her somewhere. And oh man, you KNOW it's bad if my level-headed husband was questioning the severity of the situation. I knew in my heart that she was probably teething or overtired or just dealing with super moon vibes and did NOT want to take her to the ER. I just wanted her to sleep. So I just started walking with her, around the house, over and over and over. I had a little flashback to when I was in early labor with Cecelia, wearing that same path in our floors. Ah, how times had changed. Little girl was giving me hell again but I still had that moment of clarity when I realized I wouldn't trade it for the world....even though she was being a beast.

Eventually she settled down into my arms, resting her head on my chest. She would not allow me to sit down, however, and was only calm when I was standing and moving. Was she a newborn again? Possibly. She wouldn't allow me to lay her down, either. My back was cramping up from holding my one year old for so long but it seemed to be working. And at 11:45 pm I laid her in the crib and stumbled to my bed.

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Want to guess what happened next? At 4:45 am she was awake. @#*#@*. Words can't explain how tired I was after only 5 hours of sleep, and it was one of those interruptions in my sleep that felt like I had been laying there for about 5 minutes total. I made Nate try to rock her back down but within 30 minutes I realized that wasn't going to happen. So I took over and nursed, rocked, pleaded with the girl. We stayed in the glider until 6 am because she was mostly calm but not asleep and I attempted to drift off here and there. But then we went into my bedroom and I remember saying to Nate, 'I think I'm going to die I am so tired.' I mean, five hours isn't THAT awful but when you are used to getting at least 10+ hours from your baby, five seems pretty horrible. I tried to rest my eyes in our bed. Then I heard Truman call for me right as Cecelia slammed her head directly into Nate's head.

She started the wailing cry again and I picked her up to get sweet Truman from the next room, the beloved child who actually slept all night, and the look of shock on his face when we entered made me cry. He was still half asleep but looked seriously concerned as his sister screamed bloody murder at 6:15 am. He said, 'It's okay, CC. Brother is here,' and that's when I lost it, too. Oh, my sweet boy. And what was wrong with my girl? Nate took over with T and I heard him ask if Truman had heard CC crying last night. 'No daddy, I slept fine! It's okay.' OMG, too much, more tears. Cecelia was settling down again and I figured I better pull myself together stat. And coffee seemed to be the best idea in the entire world, obvi.

The little wild card seemed pretty content once we were downstairs. She was quiet but hungry and ate her breakfast like a champ. Then she was off to play like nothing strange had happened. Went down for a nap at 8:30 and slept until 11:30. Which is three freaking hours, in case you didn't know. Then she took another epic two hour nap this afternoon, so napping for five hours = insane. Somebody must have been tired from her shenanigans last night, huh? Overall I'd say that she seemed back to her old self today and I'm sure the napping helped greatly. Nate and I took shifts napping, too.

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So we will see how tonight goes. I still have no idea what the problem was last night but it was freaky and horrible and maddening. My top guesses are: teeth, being overtired/out of sorts, and the super moon. But one thing I know is that Nate will be on his way to get a vasectomy if sister keeps this up for long, so any talks about a third will be inevitably on hold until we regain our sleeping status. ;)

Sleep is awesome. It's hard to have a really awful night when you get used to so many good ones. I hope it was a fluke and tonight is better. The end.

{UPDATE: The next night was a million times better. She slept from 8-6 without a peep. Keep it up, baby girl!}

Answer: Two or Three

Question: How many kids do you want to have?

Even before we got married, I would always answer with the above response. And it's still the accurate response because I'm maddeningly torn between having a third child and being done with my two. I feel that I must write this overly analytical, wishy washy post on whether or not to have a third but I do NOT want you all to feel like I'm begging for the following comment: 'You should totally have a third kid!' Because I'm not asking for that validation in putting this indecisiveness out there. Prom. I'm sure there are other moms in my position, going back and forth over the prospect of another pregnancy and I remember reading Laura's thoughts on this topic (loved it to death). Plus, I love to plan and over-think and control things. Hence this post. And this blog.

So, my kids are pretty freaking rad. Not sure I've ever used the word 'rad' before and that probably makes me incredibly lame and geriatric....but they are. Truman and Cecelia are freaking awesome. I adore being their mother---it's the most rewarding and the most challenging role of my life. I love my kids so much that I frequently find myself grinning like a creepster when I'm looking at their pictures or thinking about something cute they did the other day. Especially now, after crossing the magical first year milestone with my 'baby', I find myself feeling both settled and ready for the next shake up.

It's a paradox that I didn't really expect; I figured once Cecelia turned one I would just know whether or not we were done having kids. In fact, whenever anyone asked the golden question prior to her birthday, I'd say, 'We aren't even going to discuss it until CC turns one.' Because, duh. The first year is crazy hard and I feel like life has to be on the 'just getting by' setting until babies grow up a little bit, life settles down, and the dust settles. And now that the dust is settling (and we are all sleeping again), I'm kind of like, 'Well, that wasn't too awful. Let's do it again.'

To which Nate replies, 'You are crazy, woman.' Not really, but he would definitely be MORE than fine with 'just' these two whipper snappers. His take on the matter is that we have two happy, healthy children...one boy, one girl...and they are more than enough to keep us busy over the years. Also, he likes to put on his dollar sign glasses and the cost of a third kid would be no joke, just like the two we have now tend to make a big impact in our budget. Cha-ching!

