Turning the page.

We're done having babies. We don't have the money, room, or sanity for more children and while I fully believe God spends a lot of time laughing at my plans, Nate and I are doing our part to prevent the arrival of any more Breyer babies. If God chooses to send us more despite our best efforts, well — that's up to Him. But they'd better be accompanied by a bag of cash or giant check because oh boy. Childcare is not cheap, friends.

Most of the time I have peace about this decision. Working full-time and raising kids is no easy task, and I tend to hover somewhere between "stretched pretty thin" and "about to snap" as it is. I can't imagine needing to attend to another person's needs when I'm barely attending to my own. Do you know how many days a week I show up to work with food on my pants? Most to all.

There is no way I could handle a baby right now. Knowing that doesn't seem to be enough to deter the pregnancy and baby pangs, though.

My sister-in-law, who just gave birth to her first child, recently told me she felt like she was the only pregnant woman on earth. And I laughed, because I've felt the opposite. From where I stand, everyone is pregnant. Friends, family, pretty much everyone at Target. And adorably so. I can't help but look at their bellies wistfully, remembering how it felt to have my own tiny babes kicking away inside me.

Last week we met our nephew for the first time, and I turned into a puddle of sweet-talking goo. Nate and I left the NICU and I was like "Remember when that was us? Don't you miss those early days with a newborn? Doesn't it make you want to do it again?" He said "no" without hesitation. But the memory of rocking my babies into the wee hours flooded my mind and my heart and it hurt.

It also made me question our decision. Is this it? Are we really done? How can you ever close a chapter that sweet?

Deep down, I know that our family is complete. I love my children, and I feel so blessed that I get to not only experience motherhood, but the unique relationship between a mother and daughter and a mother and son. My kids are such a gift. But they are also a lot of work, and right now we have our hands full. I think ahead to school and sports and activities and all the exciting things Calvin and Audra will be doing soon and I have no idea how I will be there for them in the ways I want to be while also working the way I am now. How much harder would that be with another child?

It's easy to romanticize having another baby, because there is nothing in life more wonderful than breathing in the smell of your baby's head while they sleep on your chest. Heaven on earth. But that form of heaven only lasts so long. And that, right there, is my problem.

Every baby I see, every pregnant tummy I meet, reminds me of one simple truth: my children are growing up, and I am helpless to stop it.

Calvin is a kid now. He climbs everything, jumps off everything. He talks back. He bites his nails and his feet stink from days filled with running. He hates taking baths and he begs to watch TV shows featuring superheroes and Lego Ninjas and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He says he wants to be a crystal finder when he grows up, and the tiny sparkling rocks all over my house support his claim. He dresses himself every day and his hair sticks up and he almost always has snot on his sleeve. He doesn't need help brushing his teeth anymore. He clears his own plate, gets his own glass of water. His beloved bear has been mostly relegated to his bedroom, and he no longer asks to take it to school. There is nary a trace of baby left in my firstborn.

Audra is nearing the end of her babyhood. Three months shy of turning two, my girl looks older every day. She chatters constantly, and has pulled together a full sentence or two within the last week. She sings little bits and pieces of Ring Around the Rosy, ABCs, Are You Sleeping, Jesus Loves Me, and various pop songs. She can count to five, and has started identifying a few colors. She wants to stand and pee in the toilet like her big brother. Her hair has gotten so long that we have to do it every day — pigtails, ponytails, barrettes. She helps dress (and undress) herself, and can put her shoes on without help. She runs, climbs, giggles, and plays. She's far more interested in her brother's toys than her own, and has claimed his Woody doll as her own. She pushes Captain America around in her stroller. She feeds her babies dinner and rocks them at bed. She throws tantrums that can be heard five towns over. She still has dimples on her hands and rolls on her thighs, but I'm not fooled. I know how close we are to kid-dom.

