June turned 12 weeks old today.

Tonight at dinner Andrew said it was such a contradiction because it feels like we brought her home from the hospital forever ago, like she's always been here, 

yet at the same time...wasn't I just pregnant?  

I was just accepting the fact that she's two months old, and he rained on my parade 

and said, actually she's three months old next week.  

Downpour.

It just doesn't seem possible our family has been five for all that time, but here we are, nearly a third of the way into her first year, and finally feeling like we're getting 

a hang of this three, three and under thing.  

Last week was the first week we didn't have a string of difficult days, 

spent holding June with one hand and trying to parent two toddlers with the other, failing at both.  Her colic has been gone for weeks, but figuring out how to manage her acid reflux has felt like two steps forward, one step back.  Poor thing is constantly covered in sour smelling spit up, but thankfully she's gone from an unhappy spitter to a happy spitter in the words of our pediatrician.  (As long as we stay on top of her meds, and I avoid dairy and carbonation.)   

And despite having perhaps our most routine week and a half yet, I've found myself short-tempered this week, quick to frustration, and so after lunch out with a friend and her two girls, a rushed naptime routine, and a quick phone call to the same friend to apologize for being crabby at lunch turned into a good dose of perspective 

and grace giving, I decided we needed the afternoon off.  

 

No agenda, no to-do's, no errands, no productivity.

These two tots have really surpassed my expectations when it comes to being a two-time big brother and newly big sister.  Henry asks to hold June so much throughout the day, so of course his little ehco Nelle does the same.  He's had his moments, mostly after skipped naps, but for the most part, his love for babies has grown and grown, having his very own at home again.  

 

What has been perhaps the biggest surprise is that Henry and Nelle's have become the best little playmates and friends.  (Until they're not, which is many times throughout the day.  There's a reason people use the phrase, "fight like brother and sister".  After all, they are still three and almost-two, learning boundaries, sharing, manners, and the bonds of family.)  They may make each other crazy, but they are quick to ally together when I stop to feed June, Henry always asking Nelle if she wants to come outside or downstairs with him, her always answering, "uh huh" and off they toddle together, the best co-conspirators when I'm distracted with sweet cuddles from the littlest Bug.  Henry likes to tell me he's the dad so he needs the iPad (good try) and Nelle's the mom, and June and I are the babies.    And then he makes me say wah!  It typically ends with Nelle screaming because she wants to wander back to me, and Henry barricades her wherever they are, shouting, "no, she can't come, I need a friend!". 

 

This afternoon when I was feeding her after naptime, they picked up their morning game outside on the patio (played in their jammies until 10:45 in the brisk autumn morning air because clothing battles just aren't worth it lately with Ham) where they left off of car racing, Henry in the cozy coupe and Nelle on her princess ride, giggling, snacking on oranges and graham crackers, and having the funniest conversations led by Henry about filling up the tank, giving his coupe a little pat after he parked it, zooming down the sidewalk towards the new gate (locked, so he can't escape anymore), and singing the chorus from Uptown Funk, which as I'm sure you can imagine sounds a little more like the "ck" sound than the "nk" sound as they sing/yell "uptown funk you up", which they've busted out in the most appropriate of locations in the last couple of months after hearing it at Purple Power Play in Manhattan Labor Day weekend.  

Since June has arrived, we rushed into a new preschool routine with a three-year-old, spent four weeks of nearly every weekday between weeks three and seven driving to and from chiropractor treatments for June, have spent a handful of weekends with botched naps and bedtimes in Manhattan, traveled to the farm for harvest, and managed through long workdays for Andrew and me jumping headfirst into my busiest time of the year, with about thirty shoots behind me since starting back four weeks after June arrived. 

And I wondered why I was feeling so fried.

 

So this afternoon, I threw responsibilities aside, and we took a walk in our neighborhood, and Henry and Nelle wore what they wanted to, and we talked to no less than five neighbors, stopping 535 times to pick up leaves and look at acorns, and throw the football, and kick the football, and dance, and throw the leaves, and chased the light and breathed in the chill in the air, and just live life like a toddler.

And it was good. 

My two girls.  

 

When you're in high school and sharing a room, and fighting every two minutes about clothes, and the bathroom, and boys, and friends, and clothes, and makeup, and the car, and the bathroom, and clothes, I'm going to print these and tape them up all over your shared room and make you remember.

 

That you love each other, and that Nelle has always wanted to take care of you June - making sure you have your paci, and telling me to "burp da baby", and alerting me when "she spiiiit up!" (which is like allllll the time), and learning to shhhhhshhhshhh you, and calling you "baby Junieeee!" 153 times a day, and that June - you love when Nelle sits in front of you in the swing and you just watch her with such alert content eyes and smile at her.  