A third would mean we'd definitely need a new car sooner than later, although that is probably going to happen even if we don't procreate again. My beloved ride is twelve years old and starting to show some signs of the end of her sweet life...but she is a trooper and hanging on for now. We have a three bedroom home that we don't plan on moving out of anytime soon, if ever. I think having two kids share a bedroom is totally acceptable and seems kind of fun. Nate thinks it would never work. So then he thinks that the dream-worthy addition we like to talk about adding onto our house would be another 'must' which, of course, makes him grab his wallet for dear life. Another partially unpaid maternity leave, more clothes, more food, more diapers, etc.....and then of course the 'big kid' expenses like sports and activities and freaking college. Which will probably be a bajillion dollars each semester by the time our kids are there, but whatever.

Kids are expensive. But kids are freaking amazing and even Nate will say that he's not totally opposed to a third kid (cue the inner squeal!), but he's not totally convinced that is what is best for our family.

And honestly? I'm not totally convinced I want to push for a third, either. I love being pregnant, I love the magic of labor and delivery (WITH drugs, thank you very much), and that special dreamlike time when a new member of the family arrives? I could bottle it up, I love it so much. Newborns are hard but they are cleverly adorable. It's the daily routine with three kids that freaks me out the most. Three in and out of the car. Three baths. Three mouths to feed. Three kids all sick at the same time, creating messes at the same time, wanting to be held at the same time. The NEEDS of three kids, all resting directly on my shoulders when my parenting partner isn't there to share the weight of those needs. Would three be the straw that breaks the camel's (my) back? Would I be able to handle the chaos? Would I lose it mentally? Reading this article makes me very, very nervous, my friends. I think life is crazy with two but sometimes I cannot even imagine the stress level with three.

But it's a blip in the radar of life, right? So quickly we forget the pain of birth, the sleepless nights, the frustrating moments of mothering young kids. Selective momnesia, I suppose. I'm a good mom and I think I would be up for the challenge of three. When my inner skeptic questions if I'm cut out to be a mom of three, my inner competitor likes to say, 'Watch me.' I might have multiple personalities, yes, point taken.

As I packed up Cecelia's bottles the other day, I felt a rush of excitement and butterflies in my stomach thinking about getting these bottles out again for another baby. When I dig through baby clothes bins in our attic I can't help but get a little giddy thinking about whether we would see the boy clothes or the girl clothes on another little bitty baby. I will pass by my 'pregnancy test/ovulation strips/charting stuff' box in the attic and smile, because how fun/exhausting/exciting to think about doing it all over again. A growing belly. Kicks from the inside. Another birth story. And then another newborn blur for the first weeks/months/year. I could totally do it again. In a heartbeat.

Without being too 'out there', somedays I have a flash forward vision when I picture myself driving a mini van all over town, and the van is packed full of three kids. I see three spunky kids throwing food at each other/yelling/singing/laughing behind my drivers seat. I see three different personalities and activities and three different backpacks strewn across our house. A calendar jammed with soccer games and tee ball and dance class and Lord knows what else. The taxi-cab years are something I'm actually looking forward to, although I'm sure it will be ridiculously crazy. But a good crazy. I imagine three kids coming home from college, three weddings, three sets of grandkids. I like to dream and a lot of them include three.

I hate letting negative thoughts sit in my head, so I might as well get them all out here. I also worry that we'd be pushing our luck with a third and what if we had a baby not as healthy, one with special needs or behavior issues, or one that is seriously ill? Part of me is still quite shaken up from my last two pregnancies. Having one really horrible/prolonged miscarriage and then Cecelia's pregnancy when she was not supposed to make it either has really left an impression on me. As they should, I suppose. Maybe I would have a really hard time even getting pregnant next time. Or another loss. Or worse. I'm not naive enough to think that I can just snap my fingers and make the decision to have another healthy baby in my arms. And I know there are women out there who would give almost anything to be in my shoes with two precious babes napping upstairs as I type this.

Sometimes I think that I need to learn contentment with the many blessings I've been given. How could I ever say that Truman and Cecelia are not enough, when they are the dearest blessings I could have ever imagined? To say that I'm grateful for my babies is the understatement of the year, and I try to never ever take them for granted. I worry that asking God for a third baby would be like saying I'm not happy with my current two. Which is obviously NOT the case but that is my inner pessimist talking.

After I think about the fears of a third kid a bit I always come back to this: I was also scared and nervous about adding Truman and then Cecelia to our family. Going from 0-1 was hard and going from 1-2 was also hard, but in different ways. And we all survived and I am so thankful we took those leaps of faith each time. I didn't know what it would be like to juggle one, and then two kids. The day-to-day stuff scared me then and thinking about it with a third scares me now. But I know that if we were blessed AGAIN with another child we would never regret that sweet baby. We might have some pretty low moments in the middle of the night after getting horribly broken sleep and tending to the needs of a preschooler and a toddler on top of a newborn. Oh, there would be hard times, for sure. But in my heart I absolutely think that the highs would still outweigh the lows. Kids are just the best, and having more kids would bring even more joy. Right?

So I've always wanted two or three. Nate would be fine with two but I'm sure I could convince him about a third. Plus I think technically he has also always said 'two or three' as his answer, even before marriage. But no matter what, we will wait awhile to make our final decision. There's no rush. I love our 2 year and 3 month age gap but waiting even longer than that would be fine, too. So for now I will continue to go back and forth over this matter every.single.day. One day I am certain we are done and the next I'm even MORE positive we'll have a third. Which basically means we are 50/50 at this point. Totally undecided, and that's ok.

Because life is still awesome with T and C as the epicenters. And feeling content is never a bad thing. And there's never a dull moment with these guys.
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