Seven Months

 

Slow down, dude! You're just past seven months and I have to say you've really left your infancy in the dust.

What happened to my floppy little guy? GONE! You learned to sit on your own. And you're pretty damn proud of it.

 
 

But were you sastisfied by that? No, of course not. You had to continue beating the milestones of your older siblings by crawling earlier than either on of them.

Third child syndrome, I suppose. What's funny is you crawl like your older brother did: two hands, one knee and one foot. This funky motion does not, however, impede you from going where you want to go (I caught you chewing on your sister's soccer ball by the back door today) and I do believe you're picking up speed.

Sawyer and Sage are starting to get why I've been harping on them more than usual to pick up their stuff.

And because you are such a Big Boy, you get to do thrilling things like go for a wagon ride with your sister.

 

 


 

This past month, though, hasn't been entirely full of highlights. You popped four teeth all at once on top, and you weren't afraid to use them. After one particularly painful bite on the shoulder, I yelled "OUCH! THAT HURT! NO BITING!" Your face crumpled. You started to cry. I felt terrible. But you know what? You haven't tested your chompers since.

We started solids right after you turned six months. Something (rice cereal?)didn't sit so well with you. We tried sweet potato, which you seemed okay with, and carrots, which you didn't like. Then we went to avocado, a favorite of both your siblings. Sawyer used to eat an entire avocado at one sitting when he was a baby. We were trying to put some fat on him - just like we're trying to do with you.

You didn't seem to like it all that much. And now we know why: you were up four times that night, and when morning came, I saw why: you were covered in a bright red rash. It was awful, and prompted a trip to the pediatric dermatologist to get you some relief in the form of prescription lotions and potions (you can see the rash on his face in this picture, but it's still adorable).

 

The diagnosis? Eczema. Just like Sawyer, who has scars on his neck from scratching when he was about a year old. We are hoping you'll outgrow this, just like he did. But it makes finding you stuff to eat that won't bug you a little challenging.

Right now you LOVE pears. You also tried apple and banana. I might reintroduce sweet potato to see if that was also causing you issues.

We REALLY want you to eat more. You only put on three ounces this past month, which would be an appropriate weight gain - for a WEEK. The doctor is not concerned. She says it common with breastfed babies (yes, I'm still nursing!). But at this rate, you won't hit 18 pounds until you're a year. Of course I'm feeling guilty, wondering if maybe my breastmilk isn't good enough, especially because I'm still on the no dairy/soy/wheat diet.

Thing is, you look good. You're happy. Active. And you've got some nice chub on your thighs. Maybe those clearly dominant Asian genes are affecting your stature as well as your looks. I've never before loved a short man, but I will make an exception for you.

 
(Photo by Robin Gray Photography)

We are looking forward to seeing what you do next. Your sister walked at 9 1/2 months. No worries if you want to let her keep that record.

I'd like to keep you close just a little while longer.

 

(Photo by Robin Gray Photography)

First step

 

Exactly seven months and one day since giving birth, I finally got out there and ran. So if you felt your house shaking, it wasn't an earthquake, just my slow, plodding feet pounding the pavement.

It hurt. Oh yes. Things still aren't entirely back where they're supposed to be. But I still managed to go on my three-mile loop, which includes a couple gnarly hills.

I listenened to my music on my iPod shuffle as I ran. There's something about Gavin Rossdale telling me to "breathe in, breathe out" that just gets me going (bonus points if you know what song that is).

It's comforting hearing all the songs I have on there. I guess it reminded me of the gazillion times I've put those headphones in and turned on the music to help me pass the miles and miles on my long runs when I didn't have my running partners - or when they went ahead or fell back.

The best part of today's run - when at times I'm sure I could've walked the hills faster - was when my body actually cooperated. Everything was in synch. My legs moved, my heart pumped and my mind drifted.

And I remembered why I run.

I've missed it.

Now I'm not saying I'm anywhere near marathon shape (although I wore my shirt from my last one as motivation). Or even 5K shape for that matter.

But the first step is always the toughest. I'm glad I finally took it.

What were you?

 

Sawyer's kindergarten teacher sent home a list of ideas to go over with your child for the month of October. There's not enough paper to actually print up homework sheets (thanks to the budget cuts) so I guess this is a stand-in.

There are actually some cute things on there. And the one that stood out the most was this:

"Ask an adult in your family what their favorite Halloween costume was as a child, and draw a picture of it."

