How Tweet is This?

Let me begin by explaining that I am way old-school and have not joined the masses who hail from the land of Smart Phone. Ben and I both have old slider phones (and he doesn't even have texting on his plan!), if that tells you anything about where we stand. It's not that I'm against them; I just don't want to have to leave my parent's family plan and pay for a data package, plain and simple (Sorry, Mom & Dad! But that's my "I don't wanna grow up!" for the time being).

As it is, being outside the shiny lands of oh-so-quick-to-snark-and-share-pics-of-food known as Instagram and the Twitterverse, leaves me to my point-and-shoot camera, internal commentary, and blog posts. While this is most likely a blessing, for me and mine and you and yours, I decided to give these foreign realms a try yesterday. But I'm doing so here because let's face it, if you read my stuff, um EVER, you know I'm a wordy girl and sticking to 140 characters isn't likely. Plus, it felt like a good day for some snark and random thoughts and images, so here is my first attempt at (fake) Tweets and (filter-less) Instagrams [Disclaimer: I'm not making fun of people who use these social media outlets. This is really what my day would have looked like, had I documented it on T&I]:

5:11 a.m.: Baby crying in my dreams was really in my house. 4-yr-old up the second Baby went back down. Good Morning, America!  [ha! my first attempt & I hit 115 characters, according to the Word doc I opened to check; victory is mine!]

7:00 a.m.: Brushed my hair before shower; Holy FallOut, Batman! Someone remind me - how long does the post-baby shed last?

7:50 a.m.: 4-yr-old wastes two "servings" of toothpaste; cries as tho world has ended. I wonder where I need to travel to find vodka and 5:00 p.m. [for the record, I can't stand vodka or any hard alcohol, really, but you get the idea. also, I could never survive with hashtags; I would totally need these lengthy descriptor tweets to follow each one of my posts.]

8:15 a.m.: Fashion faux pax is not the white pants after Labor Day but that white pants for toddlers even exist. #firsttimewearing #nevergoingtobewhiteagain #justbleachit #MJforever [jt & jf were right - hashtags are ridiculous!] [oh, wait? do hashtags need to fall into the 140 character limit? #drat!]

8:45 a.m.: Full Sippy Cup Fail: attempting to turn sideways to put on lid. Counter, cupboard, and floor, now clean.

10:00 a.m.: Decaf Mocha from Starbucks? Love me my chiro appts. that put me in GI and in range for this treat! #caffeinewouldbebetter #nursing!

10:45 a.m: Chiro visit defeated by pushing 60#s in stroller and babywearing 12 more on my chest. #70degreesandgorgeousinNE #workit!

11:50 a.m.: Eating tator tots and "artisan" tortilla chips for lunch. One of those required turning on the oven, so I cooked, right? #notkidding #reallymylunch [at least the kids got some protein with their meals!]

12:10 p.m.: First ModCloth order delivered. "Pumped" for upcoming Halloween party! #atleastmyanklesdon'tstilllookpreggers #awesomecostume!

1:10 p.m.: Both little Littles down for naps. WINNING!

1:30 p.m.: Snuggles and books with HD; new generation Berenstain Bears NOT as good as the originals. Using the phrase "Namby Pamby" in a book? WTH?

2:00 p.m.: Even when I give him screen time, he wants to be close. REALCLOSE. #LoveHim #EvenmorethanhelovesAngryBirds

2:15 p.m.: 4-yr-old selfie! Hilarious!

3:10 p.m.: Waking up littlest Littles because, of course, they would sleep long on the day we have plans to meet friends!

3:40 p.m.: Playdate with friends and their kids at our beloved Children's Museum! Who am I kidding? This is as much for me as it is for them!

5:15 p.m.: Leftovers. They're what's for dinner.

6:30 p.m.: Getting spruced up for girls' night out. #birthdays are the best #40isthenew25

8:30 p.m.: Had to leave girls' night before I turned into a (milky) pumpkin. #dutycalls

9:30 p.m.: Confession: the rate at which I adore my children's feet is borderline unhealthy. Probably going to feel differently when they are teenagers.