Those pangs I keep having? They don't have anything to do with me wanting more babies. I don't want more babies. I want the babies I have to stay small, tucked safely in my arms where I can breathe in the smell of their little heads forever. Having more children wouldn't stop the pangs from coming. If anything, it would only distract me from them for another two years — a band-aid fix for a heart condition without a cure.

It hurts to let go, to close such a sweet chapter with my children. But that's what motherhood is. Sweetness and sorrow. I may never be able to hold a baby without my heart aching a little bit, but that's good. That ache serves as a beautiful reminder of all I have been blessed to experience as a mother to my children.

We're done having babies, but we're just getting started raising kids.

There is still so much sweetness ahead.

Turning point.

My children both sleep through the night.

Regularly.

Well, mostly.

Today Audra got up at 4:30am so Nate brought her into our bed, where she kneed me in the eye and dropped my iPhone on my head. But at least I got a solid 6.5 in before that happened.

Also, we're almost all well again, after a solid month + of illness. I'm on four medications and I'm still not wearing eye makeup for fear of ruining the brand new mascara I just purchased with the last miniscule trace of pinkeye, but we're getting there.

So, what's my point, you ask?

I CAN BREATHE.

I'm not nursing anymore. I'm not rocking a baby to sleep at all hours of the night. I'm not up to my elbows in blowouts and running around work with spitup on my shoulder or breastmilk leaking through my shirt.

Suddenly, and without warning, balance has been restored in our home. We're no longer sleep-deprived slaves to a newborn. Audra is going on 14 months. She's walking, eating, sleeping. Like a real toddler! Calvin gets more self-sufficient (and impossible, but that's another story for another time) every day. Nate and I have a normal M-F work schedule and free weekends. We're meal planning and getting laundry done and our house is cleaned top to bottom once every two weeks (by someone else, mind you...but that requires planning and effort and still counts). We have date nights and friend nights and I'm volunteering at my kids' school.

I can breathe. 

I remember this happening after we had Calvin, too. One day I just woke up and thought — it's over. The chaos of a new baby is behind us. We're in a groove, we're well-rested, and we can get on with life.

I'm guessing we all came down with stomach flu or something similar right after that, but still — it was a pretty major turning point.

We've reached that same turning point as a family of four now, and as much I loved loved loved baby Audra and have no flipping idea where the last 14 months went, I love toddler Audra even more. And not-quite-four-year-old Calvin is probably my favorite of his ages so far (impossibilities aside). They are both totally fun and cute and delightful right now. And our life is no longer dictated by two naps a day and whether or not I remembered to bring a bottle and a burp cloth. Parenting two little kids is still completely chaotic, of course. But at the core, our life, our family, is much, much calmer.

I can breathe.

Which means it's time for me to find a little time for me. For the things I love — writing, baking, fashion, crafting, decorating. (And probably for working out, which I do not love but need to do anyway.)

There is nothing in life I treasure more than my family, than my role as wife and mom to these precious loves of mine. Pouring myself out to them is one of my greatest joys. But to be good to them — really good, in the ways they deserve — I have to be good to myself as well.

So, I guess my real point is that after nearly two years of posting nothing but pictures and captions, I have some fun things planned...for my life, and for this blog.

I can breathe again. And it feels good.

Light.

What a summer, you guys. And I don't mean that in a good way. For one thing, until last week it was about a zillion degrees with 300% humidity here. July was gross, and we spent most of it indoors. Which is slightly less than ideal when one of your two children has enough energy to fuel a rocket and you're the kind of mom who doesn't like having a messy house.

For another, most of the summer has been spent with one of us at work and one of us at home. Nate and I haven't seen much of each other, our kids haven't seen much outside the four walls of our house, and we have only seen the pool TWICE, which is a real travesty in my opinion.

Finally, we've taken three trips this summer. Two of the three were to funerals, the most recent of which was for Nate's beloved Grandma Adele.

This probably goes without saying, but extreme heat, opposite schedules, and burying people you love does not an awesome summer make.

June and July: good riddance to you both.

But August? Well, August is looking pretty darned good.