Yes! I love Halloween! It's my absolute favorite holiday! The people give you candy! For free! What could be better? I'd spend weeks - months! - planning my costume.

So, my favorite one was.. uh...um....

Yeah. I could only come up with a single costume. From fourth grade.

Now in those days, way back when we had to walk to school uphill in the snow - both ways - costumes were usually home-made. Because just one time wearing a cheap scratchy plastic mask with the skinny gray elastic digging into the back of your head was really enough.

The costume I remember was made by my sister. I woke up the morning of the school's costume parade (yes, clearly this was a LONG time ago when they actually allowed stuff like this) and asked my sister if she'd finished making it.

She looked at me like I was nuts. Seems she'd woken me up the night before to show me it. Really? I had no idea.

But I was SO excited. I was going to be Mother Nature. I wore a flowing white sheet for my dress. She'd attached paper flowers to these fake gold necklaces, and made a flowered head band.

I also carried a sign that read "It's not nice to fool Mother Nature."

I didn't win the costume contest. I was robbed. Clearly.

The only other costume that stands out was my brother's one year. He was a scarecrow, and wore a broomstick under a big shirt. Problem was, he couldn't fit on anyone's front stoop. So I had to collect all his candy while gesturing back to him as he waited by the street. Just in case they thought I was taking it all for myself. Which is totally something I would do.

The worst was when Mom made you wear a coat - OVER YOUR COSTUME!! That was the only downside of Halloween in Connecticut, where I grew up. Otherwise, the leaves were crisp, the pumpkins didn't rot in the heat, and the atmosphere was perfect.

We carried pillow cases to put our candy in. This was so we could get MORE than if we just used a regular old bag. Then we'd get home and pour it all on the floor and trade.

And then we'd stuff our faces.

I guess when I look back, it was the excitement in the air, the great times we had - a whole bunch of us riding in the back of a pickup truck while the driver tried to run over every curbside leaf piles, could you even IMAGINE letting your kids do that now? - that I really remember.

I hope that my little skeleton, ballerina witch and pumpkin will also look back on their childhoods and remember the fun, if not the fabric.

How about you? What was YOUR favorite costume or Halloween memory?

This is Four

 

When you turn four, you need a princess party. You really do. You need to dress up like Ariel and get your face painted. You need to play princess games with your friends. And dance.

 

 

At one point during the party, you must pout. Because it's your party. You can pout if you want to. And heaven forbid we can actually get a nice picture together.

 

But you quickly regroup. Because the absolutely most important thing is that you have a pink cake. A VERY pink cake.

 

What's a party without eating a pink cupcake?

 

Now a few days before your princess party was your real birthday. And you absolutely had to get your nails done.

 

You are a girly-girl. Except when you're not, and you're pushing your big brother around and playing Bakugan and wielding a light saber with all the boys up the street.

Three was a fun year. For you, anyway. You went to school. You did really well for the first month or so. But then you cried every day because you "missed Daddy." Then, after the winter break, you missed the first month back because you were sick. You scared us with unexplained fevers that jumped to about 105.

Then you got better. You went back to school. And you didn't cry at all. You met a friend, Genevieve. The teacher, who'd said that you were having a tough time making friends because, frankly, most of the kids were more immature, was happy to see you come out of your shell.

You participated in circle time. You iniated play. You did talk about Sawyer a LOT, and the other kids weren't so interested. But by the end, the teacher described you as having leadership qualities if you ever actually wanted to use them. She had no concerns for you at all academically.

You are on your way.

The thing is you get angry. So angry that you throw screaming fits whenever - and wherever, including naked on the pool deck - you want. Truly a force of nature, I am excited for the day you will harness your passion for good and not evil.

You love your little brother. You are a clown for him. Unless you're grumpy. He cries when you do.

Sometimes I look at you and I can clearly see you at 16. We are beyond in trouble. I just hope you will still speak to me.

Right before your birthday, I said I was sad that you wouldn't be 3 anymore.

"But Mommy," you said. "I have to grow!"

Yes. Yes you do. But could you please, please, PLEASE do your mom a favor and just slow down?

 

(photo by Robin Gray Photography)

Kindergarten already?

Let me start by saying I apologize, internets, for being so neglectful of this blog. My head has been so full, so stuffed with stuff, I was afraid to even let a little bit out for fear of a giant deluge of brain matter. Or heart matter, as the case may be.