10:10 p.m.: Little Buddy is down for the night. Time for Mama to turn in, too. #dayisdone #whyamIstilltyping?

And there you have it. Obviously I would never actually tweet this much even if I did tweet, but that's my day, and my life, in 140 characters or less, in 19 posts. #awesomeness #lifeisneverdull

In Her Shoes

A week ago, after a quick lesson from a friend on exactly how to load a baby in an Ergo carrier without the help of another adult, Raegan and Lincoln and I took an epic Toddler Walk around our neighborhood and to the local park. EPIC. We went for it because apparently I did such an amazing job of getting LT in the Ergo that he instantly fell asleep. Since the baby was already napping and I was hands-free, I asked Raegan if she wanted to go outside. Her enthusiastic "YESH!" led us out the door and before I knew it, toddling our way down the sidewalk. We're about five or six blocks from the park and we covered that ground fairly quickly, or as quickly as an almost two-year-old in Crocs can go (which, when she wants it to be, is remarkably fast!). Part of the way there she held on to my finger and part of it was just her weaving her way down the path. Since our morning was totally open, I was totally OK with this unexpected outing.

And, since we were in no rush, I decided to let it really be all about Raegan. If she wanted to sit down on the sidewalk and look up at the trees, she sat and looked. If she wanted to go walk by the ducks resting beside the pond, we braved the poop-laden grass and visited the ducks. If she wanted to walk up  on the little concrete wall while holding my hand and then jump down, she balanced and leapt (for four or five times and then I had to gently prod her along to the next great adventure because seriously, visions of heads cracking open stay with a mama!). And whether or not she wanted to charm all the old folks out for a Wednesday morning stroll, she did. It was seriously an awesome walk. Until it wasn't.

When you add up the five or six blocks to get to the park and then the half-loop that is at least a half-mile (or maybe more) to get turned back in the direction of our house, Raegan was a dang trooper. She walked that entire way which is a lot of steps for a petite little peanut. It was just as we were starting the five or six blocks home that I realized she was done. Not because she told me so; that would have been too easy. In almost-two-yr-old speak "I'm done" sounds a lot more like wailing and looks a lot more like a little girl darting into the street and wanting anything but her mama's hand.

Thankfully I had enough sleep under my belt and understanding in my head to realize she wasn't purposely trying to be rotten; she was just spent after a major outing. So I asked if she wanted a ride and when I got a teary-eyed, whimpery "Yesh" as my answer, I hoisted her onto my hip. All while still wearing Lincoln on my chest, mind you! And like that, I hauled them both home. I was hot and sweaty and had a really sore hip by the time we got there, but I was still so proud of all of us. Even with the exhausting ending, it was a beautiful experience. Like I said, it was epic.

This week, it was suggested to me that going on a walk by myself every day, even for just 10 or 15 minutes might make a world of difference, especially in regards to my sleep. Even though that sounds almost too simple to be true, I decided to give it a shot. While things have been better for me, I still have nights where I just can't shut it down and then end up getting very, very little sleep because I spend so much time freaking out about falling asleep to actually do so. It is beyond mind boggling and frustrating to find yourself so exhausted and yet the only one awake in a totally quiet house. Frankly, it feels quite unfair, too. So I figured the 10-15 minute walk certainly couldn't hurt and would definitely be worth it if it helped in any way, shape, or form.

While I still have no idea how it is going to impact my sleep long-term, I have to say, I'm a believer in the benefits. I did my first walk around the neighborhood last night and the whole experience, much like my walk with Raegan and Lincoln, was beautiful. But in such different ways.

First of all, it was beautiful because I resisted my temptation to take something (or someone) with me. Apparently I'm not real good or real comfortable with being alone. I want to have a partner by my side or a phone in my hand or the iPod in my ears when I walk. For someone who craves time to herself all day, every day, I find this whole situation pretty ironic. But here's the thing: if I go out for a walk without any of those devices or distractions, I am truly in my head. And that's not always an easy place to be.

