Say Yes to the Dress.

You know what's a good idea? Getting married before you have a baby.

This is not about morals, or expectations, or being proper. No, I'm quite happy about the order in which we've gone about building our life, planned or otherwise.

But as we're (sort of, haphazardly) planning this whole wedding thing, I'm realizing the real reason(s) people get married before they have kids. I'll list them as follows:

One: DRESS SHOPPING. Dress shopping with a baby is impossible without a helper. Did you know that babies hate shopping? Yeah, me too. When I worked in retail it angered me to no end when I saw bored, fussy children being dragged around stores by their parents. Why take a baby shopping at all? Why can't they just leave the kid with someone and go alone? It never occurred to me that this is often impossible. Babies have schedules, adults have schedules, and most often there just isn't another option than to take the kiddo with you. Yet another misconception about parenthood. I was the girl who gave toddlers paper and markers to keep them happy while mom shopped. Mostly because I loved kids and I got to play with them for a bit. And because I hated my job and would do pretty much anything to distract myself from actually working. I digress.

Dress shopping has been a nightmare. And I don't even need a real wedding dress! All I want is something fun and casual but not sloppy. I want to look effortlessly elegant, but not stuffy. Nothing fancy. Did you know that's a completely unreasonable request? Yeah, me either.

Also: my body is not what it used to be. Did you know that having a kid rearranges everything and leaves you stumped as to how to work with your new shape? Yeah, me too. But still. I can no longer look at something and think, "Yeah, that'll probably fit." My only worry used to be whether or not it had a full skirt (this Mama's always been...a pear) and whether or not I had to wear a bra. Now? Now all sorts of things need support. Shaping. Concealing. I'm confounded. And this is just the first reason why wedding planning with a kid is no fun.

Two: Money and time. These could probably each be separate categories, but if I expound too much my head might just burst. Money--we don't have it. Time--we don't have that, either. Also, my family all lives out of town and they do not enjoy things like making travel arrangements. Or being in the same room together. Or staying in the same hotel. On to the next category, before I burst a blood vessel in my eye.

Three: Caring for the baby on The Big Day. In order for my wedding day to not suck, I need to be as stress-free as possible. In order for my blood pressure to remain in a healthy place, I need to make sure my kid is happy. In order for my kid to be happy, she needs to nurse regularly and take naps. On time. I know, I know. I need to loosen up. I'm working on it, but at this rate I'm going to be a basketcase making sure Little E is taken care of. This means having the wedding in a familiar place, which leaves...our apartment (NO WAY) and Elliot's parents' house, which is where we'll end up doing things, I'm sure. What's that? I have less than two months and we're still not completely set on the location? Yeah, we're awesome at this.

But anyway. We'll figure it out. All I'm hoping is that the day will feel something like this:

This was another very simple wedding, a few months after we'd begun dating.
It pretty much sums up why we're doing this whole thing.

This weekend, I'm putting the babe to bed, gathering some girlfriends, and heading downtown to look for a dress, followed by some expensive swanky cocktails. It may be as close to a bachelorette party as I'll get, and I'm very excited. Wish me luck!

It's not often...

...that I get morning alone time. My babe woke me up at five o'clock sharp this morning. I spent the next hour hoping she would go back to sleep on her own, to no avail. At six I finally caved and nursed her, grumbling the whole time. And then I put her back down, closed the door to her room (not a peep! Yes!) and remembered how much I love mornings.

It's been a long time since we've had a sunrise like this. Hello, Olympics.

I put on a pot of coffee and sat down for some serious, guilt-free blog reading. Well, almost guilt-free. There are probably a million other things I could be doing with this time. But I've (mostly) learned to just savor every one of these rare quiet moments.

Just me and my favorite mug. 

In 23 Days

This girl is turing one in less than a month. And every time I think about it, I get teary.

Cut it out, Mom. You're embarrassing me.

She's growing so fast now; it's blowing my mind. I had to move her up to size 18 month jammies this week. *tear*

Though she is swimming in them. Swimming in jammies makes you tired. Growing is hard.

Every morning she wakes up and makes new sounds. Her babbling has taken on actual inflection, and she is a master of mimicry.

She's perfected tongue-clicking, and she thinks it's hilarious. I do, too.

She's such a happy little thing. A ham and a half. She claps, dances, waves and gives a mean high-five.

That goofy, toothy grin. Where did my baby go?

Lately, she's begun to snuggle with us on purpose. Tiny, wrinkly babies are wonderful, and they smell good and they're squishy and sweet. But there's something about an almost-toddler who comes over to put her head on your chest for a quick cuddle, just because. I know that the challenges will become more complex in the coming years, but those tiny moments of baby-love have me thinking that maybe, somehow, it's worth it.