This past weekend it was in the 70s. The 70s! Do you know how good the 70s feels after weeks and weeks and months (ok, exaggerating just a bit) of 90s? Really good. REALLY REALLY GOOD. Calvin got to play outside at home and go to the park twice. We had a picnic last night. Audra went on the swings for the first time. I could breathe without my inhaler and my hair wasn't of Monica-in-Barbados proportions. It was perfection.

Also, Nate starts a new job next week. A new job during regular business hours. This probably means very little to anyone who doesn't know us well, but our families, close friends and anyone else who has ever tried to make plans with us can attest to the magnitude of this news. Eleven years of crazy hospital schedules and multiple jobs and never seeing each other is about to become evenings, weekends, and holidays together as a family. I can't even fathom how this is going to change our lives. There are some negatives, of course — next Monday I'm returning to work full time, Calvin's returning to preschool full time, and Audra's starting daycare full time. I won't lie: I'm brokenhearted about those changes. But I know the trade-off — a normal schedule that includes time for our family, each other, and our friends — will be worth it.

Finally, I get to see my besties in two weeks, because our dear friend April is getting married in Detroit! The five of us haven't been together in nearly two years, and this will be the first time we've had all of our husbands and kids together. And when I say together, I mean together...eight adults and 11 kids in one house for two days. It's going to be a little crazy and a lot of fun and I can't wait to see their sweet faces and hug them all tight.

So, hooray for August and all it will bring. I feel like there is finally, FINALLY, a light at the end of this long, hot, craptastic summer tunnel. And just beyond that light, well...I'm pretty sure there are cooler temps and a pumpkin spice latte waiting for me.

I'm so ready.

Happy faces.

Well, my maternity leave is over and I'm wrapping up my first week back at work. The transition has been far more difficult for me this time around and I have so much to say about it...but I just can't find the words right now. Honestly, I think I'm too sad to talk about it yet.

So instead of writing I'm going to post a bazillion photos from my last few weeks of leave. We really made the most of our time at home together, and while these pictures aren't of us doing anything special, they will always be special to me. I just adore my kids. They try my patience and keep me up all night, but they are so beautiful, so happy, and so full of life. And my husband, well — he's just amazing.

So thankful that even on the toughest days at work, I have the ability to look at the sweet, happy faces of my precious family. You can bet I'll be revisiting this post a few times a day for the foreseeable future...

Playing catch up.

I have so much catching up to do. Christmas, our families meeting Audra, a bunch of random cute pictures of my kids...but, yeah. I'm tired. So instead I'm going to ramble at you for a bit. Sound good?

Thanks.

1. C-sections are weird. Last time I showed up to the hospital prepared for a day's worth of labor pain and vaginal trauma and heaven only knows what else. This time I showed up, put on a gown, got an IV, had a shot in my back, and let a doctor take a baby out of me. It took less than two hours. WEIRD. Although, if I'm being really honest, I kind of preferred it. Pushing a baby out is hard work and I'm lazy.

Well — not so lazy that I'd elect to have a c-section for no reason, but it certainly wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

2. Remember my baby naming diatribe? And my whole "it must be easy to say and spell" thing? Well, that one's come back to bite me in the rear. I had NO IDEA people wouldn't know how to pronounce Audra. I'm not really sure how else you would pronounce it (Really, I don't know. Please enlighten me if you can think of an alternate pronunciation), but I kid you not - I've had like 15 people ask me how to say it. And a handful more ask how to spell it. And a random rude guy on Facebook tell a friend of mine who posted a congratulatory message on her wall that I am only thinking of myself in giving my daughter a "unique" name like that.

I replied that I would be happy to name the next one Mike after him, and he liked my comment. At least he has a sense of humor. I guess.

3. Just to be clear, there won't be a next one. This factory is closed for business.

I think.

Pretty sure.

Almost positive.