For one, I feel like I should be accomplishing something else with my time besides just walking. That means that listening to music or talking to someone, in person or on the phone, makes sense to my forever multi-tasking mind. But clearly, based on my poor sleep since Lincoln's birth, my mind needs something else, something less. I need the wide-open-fresh-air-just-with-myself time. So I am glad I was brave and set out with no electronics and no company so I could realize just how much I really needed that.

As I walked, without distraction, I was able to notice the world around me and the world within me. Taking in the cool fall air, the steady Nebraska wind, and all the sounds of dogs and cars and people around felt good. It also felt good to just let my mind run as I walked. One of my sleep issues in the last few weeks has been my inability to get to sleep at night. What I realized during my walk, when I let my mind go where it wanted, was that because I am never alone during the day, I really don't know how to be in my own head. So no wonder my head has been fighting that when my body finally stops moving and is ready for bed; my mind is all "I don't think so!" and takes far too much liberty with the quiet, leaving me checking the clock and freaking out about not sleeping. Perhaps if I can give myself more of that quiet on daily walks, I can give myself more peace at night, as well.

The quick, solo walk was beautiful, too, in that it really did leave me feeling physically refreshed (perhaps because I wasn't pushing a stroller or lugging a child or both?!). As I crossed the street to head back up our driveway and into the house, my head felt lighter and my mind seemed more calm. Again, I know this all sounds too simple and too good to be true, but it also felt too good and too simple to not try to continue. When you have three babies in under five years, you learn to appreciate the simple and the good. And for now, I think the walks are going to help me do exactly that.

Almost There

Somehow the first week of October is already behind us and it occurred to me that not only have I been quiet here lately, but we are less than a month from RL's second birthday. How did that happen?! It would appear that Miss Raegan is anticipating the upcoming arrival of Two as she has turned into quite the toddler here recently. She is talking, talking, talking all the time; so much so, that when folks who see her on a regular basis miss a week with her, they are amazed at her speech the next time they're around her. And she is quite proud of herself, as she should be, for all the things she is doing on her own - putting on shoes, for example and even her own pants yesterday (never mind that they were backwards). "Me did it!" is what we often hear after these accomplishments and of course they are always followed with her signature, huge grin that is so darn infectious. How could we not celebrate (with) her?!

Of course, with the Twos (and, as my friends so rightly predicted, the Threes and the Fours), comes some muddy water to navigate. There is the flip side of "Me do it!" when she no longer wants help with tasks but doesn't quite have the patience or fine motor skills to achieve said tasks. And there is also the crazy making, "Me want!" "No want!" that she's been doing lately, especially at the table. It doesn't matter what you offer the child. She will first declare, loudly, that she doesn't want it. When you then comply, she shrieks about your mistreatment and failure, demanding the exact item that she just denied. And rinse and repeat. A dozen or more times a day. I mean, I love the girl to pieces, but seriously, my eardrums and my patience are fraying.

But then there is Raegan's running. Oh, be-still my heart, how I love to see a toddler run. The little arms pumping furiously, the little legs taking choppy and chunky, just-as-fast-as-they-can-go little steps that really don't seem too quick until you're in a parking lot and then, look out! The girl's got speed! But really, parking lot heart attacks aside, I adore watching her run. Whether it is through the house or in the yard or after her brother or her daddy, Raegan running always makes me smile. She's always been my bubbly little peanut, full of life and sass, and to see her run is to see all of that come together in pigtail bouncing, pure joy, especially when she hollers: "Me running! Me running!" [But seriously, back to the parking lot thing....I once mocked mothers who used leashes and now I am thinking I might need one to get her to and from preschool pick up when we collect Harrison because, dang, the girl can get away from me quick.]

