One year ago today...

I was so very ready to not be pregnant.

I was in labor for five hours.

We became parents a second time and Rylie became a big sister.

We found a piece of our life that we didn’t realize was missing.

I found out that I can love and adore a second baby as much as I love and adore my first.

Sophie, one year ago you weighed 7 pounds 6 ounces. Today you weigh 21 pounds 5 ounces.

One year ago, I marveled at your tiny little ski slope nose and your chubby toes and your wispy dark hair.

One year ago today, I fell completely in love with a tiny, crying, rooting, hungry, cuddly little red faced baby named Sophie.

Today you are quite the charmer. You smile constantly after many months of solemnity. I think you may be the most affectionate baby I have ever known. You only want to love and be loved, and your favorite activity is cuddling. You constantly tote a soft toy or blanket and press them to your cheek. You are often content to sit in my lap and play, though you are becoming more adventurous every day. In fact, we sometimes worry that there is nothing that seems to frighten or intimidate you.

You are a daredevil, frequently climbing into your little wooden rocking chair, standing straight up and rocking vigorously. You also get a kick out of holding your head under water as long as you can stand it.

You are now a full time walker, and we all love your cute, very unique little waddle. You are just beginning to become interested in books, especially those featuring puppy dogs and kitty cats. Your favorite things include bath time, stroller rides outside, and playing with (or bothering) your big sister.

You are a good eater, and your favorite food is banana. You let us know, swiftly and loudly, when you get hungry, and we smile to hear you chant “mik mik." You still love to sleep and, when not suffering an ear infection or teething episode, you are a great sleeper. You take two naps per day, though I am already lamenting the inevitable transition to one.

One year ago, we often wondered how we would ever manage with two babies just sixteen months apart, but you (and Rylie) are the icing on our cake. However chaotic our life may be, we always find reason to smile at your crazy antics, cute mannerisms, and sweet innocence.

It is a privilege to parent you, Sophie Rose.

You are our blessing. Happy Birthday.

One of Those Days

I would like to recount for your reading pleasure yet another cringe worthy episode in this mom’s life. This one happened just last Wednesday, a mere two days after the Wasp Incident. Like the Wasp Incident, I believe it is just another example of the kind of bizarre, impossible situations that moms often face...because we just don't have enough arms.

It was the sort of day that begins optimistically. The kind of day where everything goes so well, and runs so smoothly, that your inner mommy confidence rises to fever pitch and you think to yourself, I've got this. I finally know what I am doing.

Be careful of these days. They sometimes like to twist around and kick your butt. Or in my experience they do.

We had a good morning. My saint of a mother in law dropped by early to pick up Rylie for a grandma day, leaving me some mommy time with eleven month old Sophie.

And just for your information, my dear MIL takes one or both of the girls ONCE a week, nearly EVERY week, for the WHOLE day. Yes, I am eternally grateful to her for giving me these weekly sanity-saving days while I am living here in baby land. And no, you cannot borrow her. I share her with my sister in law and we keep her busy enough.

Back to the story.

So it’s just me and Sophie, who is a remarkably easy baby. Very laid back, not much of a crier, and a heck of a good sleeper. She requires only a full tummy and a nap to remain her sweet, good natured self. Thus, she’s the perfect baby for a shopping trip.I have a full agenda planned. I need to grocery shop, stop by the party supply store, and make my weekly pilgrimage to that most glorious of retail establishments, Target. But I hesitate to go. On the one hand, I need to take advantage of my toddler-less status and mark some things from my to-do list. On the other hand, the skies are looking pretty overcast and the weather report is calling for rain and thunderstorms.

I really do not like to get caught in this kind of weather when I am alone with the kids. It is a logistical nightmare. One or all of us will get wet. And the tedious loading and unloading of car seats and shopping bags and strollers…Well, I would just rather not have to do it all in foul weather. You understand, right?

Right?

Against my better judgment, I decide that my desperation to escape my house trumps my hesitation over the weather, and I make sure to add the umbrella to my humongous, multifunctional, mommy bag.

On the way to town I begin to think that we might get lucky and miss the rain. There is no precipitation, but there is the barest hint of sunshine. I make Target my first stop. When we get there, the cloudy skies finally begin to sprinkle, and by the time we make it inside, the bottom falls out. It is raining HARD.

No problem, I think. I have my umbrella, my hoodie, and a blanket to cover Sophie. We’ll be fine. I decide that if it is still bad after I complete my shopping we can hang out at the in-store Starbucks and wait for it to clear.

Two and a half hours later, shopping is finished, Starbucks consumed, Sophie is restless, and the rain is still coming down in sheets. The parking lot is inches deep in water and I am loath to haul myself, my cart full of bags, and my tired baby out into this down pour.