4. I order diapers through the Subscribe and Save program from Amazon Mom because of the 20% discount. Since Calvin was a massive beast and never fit into newborn diapers, I just went ahead and set up a recurring order of size 1s. Of which I've received two boxes of 270 diapers. Of which I've used none because Audra is a peanut. So far we've used up all the newborn diapers from the hospital, as well as the two new boxes I sent Nate out to purchase. This smallness is so new to me. As is the amount of poop this child generates.

5. Other things that are new to me this time around: not cleaning a penis during diaper changes. Pink clothing. Newborn-sized pink clothing. Nursing 24 hours a day because my child has an insatiable appetite. A two-week-old who sleeps 9p-7a and only gets up 2x to eat in between (I fear this is too good to be true, but we've had like five days in a row of this schedule and I am loving it). Washing a tiny head of dark hair. Feeling totally relaxed about having a new baby.

6. Seriously, baby number two is way easier than baby number one. Not only because Calvin came out shrieking and demanding things and Audra is content to sit and snuggle (or eat) for hours, but because I am just way more comfortable in my role as a mom. Even though having two kids is a lot more work, the work is not quite as stressful. I'm glad. I was kind of worried.

7. In the interest of full disclosure, it probably helps that Calvin is going to school full-time and Nate's been off work for the last two weeks. I may be singing a different tune come next weekend when Nate's working and I'm home alone with a rowdy two-year-old and a needy three-week-old.

And now, since you've been so good about about letting me ramble, I will reward you with a few pictures of my sweet-as-pie daughter. She's really cute. Or as Cal would say "She's super cute and super tiny!"

Eight hours.

Eight hours, I've decided, is all I need to be a better mom and wife each week. At first glance, it doesn't seem like much. But, really, it's an extra work day.

In eight hours, I can clean my house from top to bottom. Almost.

In eight hours, I can run errands, do laundry, and make dinner. And probably dessert, too.

In eight hours, I can build a fort. Play with play-doh. Cut sandwiches into silly shapes. Read a story or five.

In eight hours, I can snuggle. Rock. Sing. Nurse. Tickle. Kiss.

In eight hours, I can take a shower, shave, dry my hair, and (hopefully) find something other than pajama pants to wear before my husband comes home from work.

And come 2012, I will have those extra eight hours a week to devote to my family. Because this working mama is cutting back.

I need to. For me. For them.

Eight hours isn't much, but it's enough. An extra work day — devoted to the very best work of all.

Family of three.

There's an age-old question mothers ask themselves (and everyone else) when preparing to welcome a second child:

How could I ever possibly love another baby as much as I love my first?

I'm smart enough to know there's nothing to worry about. Plenty of people have told me so and I've seen it with my own eyes. My love will not be divided, but multiplied. There will be plenty of love to go around. I will love them both equally, if differently.

But knowing and understanding are two different things. My head knows these words are truth, but my heart...oh, my heart. It doesn't quite believe this is possible. And it's a little scared of what's to come, of losing something in the transition from mother of one to mother of two.

Nate and I spent all day Saturday with Calvin. We planned an entire day together, just us three, doing things we thought he would love. Chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream for breakfast, a morning at Sea Life and Nickelodeon Universe, an evening of movies and popcorn and pizza camped out in a living room tent. A day filled with special treats, one after the other, so Calvin would know just how much we love him, how proud we are of the wonderful big brother he is certain to be, and how much we treasure our time with him.

I know Calvin won't remember this day. And he won't remember life without his sister. But Nate and I will. Our day together was as much about us as it was him, about capturing this brief moment in time when we existed as a family of three.

As with every aspect of motherhood, you can't really know anything until you've been through it. So I anxiously await the day when I will cradle my baby girl in one arm, hug my little boy with the other, and go from knowing to understanding just how much love my heart can hold.

If what I feel for my firstborn is any indication, there will be more than enough for everyone.

A happy mom.

So, last Tuesday was a rough one.

Let's be honest: A lot of days are rough ones right now. I fear the age of not-quite-two will go down in history as one of our more challenging phases. But I don't think this is unique to us. Or the not-quite-twos.