Then again, the meltdowns at every diaper change have me thinking...not so much. Give me my baby back!

Breaking my heart, this one.

Sigh. I've got a birthday cake to bake.

Camera Love

First, comes baby. Then, comes blog. And then, comes a desperate need to take better photos. I've been dreaming about getting a DSLR for a long time, but it seemed far out of my reach and completely unnecessary when all I had to take photos of were pancakes and cats.

But then, I had a beautiful baby. And she grew, and grew, and grew, and here I am a month before her first birthday, longing to capture every single second of her short-lived babyhood. Babies do not hold still. Ever. Have you noticed?

Sure, we got some decent ones in the first few weeks, when she was a melty, grunting lump of digestion.

And things were hit-or-miss in the middle months, when she started to mobilize but was still slow.

But then, she learned how to crawl. And soon all of our photos began to look more or less like this:

...And I pouted. And whined. And stomped and lamented that my baby was growing too fast and we were just letting it all slip away! So Elliot got me a fancy camera. Not so fancy that I'm intimidated, not so fancy that I'll set up a photography studio and take pictures of newborns sleeping in hollowed-out watermelons, but far fancier than any point-and-shoot I've ever picked up. It's a Canon Rebel T2i, and I've never been happier to play with a gadget. I have no idea what I'm doing, of course, but this little guy is quite user-friendly and we were able to take some lovely snapshots straight out of the box.

This weekend has been full of the usual playdates in the park, laughing at the yuck faces babies make when you give them lemon slices, and not much else. But now? Look out, grandparents! I've got a new toy!

This is My lovely friend Brenda and her sweet little one. She and Little E are thick as thieves.

See?

Aforementioned lemon shot. There are lots of these.

There are also three hundred shots of babies on swings, but I'll spare you the rest.

And then, there are the ones that make my heart explode.
The cost of the camera is more than recouped right here.

Okay, okay. Enough already.

Last one, promise.

Next up: learn how to really use the camera. I've read over some super-easy tutorials courtesy of Ree, The Pioneer Woman, and I'll be spending the next, um, decade of my life practicing. Because I don't think I'm ever getting another gift again. 

Tips? I hate manuals. Talk to me like I'm four.

Still in there

Becoming a Mama has been an...interesting journey. Not all of it has been pleasant. I'm not talking about the sleep deprivation or the constant poop clean-up. Those things, I think, are pretty much expected and (somewhat) easily dealt with. Your body basically adjusts to having broken sleep, and skin is highly washable. Not even the mightiest of diaper disasters can scare me, especially now. No, the most difficult part of the past year has been the struggle to hold on to my former self, or at least a few tiny shreds. I know you know what I'm talking about.

I had so many grand visions of what motherhood would look like. I would wear my baby about town doing all the things I used to do: we'd snuggle in coffee shops. I'd read to her in the book store. She would be an extension of myself--a tiny, sweet reflection of both her father and me. Everyone has these dreams of parenthood, I think. Were it not for ideals, we wouldn't bother having kids, right? Sure, there would be struggles, but we'd persevere, holding our heads high and telling tales of the tough times at dinner parties.

These moments are actually pretty rare. Babies are heavy!

I couldn't have been more wrong about the early days of motherhood. My perfect, romantic homebirth gave way to a hospital transfer and much-dreaded cesarean after three grueling days of labor. The baby whom I'd pictured sliding out of my body and onto my chest in a pool of water, the baby who was supposed to grunt and latch immediately to my breast was instead pulled and yanked from me and whisked away. Instead of crawling cozily into my own bed and drifting to sleep with my perfect pink little bundle I was laid up in a hospital bed, unable to move on my own. Unable to respond to my daughter's cries without help.

This is not how I expected to meet my daughter, but I love this photo. 

Little E's birth was my first lesson in letting go. Now almost a year later, I'm still struggling with this concept. I've read it all on a hundred blogs, heard it all from a hundred friends. Let the dishes pile up, they say. Soak up every minute, because they grow so fast, I've read. And I know. Looking back, I know this is sound advice. The only problem is, sometimes I want to do the dishes. Sometimes, in order to be happy in the present moment, I first have to find time to put the laundry away. I miss cooking. I miss scrubbing my bathroom until it gleams. And lately, I've learned I can do both. I can have fun with my girl and get crafty. Really.

This weekend was crazy. At first I thought I'd yet again bitten off more than I could chew. So many ingredients! Multiple trips to the store! There's no way!

I wanted to make jam for my soon-to-be mother and sister-in-law for Mother's Day. It turns out, going out and buying all the ingredients to make jam with fruit that's not quite yet in season isn't really a good idea cost-wise, but I think we broke even. I tossed a vanilla pod in with the simmering strawberries to make it a little more special than store-bought varieties. Success! 