As with every change of the season (hello, sweaters and SmartWool socks; how I've missed you!) and every birthday, I get both excited and nostalgic. I love that Raegan is gaining independence because it literally saves my back and it is just so enjoyable to see her taking on the world. At the same time, I can't believe my baby girl is already now closer to being a big kid than a baby. Again, how did that happen?! There's no good/clear answer other than life happened. And some days we have been able to slow down enough to recognize and appreciate that while others have been a bit of a blur, lost to survival mode, but that too is life (especially with three Littles under the age of five in the house!). So while I know Three will be here in a flash, I hope we can savor Two a bit. Of course there will be challenges and tantrums and who knows what else, but no one ever said growing (or parenting) was easy. And of course there can certainly be beauty throughout it all, too; especially with this little love driving the bus:

How Big Your Brave Is

All summer long, Harrison had a job to do: pick the color of my toe nail polish whenever I decided to change it. Seeing as I was uber-pregnant for the first half of summer, there weren't many times when his services were needed because, let's face it, trying to reach my toes was too dang hard to do! After Lincoln arrived, however, Harrison got to have a lot more say as I changed them from blue to pink to red to blue again.

A few weeks ago, when I painted my toes blue, I warned Ben that if Harrison ever asked to have his nails painted, I would do it (it was a really fabulous bright blue, just the color I knew HD would LOVE, which is what made me anticipate his asking). My straight-laced, Nebraska farm boy, math teacher husband just shrugged and said, "Whatever. Half the boys at the high school wear nail polish" and that was that. None of this "that's just for girls" business that is such nonsense or "That's so gay" which is beyond nonsense and is just poor use of the English language, not to mention, flat out wrong (For the record, my husband would never say either of those because he is wiser and kinder than that, but you know, some people might have those reactions and to them I would say, "Whatever. It's nail polish. The kid is just exploring the world and wants to be like his lovely Mama. Deal with it.").

Much to my surprise, Harrison did not ask to have his nails painted blue when he saw mine the next day, but that was fine. I didn't want it to be about me; it was about him, if he wanted it.

Flash forward to Sunday night when I decided I needed to get rid of the blue and took my polish off as Ben was getting the big kids ready for bed. Harrison saw what I was doing and wanted to pick out my color. "Black!" he said excitedly when I asked what I should do next, and since I didn't have actual black, I picked the next best thing - sparkly charcoal gray left over from last year's Halloween costume (Christina Aguilera from The Voice, in case you missed the totally awesome photos on Facebook). HD approved and, this time, asked if he could have his toes done too.

Since it was already bedtime, I didn't want to take too long and told him I would do his big nail which I gave one quick coat. The only thing Ben rolled his eyes about, when he saw us, was my choice of timing. Right before bed? So he's going to be all concerned about his toe and not sleeping? But it dried quickly enough and was not a problem. Of course, Raegan was watching all this and started hollering, "Me too! My toe. Me too!" but there was no time for that.

Except for at home, Harrison's toes have been covered since then, so there's been no one to notice or comment on this little beauty experiment. Tomorrow, at preschool, that will change as they have swimming lessons. Which leads me to his other big toe and those of his sister.

Tonight, at dinner, as we talked about the upcoming day, Harrison said that he was scared about swimming. He missed out last time because of his head injury which he actually considered to be a bonus of the stitches. He's just never been very fond of the lessons, but he always does them (even though we tell him he can sit out if he really wants), which I think is very brave. So when he mentioned being scared, I asked him if he had anything on his toe, perhaps, that he could see tomorrow to remind him that Mama and Daddy love him and think he is the bravest and best boy in the world. He got a big grin on his face and I heard his shoe hit the floor. Then he brought his foot up to the seat of his chair and moved it so his toes just peeked out and I could see the polish. Then the smart little bugger, who has been asking the last two days if we could change his color (I told him it stays on for longer than a day or two!) said, "Maybe we could paint my other toe a different color so I could be really brave!"

And there you have it. Outsmarted by a four-year-old, who indeed got to pick out another color for his other big toe. And his sister got in on the action, too, having both of her big toe nails painted the same Brave Blue (which is what I just thought to call it but will totally be talking about at breakfast tomorrow). Again, Ben was on board, but there was some eye rolling when I asked him to help me blow on the toes to help them dry. I have a head cold, people. I don't have enough oompf for doing full pedicures on my own!