I think this is parenting.

It's the same at all ages and stages. A mom with one idea; a child with another. Back and forth, up and down, day in and day out. A never-ending cycle of crazy.

Sometimes I can let the hard days roll off me, no big deal. But other times I cannot, and that's when I start running my mouth — on my blog, on Facebook, on the phone, to anyone who will listen and have pity and tell me it's okay and I'm not alone. "It's so haaaaard," I whine. And almost immediately, my trusty group of mom friends jump in with support. Because it IS hard, and we've all been there, and sometimes we just need to let it out.

I firmly believe it's okay to complain once in a while. Necessary, even. But in recent weeks I've starting thinking about the ramifications of my public pity parties. Am I letting out too much, too often? How many times in the past year have I written about the challenges I face as a mother vs. the joy I experience as one? Would a casual reader of this blog think I love being a parent or loathe it? Do my posts on motherhood, which I've always considered honest reflections of my life as a mom, really just come across as whiny and ungrateful...or, worse, unhappy? How will my words affect my son, who will most likely read these essays on his childhood one day? And how does what I say affect those around me right now who don't have children, who haven't "been there?"

The other day I read an article in Details magazine titled The No-Baby Boom. An excerpt:

In a 2003 survey of more than 20,000 parents that Dr. Phil conducted for his show, 40 percent reported that they wouldn't have had kids if they'd realized the difficulties of raising a family.

Wait, what?

It goes on:

My wife and I have plenty of friends whose complaints seem to corroborate the findings of that survey. "I have no time for myself!" they tell us. "I don't know who I am anymore!" "Thank God! Only 11 more years and he'll be out of the house!" "Only 17 years, 8 months, and 29 days and she'll be out of college! Hey, did my watch stop? 'Cause time's moving really f'ing slowly!"

Oh. My. Gosh. Granted, this is a very one-sided account written by a man who is childless by choice (nothing wrong with that in my book, just stating the facts), so it's hard to say whether he took liberties with the comments of his friends who have kids. But let's say he didn't. Let's say after a day of tripping over toys and being hit in the face during temper tantrums and having to carry his kicking and screaming child out of the store, an exhausted friend said to him "Only 17 years, 8 months, and 29 days and she'll be out of college!"

It's not really that hard to imagine, is it? Parenting is frustrating and tiring and grating and there are times when I just want to fall on the floor and sob because I really can't do it anymore. Except I can. And I will. I want to. I love being a mother, far more than I ever thought I would. Yes, the toys and the messes and the sleepless nights and the chaos and the constant back and forth make me crazy. Those things would make any sane person crazy.

But in losing my mind, I have found my soul. My purpose. And joy — lots of it.

Parenting is not for everyone, though, and I respect couples who remain childless by choice. There's nothing wrong with knowing your limits and leading the life you want. In fact, if you had asked me five years ago whether I wanted to be a parent, my answer would have been "maybe" at best. At the time I wasn't particularly interested in children, and I certainly wasn't interested in the responsibility of caring for them. It would have been impossible to imagine myself living — and enjoying — the life I have now.

Thankfully, the Lord planted a seed of longing in my heart and placed wonderful examples of motherhood in my life — from my own mother and mother-in-law to my beautiful friends. Women who passionately love their children and joyfully embrace the task of raising them. In observing them, I saw the possibility of finding that same happiness for myself. But now I wonder: Would I have made the decision to have children had everything I heard about motherhood from these women been negative? If they had only shared stories of rough days and long nights and loss of self and constant heartbreak?

Looking back, it's hard to say. But from where I stand today, I know one thing is certain — I am not one of the 40% who regret choosing this life. And I never want the words I share, by mouth or in writing, to lump me into that category or harden someone's heart against having children.

So, just to be clear: Sometimes I am a tired, crabby, complaining mom. And sometimes I should probably just shut my mouth. But even on my worst days, I am still a happy mom. A grateful mom. A joyful mom. A mom who knows how blessed she is to have the challenges of a biting, tantrum-throwing not-quite-two-year-old because having those challenges also means having the extreme privilege of loving a precocious little boy with one blue eye and one green eye, an obsession with "big trucks," and a mind-blowingly good vocabulary.