So much has happened. Not the least of which is...I am the mother of a kindergartner.

It was a beautiful day. Sawyer was SO excited to go to school. The big school. Not the portable in the school's parking lot that he went to last year for pre-K. This was the real deal.

He of course was blissfully unaware of the drama of the past two days. We had received a letter early in the summer informing us Sawyer would be in afternoon kindergarten - and oh, by the way, they were changing the times of the school.

Right. So he was to start at 12:05. Sage's preschool lets out at noon.

I was totally stressed out by this. I also had been told the peanut-free class was in the morning. But of course, the letter also said that the school office would be closed until late August, leaving me a couple months to stew. I sent an email to the principal, and he finally answered, saying the peanut-free was in the afternoon.

So I'm thinking, okay, well, there's nothing I can do, as Sawyer HAS to be in a peanut-free class. I resigned myself to afternoon kindergarten, and the idea that I would not have a minute of the day all year where I would have just one child (yes, that's you, Xander).

Then two days before school started, I went in to hand in Sawyer's vaccination updates and his paperwork to allow the use of an epi-pen and benadryl in case he had a reaction. Because when you have a child with a potentially life-threatening allergy, you are always worried whether they will come home. I met the school nurse (who is WONDERFUL) and felt comfortable that every precaution would be taken to ensure Sawyer would be safe. I also learned there WAS a peanut-free class in the morning, but we, by unlucky draw, did not get in it.

Which led me to speak to the assistant principal (not overly helpful) and to leave a message with the principal. He called me later in the day, we had a lovely chat, in which he told me he'd put me on the "waiting list" for the morning K. Whatevs.

So imagine my surprise when first thing the next morning - the day before school - he calls to tell me Sawyer has been moved to the morning session.

The other drama? David was supposed to be at a convention in Tahoe and was going to miss Sawyer's first day. I was sad, but again, resigned that he would not be there. But again, last minute, he got out of going.

Our little party of five departed Thursday morning for his first day. First, Sawyer posed with his new snack bag (Bakugan, what a shocker).
 

We are lucky that we live very close to the school. We started down the sidewalk.

 

And less than 10 minutes later, we were at the school. The kindergarten classes wait outside their rooms, on their playground. It was like being at Disneyland, without the rides. Tons of kids, tons of parents.

Sawyer looked a little unsure.
 

But who wouldn't be? Luckily he ran into some of his friends from last year, including a couple in his class. Of 34 kids. And 19 boys.
 

Then the door opened, the teacher appeared, and I realized that the parents were being dismissed. I had some vision of us going into the classroom with him, but we clearly weren't welcome.

With a quick picture

 

and a wave

 

He was gone. The door closed. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to get teary. And neither did he.

Not a bad start to the year.

You can run...

 

Today before school I decided to put a ponytail holder in the top of Sage's hair because she wanted to wear her new bow, and I figured it would hold the hair up better.

But Sage was not down with the plan.

"No, Mommy! I don't want people to say I'm crazy!"

"What? What are you talking about? What do people always say to you?"

"That I'm beautiful."

"Okay then."

I proceeded to put the elastic in her hair and then pulled it back so I could stick the bow in.

"Oh! Are you trying to hide the crazy, Mommy?"

Sorry, sister. There's NO hiding the crazy. It's genetics.

He's a Maniac, Maaaaniac on the Floor..

 

Don't let this nice picture fool you. Xander is out of control. OUT OF CONTROL I tell you!

Consider what happened moments before this shot was snapped...

 

Yes. He's got his brother by the ear. And, I believe, me by the juglar.

Xander is at the phase where he grabs everything. Totally normal behavior for a five month-old. The thing is, he can also GET to everything he wants.

He's not crawling, but he can rotate all the way around AND scootch. He gets his knees up under him and then digs in with his feet and propells forward. The other day I tried to get some dinner ready. When I looked over at him, he was gone. Nothing like that feeling of WHERE DID HE GO??!?

He'd simply traveled off his playmat and was practically off the carpet and onto the floor - a distance of about four feet.

He also enjoys flipping over during poopy diaper changes. And screams his head off the whole time.

This kid. Right here.

 

I have no idea where he gets it from...

 

I am not AT ALL ready for a mobile baby. We are not child-proofed yet. I have tried to get the bigger kids to pick up all the tiny Toys of Choking Death they like to leave around. And their fruit snack wrappers that they try to hide under the couch.