Obviously I have no idea if this will help at tomorrow's swimming lessons or not, but I figure it is worth a shot. And I'll also be curious to hear if anyone says anything to Harrison about his toes that he wants to share with me. He doesn't always give me many details about school, so I may never know, but of course I hope that this will not bring about any teasing for him. Because, quite frankly, I want him to know that it doesn't matter what color his toe nails are. He is awesome and brave and we will always love him and be here to remind him of that (or paint his nails if it helps him remember it when he is away from us.)

P.S. If you're wondering about the title of this post, check out this awesome song called "Brave" from Sara Bareilles:

Young at Art

We love our local Children's Museum somethin' fierce. We may go in spurts between visits, but since we first joined three-ish years ago, we have love love LOVED being able to take our kids there to play, hang out with friends, or participate in the various programs it offers. And by "it" I totally mean Miss Deb, the director.

As soon as wee-little Harrison realized that Miss Deb at "The Museum" knew his name (and it never takes her long to learn the little one's names), he was hooked. I could get him to do pretty much anything (like get in his car seat or pick up the toys he'd been playing with at The Museum, etc.) if I just so much as mentioned her name. "Harrison, Miss Deb is waiting for us. You'd better get in your seat!" "Hey, Buddy. Let's help Miss Deb and pick up these toys" and viola - it would happen! And really, that same admiration has continued ever since because Miss Deb has continued to be there for our kids, to ask them questions, and see how they're doing whenever she sees them. It's awesome (and again, by "it", you know who I mean).

One of the programs that we did with Harrison was the Young at Art Toddler Time, starting the fall after he turned two. For three weeks of most months of the school year, a Tuesday morning art class is offered that includes stories and songs, and dances or games and, of course, art. Although Harrison's never been a huge fan of coloring (he does OK with painting), he always seemed to enjoy these classes. We didn't get to do too many of them, though, because Baby Sister came along and life got crazy and well, you know the rest.

Flash forward to this fall when Baby Sister is about to turn two. I got Deb's email about the September art class and thought, "Excellent! Raegan would love that!" But what to do with HD? He's not at preschool on Tuesdays, and I didn't think he would just hang out by himself in The Museum while she was doing class (and Lincoln was hopefully sleeping in his stroller or on me in the Moby). But never fear - Miss Deb had the answer! He could join the class, too. I was done and done; we signed up immediately!

Last week was our first go at art class, and as you may remember, we had a rather chaotic morning. I almost thought about scraping class for the day and just starting this week, but then we tossed everyone in the van and I got them there just on time (OK, maybe a little late, but such is life). And I am sooooooo glad we made the effort.

Harrison was fantastic. For a kid who had just put a small hole in his head, he did amazing. He lead his sister to the mat for songs and games. He encouraged her to sing and wave and made sure she got a colored shape during the activity. When it was time to get their art on, he lead her to a table and made sure she was next to him. And the whole dang thing just melted my heart. He has always been a fan of his baby sister, just as they both are of their new baby brother, but seeing their bond in action was breathtaking.

This Tuesday we had our second round of class and again, Harrison was there to make sure his Raegs had a place to sit on the rug and a spot to work at the art table. Whereas last week she seemed a little unsure of what was going on, it was obvious she felt more comfortable this time (based on her wiggles and grins) and I know I have her brother to thank for that. I am also so thankful we have an outlet here in town like The Museum where my kids can let their creativity shine and be encouraged by someone like Miss Deb.

Life with three is as crazy as I could have imagined and often it feels like my mind is going three (or more) directions at once, but obviously I've got a great helper in Harrison and his great big heart.

Plus, he and his sister are pretty rad little artists:

(OK, so maybe Mama helped a wee little bit with RL's Rainbow Fish creation, but she was running the glitter glue, I swear.)

Love!

A Change in Policy

In the last few weeks, some friends have shared with me some amazing happenings on the interwebs related to breast feeding and mamahood  including a photography endeavor called The 4th Trimester Bodies Project, the websites/Facebooks groups of The Leaky Boob and The Badass Breastfeeder, and lastly, this outstanding commercial from Luvs:

Seriously. If you have any interest in nursing, it will be worth your time to check out these resources. And if you're still not convinced that breast feeding deserves a place within our society, watch this and see if she doesn't change your mind. 

