We are having a time transitioning Henry drinking milk from a bottle to a cup.  It's little things like this that just poke and poke and poke at me.  You feel like you have all the big stuff nailed, know how to deal with any problems that may arise, and then you can't get your kid to drink milk out of a cup.  Not a beginners sippy cup, not a big kid sippy cup, not a cup with a soft straw, not a cup with a hard straw. 
(For the record, I think we've tried six different cups.)

And then, you get new cups from Target (because maybe these will do the trick?), sit down on your bed to read books to get him calmed down for nap time (which has also been a challenge this week), and then reality sends you a big wake up call to get you out of your parenting "woe-is-me" slump when your kid throws the new cup, you turn to grab it before milk spills all over your clean sheets, and he falls backwards off the bed.  

Poor, poor baby.  

He is healthy, he is happy, and one day, he will go to kindergarten and know how to drink milk from a cup so there is no sense in worrying about it now.  I don't want to downplay feeling discouraged; it's easy to see so many other parents with bigger problems and then feel even worse for starting to feel sorry for yourself.  Kids in the hospital, kids that are really hurting, families that are suffering.  It's just when you're in the thick of raising babies, keeping house, wifing and working, a monkey falling off the bed and bumping his head turns out to be a nice wake up call to enjoy it all -
the good, the bad, and the ugly.     

And cookies will help. 

(Well, me anyways.  Henry had raisins and graham crackers for his snack instead.  These photos are actually from a couple of days ago after dinner.  There are only a few cookies left, and let's get real...I made those for my unsatisfiable sweet tooth these days, and I'm not sure I want to share them anymore.  Which isn't the first time this week I've made the decision that Henry could spare a few pieces of his snack with me. 
I'll admit it...I stole a few handfuls of his goldfish on the way to storytime.  I'm like a broken record - #2 is hungry.)

(By the way, these are as good as Henry makes them out to be.  Recipe found here.)

A couple of weeks ago, we decided to take advantage of our unbelievable much cooler-than-expected weather and dined al fresco for dinner one night.  Henry hoovered his food in as normal, and then signed "all done" so we let him out of his high chair and finished our dinner
at a slower pace like normal.

He kept running to the corner of the yard, sticking rocks in his mouth, looking back at us with a you-know-what grin, shoving them in,
and taking off in the other direction as fast as his little legs could take him.

He does this all. the. time.

He's expanded to acorns too.

I looked at Andrew, sighed from exhaustion and said, "I hope this next baby is a girl because I cannot have two this ornery, this close in age."

Which, if I'm being completely honest, is only partially true.

I think about #2 all the time and the pros and cons of having either a boy or a girl.

Henry and his new sibling will be 19 months apart, which makes me hope for a boy since they will be so close in age so they can be the best of brother friends and throw things at each other, splash in puddles and build forts together, and pinch and pull each other's hair instead of mine. 
(Which is the current phase Henry is in.)  

And, even though school seems so far off, there is a chance these two could be one year apart (because of the way Ham's birthday falls),
and what if it's a girl, and she likes all of Henry's friends (or vice versa)?  

Boys.  Boys would definitely be easier.

But a girl would be different, and bring such a different dynamic to our family.  After all, I'm completely out numbered right now.

Even in our extended family.  On Andrew's side, he is the middle of three boys, his older brother already has a son,
and I've never known them to even have a girl dog until just earlier this year. 
Huge.

I love not knowing, but I have to admit.  It's harder this time around.  

I thought if I felt any different I'd automatically think we were having a girl. 
There are differences this time, but they are so much subtler than what they could be...subtle enough I can come up with other excuses
for why they are happening other than gender-predicting reasons.

Andrew has no doubt in his mind we are having a girl, but if you pin him down, I think he's just convincing himself of that to mentally prepare.  

The truth is, at least once a week, Andrew looks at me and asks how we got so lucky with Henry. 
He is so good.  So smiley, giggly, curious, communicative, and every once in a while, lovey.

So maybe two boys it is.  I would not mind one bit.

 17ish weeks until we find out.
 (Now vs 2012 with Ham...whoa belly!)

 

I find myself dumping many more photos than I ever keep when I'm culling through personal shots, and it's always a little sad, a little guilt-provoking.  Another photo of sweet Henry in my Mac trashcan?  Woof.  It doesn't feel good.

Sure, part of it can be attributed to digital photography itself.  You can shoot and shoot and shoot, get five good shots you're satisfied with and not spend a dime without the production costs of developing film.  Maybe part of it is when I hand my camera over to Andrew, half of the photos aren't in focus (camera class for him has happened once this summer...teacher and student fail).  But it's also because as someone who's work is making beautiful photos for other families, photos that make you feel something, that capture that particular look your child makes that gets you swooning...

it can be more than a little pressure-inducing to only share the most spectacular photos of your own.

The problem is, sometimes there are photos that make me feel something, that have captured moments I can experience again and again just by looking at a picture that I really want to share on this space because this is our family's story - lots of imperfect moments creating one great life.  

Not a display of my best work (that's what my website is for), but of what's the best (and sometimes the not-so-great, because life isn't always great or even good if we are really honest) of us.

The other day Henry woke up from a nap feeling a little out-of-sorts (a trend this week...I think he's teething again after a many month hiatus), and we woke up slowly, sitting on my bed, quietly talking until he started getting silly.  Before I know it, we're both on our backs, he's squealing away from being tickled, and in no short of a few minutes, his finger ends up my nose, my hair is pulled and one of his drool drips falls into my mouth.

We both laughed the best belly laughs until we had to stop to catch our breaths.

And I got these.  Nowhere near technically correct, blurry, blown-out imperfectly perfect shots.

They're some of my most recent favorites.

I've had to tackle our morning walk in the rain a few times lately. 
It's a feat as you can imagine with a stroller, a wandering dog on a leash, and me holding an umbrella. 
I already need another arm and hand, and #2 isn't here yet.

This week, though, we've been joined with something we haven't seen in a while.  

School buses.

And I must be feeling especially nostalgic about summer, and the beginning of new years, entering halls being one year older and one year taller, and seeing all the moms at the grocery store fretting about making lunches and getting kids out of bed, teeth brushed and into their classrooms on time because I noticed a group of boys probably ages 7-10 this morning playing down at the creek that separates our neighborhood from the rest of the world, no doubt getting muddy, wet, and loving it.  It made me smile, all I could think about, them enjoying a few more days of what's left of summer and their fleeting precious moments of childhood that they'll think of when they pass that creek 10, 20, 30 years from now.  

Maybe I'm a little sappy today most days, but 

a) I'm pregnant, 

b) I can't help but think of Henry starting school in a few years, 

and c) I'm pregnant.   

We're such a ways off from that, yet not when I consider how quickly the weeks and months pass by.  

Feeling especially thankful for the chance to slow down and enjoy him, sticky peach-picking fingers, mud-splashing shoes/hands/legs/whole body, cranky wake-ups, chocolate chip cookie mess on my white curtains and all.


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