They are kind of getting it. But then today I heard some crunching. There was Xander, chewing on a newspaper. Hey, it's fiber, right?

He also is back to wanting to be carried. And since I'm genetically programmed to follow his every command, I comply. I'd say he looks pretty pleased with himself.

 

He's also not sleeping at night. Again. I put an old aquarium thing-y in his crib and it took him about 2 seconds to figure out how to turn it on. So at random times at night, I'll hear the sound of the ocean before the inevitable shrieking. Makes me long for the beach...not so much.

He will be six months old in a few weeks. I can't wait to see what he has in store for me.

 

Peanut Allergy - It's for reals, folks

The call didn't come in the middle of the night. This one arrived just after 11 in the morning.

I saw it was David. I figured he was calling to tell me he and the kids were on the way home from his mother's. I was blissfully enjoying a couple rare child-free hours. I was folding laundry. After taking a shower. I was thinking maybe I'd even have time to straighten my hair.

But his words stopped me. Sent my heart racing.

"Sawyer just threw up. And his nose is runny."

Which is when I shrieked "WHAT DID HE EAT?!?!"

The thing with peanut allergy is it's always there, lying in wait like a cold-blooded killer. You can hate it all you want. It's not going away, as much as you really, really wish it would.

Apparently, David's mother gave Sawyer a rice ball that she'd bought. Sawyer took a bite but didn't like it. THANK THE LORD. After Sawyer got sick, she said she had no idea what was in it. Which is not something you can do when you have a kid with a severe nut allergy.

David and I talked on the phone several times on their drive home, just under 40 minutes. Should we just meet at a hospital? Should he pull over and administer the epi pen?

Finally, finally they arrived. I took one look at Sawyer - covered in hives, his face swollen, his voice funny - and yelled to David to stab him with the epi pen.

We then called 911.

I have to say my little rock star was calm when questioned by firemen and paramedics. He actually looked excited when he got into the ambulance, waving to one of the high school girls on our street who'd gathered with a bunch of our neighbors on the yard next door to us. David climbed in with Sawyer and off they went.

At last, my tears came.

Some might say I'm over-the-top cautious about Sawyer's allergy. I will not let him eat anything that I didn't personally make or doesn't come in a wrapper that I can read. I am very lucky that I have a group of friends who take his allergy very seriously and check all labels and even call me to make sure what they're serving or bringing on a playdate is okay for Sawyer.

There are times when it's tough to be the food police. He's had to pass on birthday cake, treats from Starbucks, baked goods at school functions, on trips to ice cream parlors for fear of cross-contamination.

He has always been incredibly understanding when I tell him it's not safe for him. But it still sucks.

Turns out, David's mother made some calls and discovered the rice balls contained crushed peanuts. I keep thinking about what would have happened if he loved them and had eaten a ton. Terrifying.

Episodes like this serve as a stark reminder of why I have to be so protective. My mother-in-law of course feels terrible. But it didn't occur to her that there is, without being overly dramatic, potential danger lurking in every food. You never, ever give him food if you're not 100 percent positive what's in it.

It is a tough lesson to learn.

I am extremely grateful that, by 3 in the afternoon, he was discharged from the hospital. He'd had a shot of benadryl and another IV drug - "I didn't even cry, Mommy!" - and acted completely normal. You would never guess his body had revolted so violently.

Need proof? This was recorded late yesterday afternoon. For your viewing pleasure, please enjoy Sawyer's creative dance to Thriller ("that song by young Michael Jackson. He's dead now."). And pay no attention to the disaster of a garage behind him.

I totally know I'm not cool, okay?

I was browsing my blog list this morning because I'm alone in the house. That's right, internets. I'm alone. Other than my two dogs. I won't even tell you what I'm wearing right now.

So I went over to see what was going on over at one of my faves, Mom-101. And she posted about this group called Straight No Chaser, an a capella group which apparently grabbed a huge audience - we're talking well over a gazillion hits - last year for their unique rendition of the 12 Nights of Christmas.

Of course, I never heard of them. So I figured, as long as I'm home alone and naked except for a pink tutu, why not check it out, even though it's August and 163 degrees out. I'm SO glad I did.



They also do non-holiday stuff. I went on their website and listened to their new song sampler. Definitely worth it. And Mom-101 also has a live performance of another holiday song.

Take a few minutes and listen. You might just find yourself humming along!