Now by no means do I mean do go all Mommy Wars here and get up on some pedestal about how you should feed your baby. Just feed your baby. That's all I ask. I don't care if there is a fox or a box or socks involved - you do what is best for you and your bambino(s). 

For me, breast feeding has always been the preferred option. I suppose some of my parenting preferences, like natural birth and nursing, came from the stories I heard from my own mom about how my brother and I were raised. Not that either of those things were pressed on me by her or anyone else; it's just what I decided I would aim for prior to Harrison's birth, knowing full well that I may not get my wish. Fortunately, though, I have now been able to have three natural births and have been able to nurse all three of my babies. For this, I consider myself and my family very blessed. 

Now that's not to say that breast feeding has been an easy road for us. In fact, I don't know if I'll ever understand why nursing is so hard, but holy moly cow, it is. In some ways, my struggles with each of my kiddos has been the same, mainly thanks to my battles each time with Thrush. Trying to learn how to nurse while teaching a newborn to eat all while enduring stinging nipples for weeks or months on end? That is not easy. Neither is dealing with all the other little oddities and problems like poor latches due to tiny mouths (I know all babies have small mouths, but my children seems to have especially miniature versions, I swear) or plugged ducts or engorgement or pumping before every feeding or cracked nipples. But I have been there/done all that and more. Of course, it was because I wanted to, or chose to at least. 

Actually, if I hadn't been so committed to nursing and had such amazing support from my hubby, I probably would have said forget it. Newborns are stressful enough without all the boob drama, so I can see why many mamas opt for formula. Actually, we had to opt for formula too, with Raegan, but not until she was 13 months old. At that point I was too sick from being preggers with LT to keep up with all the bodily demands of her plus him plus myself, and the little stinker wouldn't drink cow's milk (still won't, except for from a cereal bowl), so we did an older infant formula for six months to get her through the transition of baby to table food. See, I am not kidding when I say you do what you need to do (for each of your littles because each one is bound to be different). 

However, what I've realized about my commitment to breast feeding after looking at all of the above mentioned resources is that I made another, rather odd now that I think about it, choice. I don't have a single picture of me breastfeeding any of my babies. I suppose I thought I was being modest by not taking any, but when I look at the images posted to those various pages mentioned above, part of me is sad not to have visual proof of all that we went through and just how far we made it as the HD & Mama and RL & Mama teams. Because the pictures I see on those sites of those mamas and their babies are beautiful. Beautiful for the bonds and connections evident between parent and child and beautiful for the sacrifice I know it takes to make those moments happen. 

Had I thought to take pictures of myself nursing Harrison or Raegan, I could have done so just for us. It's not like I would have had to post the pictures to Facebook albums or even put them in the baby books. But having them in some form, even just on our computer, would be so helpful now that I am nursing their little brother. That way, Harrison could see for himself that yes, I did feed him with milk from my tummy (the expression he used when he watched Raegan nurse as a baby) and Raegan could know that she too got lots of "Milk! Milk! Milk!" from Mama, because these days they both ask in their own ways, quite often, if I nursed them, too. So when I think back about what a big part of their babyhoods nursing was and about how nursing has shaped me as a mama, I am shocked and a little heartbroken that I don't have those images to share and reassure them with now. 

Even though I like to be an equal opportunity mama, I think I'll make a change this time. I think I'll make sure that we get some snapshots of Lincoln nursing so that we can all remember what this was like. And so my kids can see, even when they are way past baby stages, that this is a great and healthy, perfectly normal and natural way to feed babies. Because hopefully, someday, it will be my daughter's turn to make this decision or my sons' turns to support their wives and I want them to know, to see, what we chose for them. Not to force their hands but just to say this is what we did for you. And it was beautiful. 

Adventures in Nursing

HD, after watching me take a big drink from my MLH hospital mug: How does that water make you feel?
Me: Good!
HD: Does that water make you make more milk?
Me (totally surprised): Why, yes, actually. It does!
HD: Just like a factory!
Me (laughing now): Yep. You got it, Buddy. Just like a factory!