And I hope you always see that in me, and in the words I write, even on the rough days.

Humbling.

Yesterday was a tough one at our house. A sick child, an unexpected day at home during a very busy work week, and a hectic morning spent visiting urgent care, picking up my laptop from the office, and waiting for multiple prescriptions at Target.

I was tired and crabby. Calvin was tired and crabby and sick. We were quite the pair.

By the time we made our way from urgent care across town to my office and then back home to Target, Calvin was teetering on the edge. While we waited for his prescriptions, I tried to keep him entertained with my phone, my keys, his toy cars, his bear, a snack — I employed every tactic in my arsenal. But all he wanted to do was stand up in the cart, stand on the stool we were purchasing in the back of the cart, throw my keys, chew on the tube of toothpaste, and — once we picked up his prescriptions — try to open his eye drops. Which were not childproofed. Which I knew he would most likely empty onto the ground. Which cost me FIFTY DOLLARS.

I said no, and that led to the tantrum of the century. Shoes went flying, items from our cart went flying, he banged his head on the cart until his forehead was scraped and bleeding, and then he tried to climb out. All while screaming bloody murder and hitting me in the face.

I wanted to die. Right there, in the middle of Target. Just take me, Lord.

Instead, I picked him up football-style and carried him to the checkout under my arm. One kind man helped gather all the items Calvin had thrown as I struggled to hold onto Calvin and unload our cart. Another mother came up behind me in line, smiled sympathetically, and said "I have one of those at home." But the cashier stared at me unforgivingly, and other shoppers gave me The Look — the one that clearly says "Control your monster of a kid, lady. I shouldn't have to listen to that." I tried as hard as I could to hold my head up high as I checked out and carried my still-hysterical child out of Target, shoeless and screaming.

Poor baby. I knew he was tired. I knew he didn't feel well. I knew I was pushing my luck. But I also knew I had to get him to the doctor, I had to pick up work, and I had to get his prescription filled because otherwise we'd both have to stay home again today — putting me even further behind. I didn't have a choice.

After forcing my inconsolable child into his car seat, I shut the door and ran back to the cart return. The same man who had picked up our strewn-about items in the store was parked two cars over. I gave him a tired smile and a half wave, and he said "My son did that all the time when he was a toddler. He's 16 now, and he's a good kid. It's going to be okay."

I nearly started crying. The exact words I needed to hear at the exact time I needed to hear them. Heaven sent, delivered by a kind stranger.

Later in the day I relayed the morning's events to Nate, explaining how embarrassed I was and how terribly some of the other shoppers had looked at me. He asked, "Who does that? Who looks at someone going through that and judges them?"

And I said, "Me. Before I had kids."

Parenthood is nothing if not a constant lesson in humility.

March madness.

Every March we spend a weekend at Grand View Lodge in Nisswa, Minnesota with Nate's family. We've got a truckload of March birthdays on that side of our family — my brothers-in-law Jon and Kris were born the 3rd, Nate's birthday is the 9th, and mine is the 11th. Since no one wants to get together for birthday dinners that many times in one month, Nate's parents kindly began the tradition of hosting all of us for a birthday weekend up north.

March madness used to be an apt description of our weekend — years ago there were late-night snowball fights, very competitive games of pool and Mario Kart, and some pretty out-of-control rounds of Balderdash. But, with age comes wisdom (and children) and the weekend has become significantly tamer. The craziest thing we did this year was play Apples to Apples and eat too much at the breakfast buffet. Although we did stay up late enough to see the first 20 minutes of Saturday Night Live, which is an improvement over my regular weekends...

It may not be the raucous time it once was, but it's still a wonderful, fun, relaxing weekend away with people we love. Most of whom you won't see in the following pictures, because my camera seems to be permanently focused on Calvin.