But I must, as Sophie can not wait it out any longer and it seems there is no end in sight. I personally could have sat in that Starbucks another hour, sipping some highly caffeinated, overpriced beverage and reading a book. But Sophie is fading fast and not content to nap in the shopping cart at the Target Café. Who can blame her?

I don my hoodie, sling the diaper bag across my body, and roll up my jeans. I slowly, carefully walk out the door, holding Sophie in my left arm and the umbrella in my left hand, pushing the cart with my one free hand. If you have not done this before, you should know that it is a difficult balancing act, especially in a strong wind and a hard rain.

Did I mention that I parked a very long distance from the entrance? Did I mention that I was wearing flip flops?

I make it to the car and I am pleasantly surprised because Sophie isn’t at all wet, and I am not too damp, except for my feet. I park the cart directly behind my car and turn to load Sophie in her car seat. I have not even snapped her in place when I look up, puzzled to find that my full cart is not where I left it.

Nope.

It is racing down the Target parking lot, a trail of rain water spraying out behind it.

I gasp. I curse. The cart is already more than halfway across the parking lot but I can’t just leave Sophie in the car alone while I chase it, so I sling her on my hip. Umbrella in hand, I begin trotting down the parking lot after the errant shopping cart, which is zooming unattended toward the Target entrance.

Please do not mow down a pedestrian, I pray. Please do not hit a car…or get hit by a car.

I pass not one, not two, but three men and one woman on my jog towards the cart. They turn their heads to see my rogue cart whiz by them, they turn again to watch me run after it, baby bouncing on my hip in the drenching rain. And they continue to watch our progress until the cart bumps into the curb, narrowly missing an innocent SUV. They do not offer to help, though they clearly witnessed my dilemma.

I am shocked and relieved to see that the cart did not hit anything more significant than the sidewalk. This is great news, as it not only traveled the full length of the parking lot, but then crossed the street in front of the entrance.

I finally catch up to the cart and begin the long trek back to the car. I am, once again, pushing that cart with one hand and balancing baby and umbrella with the other. I see a couple of those same men sitting smugly in their dry vehicles, watching me.

Sophie is none too happy at this turn of events, and audibly so.

I am tired. I am soaked. I am thinking, Did that really just happen?

I finally complete the long process of loading the car. The cart remains firmly in place this time. As I pull out of my parking space, the clouds part, the sun comes out, and the rain abruptly ceases.

We went straight home.

That night, after listening to my rant, Greg promised to always help frantic, baby-toting mothers chasing full shopping carts in the pouring rain.

And now a few pics, just because.

Brought to you by...Motherhood

I wake up Monday morning looking forward to a day of lazy recovery from that hyperactive, candy eating weekend known as Easter. I am pretty wiped out and the girls are exhausted, but relaxation is not to be had. Because in the course of my morning routine I discover that there are exactly three diapers in the house. I find this especially frustrating, since I recall buying diapers just three days prior, but it appears they have disappeared.

What to do? I know that Sophie must have top diaper priority as she is only eleven months old, while Rylie is two, and though far from potty trained, at least able to sit on the toilet. So, in order to conserve our diapers until more can be bought, I leave the girls in their soggy diapers while I serve breakfast.

Sometimes tough choices must be made.

So I bathe myself, bathe the girls, and put two of the last three diapers on their little bottoms, hoping they would suffice until we made it to the store.

But of course I should have known better.

Twenty minutes later, Sophie is wearing the very last diaper, and I am forced to break out the as yet unopened package of “big girl panties” for Rylie, who rebels. She finds that she would much prefer to wear her shorts without any panties at all and I decide not to argue. A thin layer of floral cotton will not make much difference if she pees on the car seat.

Finally, we are ready. I pick up Sophie. I grab my keys. I grab my purse. I grab the diaper-less diaper bag. I take Rylie’s hand. And off we go.

I notice a few large red wasps buzzing around the front porch as we make our way out the door and I feel a pang of anxiety. I am not a fan of any insect, and I am especially terrified of the stinging or biting varieties. I have never been wasp stung, and I firmly believe this is due to my careful vigilance where wasps are concerned. If they are out, I am in. I do not knowingly go within a 20 foot radius of a wasp. In short, I avoid them at all costs.

Except when I am out of diapers and have two peeing, pooping babies.

Naturally.

So I bravely charge down the sidewalk to our car, which is not in the garage because the garage is full of yard sale leftovers. I load the girls, admonish Rylie to please not pee pee on the car seat, and get myself in the car.

