Extraordinary Life

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Having a baby is so funny.

He can go two days in the same outfit. Or he can wet through four outfits in one day.

His little hands grab everything. My hair, my shirt, a blanket, a toy, a brother -- anything that his fat little fingers happen upon. I took doughnuts to Alec’s class for his birthday, and Wellington was promptly mobbed by little boys and girls, resulting in a little girl finger in each fist.

Everywhere on him is chubby. Everywhere is squishy. Even his smile is fat. He is so fun to hold. Sturdy and soft, floppy and firm, all at once. There's a reason I call him "my little fat honey."

He just learned how to spit, and now he spits when he’s happy, and he spits when he’s sad.

He has the prettiest dark blue eyes, the softest dark brown hair, and the most adorable little coo.

Man, I love having a baby. ...continue reading →

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As I walked in this morning from gathering eggs in our backyard, I skirted holes and blackberry starts and the tallest of the weeds, and I remembered . . .

We moved to this house with two little boys, a two-year-old and an eight-month-old. The massive backyard spoke to me of bare feet and picnics and playtime. I filled in holes and dug out blackberries, thinking of dirty little feet running pell-mell every which way. I didn’t want anyone tripping in holes or stepping on thistles.

But the two-year-old became a seven-year-old, and the eight-month-old became a six-year-old. Along came a three-year-old, as well as six chickens and a very rowdy dog. And suddenly, the backyard is full of holes again. I haven’t dug out blackberries for a very long time, and they are sprouting up all over the place. The grass is almost perpetually in need of mowing. At any given moment, you’ll find at least one tape dispenser, a scissors or two, bits of string and paper, random toy machines, and who knows what else chewed up, used up, and discarded in the grass.

No one runs around out there barefoot.

But briars and holes and miscellanea aside, it has big beautiful trees and a trampoline and a swing set and the coolest tree house ever. It has chickens and a dog and three little boys who frequent it, and I’m as thankful as the day we moved here to have that big backyard. ...continue reading →

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Thirteen weeks until we meet our newest little Baer. Twelve weeks and six days if he follows in the very nice pattern his big brothers have laid out for him by all coming the day before their due date.

It’s certainly too soon to be starting any sort of countdown, but I’ve been feeling more and more like we’re in the calm before the storm, and I am enjoying it to its fullest.

I mean, as much as you can enjoy something when you have heartburn, find yourself short of breath, have random aches and pains, and are heavier than you’ve ever been in your life. It’s the best sort of uncomfortable.

The boys' ages are seven, almost six, and almost three, and while there are bad days when nothing seems to be going right and everyone is grumpy and everyone is fighting and no one is listening and everyone is talking at the tops of their lungs, there are more good days than bad. Days where Alec comes home from school bursting at the seams with a project to do. Days where Sebastian spends hours outside riding his bike or putting his shovel to good use. Days where Emmett plays and plays and plays, without needing much of anything.

And I am so much enjoying not being quite so needed at the moment. ...continue reading →