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Raegan is perhaps the slowest breakfast eater in the history of breakfast eaters in part because she typically eats so much. She loves to feed herself (which adds to the timeliness of the event) cereal and will have four-six bowls (toddler sized) on any given day. She even drinks the milk out of the bowl when she's all done. But because she is feeding herself and the bowls are small and we don't want to give her too much at a time in the likely event it ends up somewhere other than her mouth, it can take 40+ minutes to get through her first meal of the day. I guess it wasn't too shocking to me the other day, then, when I had to grab the Boppy and bring it to the dining room table because I needed to nurse Lincoln at the same time I kept refilling her cereal bowl. LT actually nursed pretty well but it was quite the yoga routine for me!

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Raegan insists on hollering screaming "MILK!" whenever she sees me nursing. Just the sight of my chest, though, is often enough to make her holler scream it, too. We lead an interesting (and loud) life, I tell you!

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What is it with Lincoln's fingernails? They are seriously attacking me, especially when he nurses! I've tried nibbling them and clipping them and filing them and nothing seems to help - he just keeps clawing his own face and my chest. Ouch!

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Thrush update. Still thrushy. At least, some days. Some days I really don't notice much stinging. Others are pretty painful, at least when my milk lets down. I have this new organic product to try from MotherLove that works in a similar fashion to Newman's Cream, so maybe that will help kick the thrush for good? I'm still taking a probiotic and using tea tree oil in our laundry, but I'm beginning to think stress/tiredness are key culprits. It seems like when I go a few nights with poor sleep, the pain is worse. Or maybe that just makes sense because when your body is exhausted, of course you feel physical sensations more acutely.

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Holy Frantic Nurser, Batman! Lincoln has been like this from Day One (maybe Two), but I don't know if I've really chronicled it yet. Sometimes, when he's super drowsy, he latches on and nurses just fine, and is totally calm. A lot of other times, he bobs and weaves and hovers and squawks and is all over the place. I can't figure out what his deal is or why this happens, but he continues to sleep and continues to grow, so I've got to trust he's getting enough and doing OK. It does mean he gulps a lot of air, though, so we do a lot of burping. Raegan gets a kick out of my pounding on LT's back and comes over often to "help" me. She likes to climb up on my footstool, reach out with her hand and swat at us, all while grinning and saying, "Tap? Tap!"

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According the lactation consultants at my beloved Baby Weighs, breastfed babies 5-6 weeks old can go up to a week without pooping. Yes, a whole week! It seems Lincoln's picked up on that message because he is now going 3-4 days between dirty diapers. And while it seems some nights that he really needs to do something to feel better, it doesn't seem to bother him too much. What is bothersome is on that third or fourth day when he actually goes and then hello, mess! Unfortunately, today's mess coincided with the big kids playing on the sun porch which I thought was a good thing (yea, they are occupied!) until I got done using my 20th wipe on LT and went to check on them. Not only had they drug a ton of toys on the porch, they had also dismantled my "nursing station" too. My rocking chair cushions, Boppy, foot stool and nursing pads were all on the porch, as well, which did not make me very happy. Even better/worse? Each of them had a nursing pad stuck to their proud/naughty tummies! Hooligans.

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Here at two and a half months, we have finally reached the age/stage where I don't have to hold Lincoln in the cross cradle position to nurse all the time. By Baby No. 3 I've finally learned that the football hold is best in the beginning (helps them from being so overwhelmed by the combo of big milk plus tiny mouths) and that the cross cradle works well after that to teach them proper latching and positioning and all that. But now we've reached the point where I can settle in to my favorite nursing position, the good old cradle hold. It feels, by far, the most natural to me to have my babe's head resting in the crook of my elbow with my hand free to rub his back or hip while he nurses. My other hand can then be free to guide his mouth if needed, but now we're getting into the flow where I can usually rest it in front of his body and he grabs onto my thumb or fingers with his little fingers. I love, love, love feeling so connected with him in those moments (even if his darn little nails are too sharp).