I begin backing out of the driveway when a terrible burning pain sears my upper right arm. As in slow motion, I lift my sleeve and see a great blackish red beast. It seemed to be the size of my fist, but I admit it was all a bit blurry. The rest happens in a matter of seconds but it seems like an hour. My arm is on fire but I manage to stop the car and drive back into the driveway without moving the wasp, though I am in agony as it is still injecting itself into my arm. I am aware of an awful noise and seconds later I realize it is my own strange scream as I shake and shimmy and try to get this thing off of me without sending it to the back. I kick the door open, and the wasp begins to fly not through the open door but to the backseat, where by this time my children are also screaming. I have no choice but to shoo it out with my own bare hand. It flies directly for my face and lands near my neck. I swat it, make contact, and jump out of the car. It sputters away.

I definitely injured it, and I hope it died a slow, painful death.

But back to the diapers.

Though my hands are shaking, my arm is throbbing, my head is buzzing, and I really just want to turn around and call it a day, the fact remains.

We still need diapers.

I haul myself back into the car. I face the girls, who are ashen, and crying, and looking at me like I am a total stranger. Rylie grasps the fact that there was a bug and there was a battle. My arm is a swollen mess, and I can immediately count three separate stings.

Nontheless, we drive to the nearest convenience store, we buy the blasted diapers, and we make our way home. Sophie cries all the while. Rylie narrates the previous events in a quiet and concerned voice, “Mommy has owie on her arm. Mommy is hurt. The bad bug bite Mommy. You otay, Mommy?”

Am I okay? The adrenaline is pumping and I am seriously hurting, but at least that nasty joker did not sting my babies.

The next morning the swelling is down and I realize that I was actually stung five times on my arm and once on my neck. I didn’t even feel that last one somehow. I am very thankful that it was not Greg, who has serious reactions to wasp stings. And I am immensely relieved that the girls were not stung, because we do not yet know if they have inherited their father’s wasp allergy.

After witnessing my hysterics, I am fairly certain that both of my kids will be forever plagued with a pretty severe insect phobia.

But we have diapers now.

Easter Remix

The Easter Bunny did indeed visit the Webb household. This year I felt compelled to document every aspect of our Easter in order to atone for last year, when my 38 weeks pregnant self simply did not have the energy to take a single picture. Not a one. The mommy guilt over this failure is big, but that is a whole other post…

Notice the black eye, now brownish yellow and green. Just in time for Easter.

So Saturday night we put Soph to bed and Rylie, Daddy, and I painted Easter eggs. If you haven’t painted eggs with a two year old, well... you haven't really missed much. It was fun for her, though. And she so loves to be creative. She wanted to narrate a play by play recap of this event the rest of the night. She even told God about it during bedtime prayers. “And Rydie painted Easter eggs. A yeddow one! And Mommy painted a geen one, and Dad painted eggs, too! Rydie lubs painting Easter eggs.” Might we have a budding artist on our hands?

This Easter was a significant night for Rylie, a milestone of sorts. As we have been struggling with a two and a half year pacifier addiction, I decided to let the Easter Bunny solve the problem. We told Rylie that he would take her pacies to the little babies who need them, since she is a big girl now. We gathered them up and placed them in an empty basket for the Easter Bunny to collect while she slept. We explained that in return, she would get a beautiful Easter basket in the morning. It worked like a charm. No crying and no whining. Thus spent Rylie’s first night without a paci. Score one for Mommy.

In the morning, she was quite delighted to find her Easter goodies waiting for her, though Sophie was not so impressed. After a quick egg hunt round the living room, we were dressed and off to church, where in a matter of minutes the long white dresses I so meticulously ironed were reduced to wrinkled sheets.

Easter hat rebellion.

Wrinkle free...for now.

I am sure the Easter cantata was beautiful, but I wouldn’t really know, as I was busy corralling a wiggly baby and shushing a restless toddler. I do know that the sermon was wonderful. I know this because babies and toddlers were ushered to the nursery, leaving me to reflect on the perfect sacrifice of Jesus and the awesome miracle of His resurrection.

Looking angelic on the church pew.

After church, on to the traditional family gathering at my grandparents’ house. Present were two sets of grandparents, one set of great grandparents, various aunts and uncles, and three children. It seems the Easter Bunny also visits Nanas and Papas, as there were more baskets to dig into and one big egg hunt in the back yard. It was loud, busy, humid, crowded, and chaotic. It was full of sunshine, candy, little girl giggles, bubbles, little girl tears, picture posing, and more little girl giggles.

It was a lovely Easter.

Rylie, Lampshade head (Sophie), and Ava, my niece