Next up: Opa's birthday cake. Oh boy. I've had this heap of sugary, peanut buttery doom bookmarked for months, and couldn't wait to test it out. I called a girlfriend over to entertain the baby and took my time with the assembly, taking frequent breaks to dance and nurse and gossip and drink some fantastic dark beer. Four hours later, we had ourselves a cake!

I almost passed out just from licking the frosting from my fingers. And the spatula. And the bowl. And the mixer paddle...you get my drift. It took all day, and that is precisely my point here. It's okay to spend an entire day baking a cake if that's what you want to do. It's also okay to spend the whole day in your pajamas. Or two hours primping in the bathroom to make yourself feel pretty, provided you have someone to come make silly faces at the baby while you take some time once in a while. 

New parents spend so much time fretting over the small things, so much time feeling guilty and agonizing over every decision. Six months ago, there's no way I could've pulled off a two-day kitchen marathon. It takes time to get to this point, and it also requires good friends and a relatively independent child. But it's good to know I'm still in there, somewhere.

Cheeky baby

It seems as though this past weekend's flurry of activities has caught up with my babe. She's been fighting a cold for a while now, or maybe it's just due to teething (we can never really tell, which is totally awesome) and the poor dear is feeling quite under the weather. Luckily for us, she has adorable cheeks to nom...and the best sad face ever.

Time for some extra snuggles, some time spent in a steamy bathroom, and a few sleepless nights. It may not exactly be Mama to the rescue, but at least we'll get some cute pictures out of the deal.

On Mother's Day and getting out of my own way

This weekend was (my very first!) Mother's Day. The celebration lasted all weekend and involved a lot of time in the kitchen and ridiculous amounts of sugar. I'll write more about what I made in another post, but let's just say I may need to give my poor pancreas a break for a while.

Thursday and Friday were spent gathering ingredients and carefully planning my time to get everything done despite millions of distractions from a curious almost-toddler. Not an easy task, but we made the best of it and everything came together without one Mama (or baby) meltdown.

On Friday afternoon we packed up the car and headed down to visit Elliot's family in Steilacoom. Little E's Opa had a birthday this week so we combined celebrations with Mama's Day. I didn't get any pictures (Megan, however, did) but there was a lot of couch time, food, and babies poking each others' eyes out. Fun times!

 Here's the hardest part of an event like (my very first!) Mother's Day: I get excited. When you live in my brain, getting excited about something almost always spells disappointment. I am a master of setting huge expectations, watching everything crash and burn, and getting all stompy in the aftermath. This is so much fun for everyone around me, I'm sure. It started out ugly. Sunday morning looked like this:

This view is not unusual this time of year. Actually, it's completely expected. EXCEPT on (my very first!) Mother's Day. Things were not looking good.

Elliot had to work all day. This was actually okay by me, as Little E and I had plans to have coffee with one of my very best girlfriends. Around mid-morning, our coffee date was cancelled. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Things were definitely not looking good.




One of the biggest challenges of motherhood, for me, has been getting out of the house alone with the baby. I am not a particularly motivated person and I've never been adventurous. Adding a baby into the mix means it's nearly impossible for me to get up the gumption to leave the house unless I have a friend with me. It is a challenge, but I am doing my very best to get beyond my anxieties (and laziness) and just get out there. This Sunday was a prime example of why I need to get out of my own way, put on real pants and go outside, kiddo in tow. We had a lovely afternoon, Little E and me.

One of the reasons I was so excited about this weekend was that it wasn't only (my very first!) Mother's Day, but also the opening day for our neighborhood farmer's market. I've been eagerly awaiting the first market of the season for weeks, perhaps months. The selection is meager this early in the season, but the energy is amazing. It seems everyone comes out of hibernation to get their hands on the first tender bunches of asparagus and onion tops. We soaked up a tiny bit of afternoon sunshine and took pictures of the still-pale tomatoes. I sipped lemonade, bought flowers and ran into some friends I haven't seen in far too long.

Little E was thrilled to spend the afternoon with her Auntie Wendy, and I was happy to receive the enormous pile of new reading material she brought for me. 

I'm working on getting out of my shell more and more, difficult as it is at times. I have to remind myself to just keep moving, not to think so much, not to set impossible expectations. I'm almost a year into this mama gig and I'm just now starting to see glimpses of my former self, the woman who got lost in the baby haze. I'm also seeing bits of a new me, of the mama I'm becoming, and I'm excited about getting comfortable in this new life. I just need to stay out of my own way.

My pretty baby, just because.

I hope everybody had a lovely Mother's Day weekend, whether it was your very first or your fiftieth. We do get the whole weekend, you know!