This is what I need

When you have your third kid, and you put on more weight than, shall we say, is recommended, and then your ligaments are so loose that it's impossible to walk at times, never mind run, the LAST thing you want to do is get into a bathing suit. If you had one that actually fit. Which you don't.

Then your friend starts pointing out that you're missing out on a lot of the summer by not going in the water with your kids (despite the fact you're always holding your baby and you're not a fan of him being out in the sun that long).

So you start thinking about what it would take to get you in the water. A burquini, you think. Something that would cover EVERYTHING.

Your neighbor tells you that such a thing exists. In fact, she ordered a pair of swim pants - yes, full-length pants - in a fun Hawaiian floral pattern.

You then come across this news story about a woman who was banned from wearing HER burquini in a public pool in France (shocker) because it was deemed unsanitary.

Wha?

I mean, if I wore one, perhaps I wouldn't shave quite so carefully, but that's hardly unsanitary, just unappealing.

This is not at ALL to mock women who wear modest swimsuits because of their religious beliefs. The burquini also is definitely of interest to women who are not Muslim, but who would like some extra coverage for myriad reasons: weight, scars, burns, the elderly, etc..

And frankly, there are many men who I wish would just cover it up a little more, know what I'm saying? Two words: back hair.

Probably I should just get over myself and buy a cheap suit at Kohls. Thankfully, the summer's over soon. Let's hope this time next year there's less of me to cover.

Pleased with myself for this one

"Mommy! Get Xander off me! He's heavy."

"He ain't heavy. He's your brother."

Grab the Lanolin!

How many baby dolls did you get as a child - or buy for your own children - that came with a bottle so you could "feed" it?

Now a toy maker in Spain has put out the Bebé Glotón, an infant doll that is made to promote breastfeeding as a natural act. Your daughter (or son?) can strap on a halter top that has little flower pasties at the nipple area. The doll makes sucking motions and sounds when it is brought up to the flowers.



It's kind of an interesting idea. I mean, I'm not a fan of ANY toy that makes noises (notice is always either the childless friends or the ones with bigger kids who give you those) and I'm not about to give my kid a top with fake "nipples," but it is cool that a toy maker would create a product like this.

In Spain.

Because in the U.S.? It would never fly. When you talk about anything that contains the word "breast" it automatically becomes sexualized. How many of you breastfeeding moms have ever gotten the hairy eyeball from someone - often an older woman - for nursing your child in public? It's so odd to me. I mean, you're FEEDING YOUR BABY, not engaging in some sort of twisted sex act.

Actually, the only problem I have with the doll is that it's not necessary, in the same way I didn't buy my kids a play kitchen with a stove that makes a sizzling noise. I'm about imagination, and my kids did just fine "nursing" Anakin and Padme.

As expected, the doll has generated outrage from those fine, morally upstanding citizens of this great nation. Some of these comments on this blog make me laugh, especially one of the first ones where someone thinks a five year-old is too young to know what a breast is (WHA? Makes you wonder what she tells her child to call that hole where that yellow liquid comes out!) or when nursing is equated with pooping on a restaurant table.

This just goes to show - once again - that as much as we're beaten over the head that "breast is best" and our baby is going to grow up to be sickly, dumb and maladjusted if we DON'T breastfeed, the reality is nursing is not fully supported in our culture.

Not by employers, businesses, public places, law enforcement or, perhaps saddest of all, other women.

I'm generalizing, of course, but really, we all have stories about being made to feel that our need to feed our baby - which, I believe is one of if not THE most important job description that we have as mothers - is somehow inconvenient at best and disgusting at worst.

How else to explain why a bunch of women, in conjunction with The Breastfeeding Promotion Leadership Committee in New York City felt it necessary to have an annual nursing caravan on the subway last week. Their purpose? To raise awareness and pushing for a breastfeeding "bill of rights."

I try to be respectful in public. I have my nursing cover, but if I forgot it, like I did at the county fair yesterday, well, I just tried to be discreet as possible. The idea that women "whip it out" it just hilarious to me. Trust me, we don't want our boobs flapping in the breeze, but we do need to get it into position for our baby to feed.

At home with my family, then, well, yes, the kids see my breasts every day. They've seen their brother scream and cry and then, suddenly, become calm once he latches on. They've seen him drift peacefully off to sleep while engaged in his favorite activity. They know it's how he eats, how he is comforted.

The lessons? Our body is not something to be ashamed of. Babies grow bigger and stronger from the food a woman's body can provide. It's completely natural.

They don't need a doll to teach them that. Their mom is enough of a role model.

Hm...Think He's Trying to Figure out How to Get Out?

 

The thing about being the youngest of three (and I speak from experience, people) is that you are always surrounded by really cool stuff to look at - especially your older siblings.

Xander is totally fascinated. I'm guessing when he gazes at Sawyer he knows that he's going to look just like his big bro in five years. And he's completely in love with Sage. Thinks she's hilarious.

He's also in a very big hurry to catch up. This explains why Xander is already mobile. He's not crawling, per se, but he can roll, spin around 180 degrees, and he but he puts his feet up under his but and somehow propels himself forward.

I found out just how far he can travel yesterday afternoon. David took the kids to karate and I put Xander on his play mat. I then sat down and decided to read the paper (I KNOW! Shocking!). I couldn't quite see him because there's an exersaucer in the way (yes, our house is currently decorated in Early Baby).

But I could tell he was content (as in, not squawking). I could hear him playing and it was so nice and quiet. I read the Local section. Glanced at Sports. Started reading the comics.

Then it occurred to me that it was just a little TOO quiet. So I stand up, and what is my intrepid little boy doing? He'd scootched off the mat and was happily chewing on the bottom of my shoe! GAH!! He was like a happy puppy. I, on the other hand, was completely freaked out.

I mean, I know where that shoe's been! EVERYWHERE! I literally wear it every day. The icky factor is just beYOND!

Thankfully he's still alive.

Then again, I pretty much say that after all three are finally peacefully sleeping. After dealing with screaming, squabbling, rambunctious kids, some days, that they're still all breathing is the most I can hope for.

What I wouldn't give

 

The chances of having one baby who has major breastmilk allergy is slim. Having two, even more rare. Three? Unheard of. Except for me. And my babies.

There are those medical professionals who don't believe what we eat has any affect at all on babies. I know better. Because I lived it, and I'm living it again.

This is the longest I've exclusively breastfed. I practically gave my right nipple to make it happen (fortunately it healed). I eat only to keep myself alive and my breastmilk producing. Otherwise, there's no enjoyment in chewing the same bland foods day in and day out.

I'm not complaining. Far from it. There's not much I wouldn't do in order to safely breastfeed my son.

And yet, I fear it's not enough. Again. I thought I'd finally gotten lucky because even though my first two kids did not respond to an elimination diet, Xander was.

But this week has been rough. He had a day with green poop and I saw some blood. Then this morning, after sleeping through the night for just the second time, he woke up, nursed, and when he spit up, it was bright yellow. I'm talking flourescent.

We went on an outing this morning and he was in a good mood, actually allowed us to put him in the stroller. He only fussed when it was time for him to eat. Then we went on an errand, and he fell asleep in the car. We stopped at ToysRus, and I went in with Sawyer and Sage.

Next thing I know, there's David coming through the store carrying Xander under the armpits, the diaper bag slung over his shoulder. The little man had a massive blowout, up his back, and was being marched straight to the restroom.

Xander took a great nap in the afternoon, then woke up and ate. He ate again about an hour and a half later, and soon after he pooped. And in it there was a big blob of mucous and more blood.

I did not change my diet. But he might be becoming sensitive to more than he was before. I'm not sure.

There are so many women who take nursing for granted. They don't fret over every bit of food they put in their mouths, afraid it might cause their baby stomach cramps. They never get nervous before taking off a poopy diaper, wondering what it will reveal. They wean because they want to, or because their baby wants to, not because the milk they are producing, that's supposed to be the perfect food, is actually hurting their baby.

I envy them.

Intellectually, I know if I have to switch Xander to the prescription-only formula, he will be fine. He will get through his first year happy and healthy, just like my first two kids.

Emotionally, well, I'm having a tough time. He's my last baby. I love the time he and I spend nursing. It's my little escape, my quiet time to spend just with him.

We gaze.

I will miss it. And so will he. He knows where to go for comfort, and I am happy to be that for him.

I'm not ready to give it up.

Not yet.

And that's what kills me.

Fairies and Rainbows make me sneeze!

Mommy? Are you allergic to unicorns?

I don't think so, why?

Because I want one!

Tiny Dancer!

This is the tap dance part of Sage's recital. She did awesome and her Dad thinks she's the best one out there!