 

You've got your daddy swept off his feet.  He would literally do anything for you at the bat of those lashes from either of you.  But don't think he won't hesitate to take the door off the hinges of the aforementioned shared room when you are fighting every two minutes about clothes, and the bathroom, and boys, and friends, and clothes, and makeup, and the car, and the bathroom, and clothes.  

 

And then he'll retreat to his man cave where he and Henry will talk about bashing and smashing.  Because boys. 

 

And you'll commiserate together, and go find him, and both of you will bat those lashes, and he'll put your door back on, and I'll file these away for the next time you need a little reminder about what you are and where it started.

Sisters.

My two girls.

(Photos taken at least a month ago?  Time flies with three, three and under!

And June's most adorable linen peter pan collar romper made especially for us from this Etsy shop.  She wore this precious outfit home from the hospital, and it is just the perfect keepsake now.  I'd order another one again in a heartbeat.)

If I squint a little bit, I can see out of the weeds.  

They aren't as thick as they were a few weeks ago or even last week, and dare I say there may even be a path or two with some flowers along them.  Which I know Henry will pick, and Nelle will follow suit and pull a few herself, because that's Henry's latest.  Picking flowers and then presenting them to me like they're a treasure.  Of course they are!  Especially when he plucks them off of the mums by our front sidewalk that just started blooming.  At this rate, we may have one or two measly petals of red left 

in time for Halloween.  Or next week.

Truth be told, this has been the easiest transition for our family thus far.  (If you ask me, going from no kids to one kid is the hardest, although Henry as an 18-month old and a brand spanking new Nelle was pretty terrifying those first few days alone by myself.  Somehow singing songs to him wasn't quite as entertaining as it for Nelle this time around.)  I'm already used to playing zone defense by myself during the week, and Andrew and I often times parent one against the two so the other can make a mad dash to the store, pick up the tornado debris left by the tots, do dishes, whatever.  

What we didn't account for was June having colic AND acid reflux, and I spent weeks three through seven of her life thus far running her to chiropractor treatments three to four times a week with alllll three kids (you can picture what a disaster that was at times) that absolutely cured her colic, and then working on her reflux that just seems to be managed better by medicine at the moment.  (If you ever have a baby with colic, this treatment is the real deal.  I'm happy to share more if you're interested.)  

Poor girl actually started showing signs of colic at one week old, and most days I spent all day desperately trying to get her to nap, typically failing despite an ongoing circus of getting her to sleep, only to have her wake up five minutes later because of needing to burp, or spitting up, or hiccuping.  And around and around we went.  She and I constantly smelled of spit up and vomit.  Nelle still says "spit up all OVER!" after hearing me comment on June's state throughout the day, and besides wrapping her babies up, trying to get her dolls to burp occupies most of her mothering time.  Which is a lot because big sis is very much a bossy little mama herself right now and goodness her brood of dolls and stuffed animals sure is needy.  

June was miserable, and nothing really seemed to help except for holding her 

all. the. time.

And sometimes not even that.

She'd be overtired by the end of the day, and so would I.  Like beyond tired.  Like I no I wasn't showering regularly, and sometimes I couldn't remember if I brushed my teeth that day or not, and I know most days I hadn't brushed my hair, and our house was constantly in a state of disaster with landmines of dirty diapers hidden under piles of clothes that needed to folded and put away or maybe just washed again, never mind the random scatter of books, toys, clothes, etc. that got carted around in the kids' 

shopping cart and never put back. 

Two weekends ago I feel like we turned a corner, and I told Andrew I feel like we had our baby back.  She's smiling and cooing all the time, happy to watch the zoo that is our daily happen around her, watching Henry and Nelle as they flutter by, 

most times stopping to talk to her, kiss her, rub her head, talk to her, 

and maybe steal her blanket because obviously Nelle needs those for her own babies.   

(Like I said, she's got her hands full.)

 

These first few months move so quickly, especially because I'm about six weeks into my busiest time of year.  I'm soaking up all of June's newness feeling a little bit like I lost some of those precious few weeks, including weekend naps on the couch with her, and trying not to yawn too much when she needs to eat in wee hours of the morning because soon enough (soon, right?!) she won't need me then and those little moments between just the two of us will always be shared just as they are during the day with Henry and Nelle sitting right next to us, reading books, driving cars along my leg, and Henry leaning over to kiss June and saying, "I love our baby!  She's sooo cute."  

She really is.

So yes.  On to greener pastures.  With less weeds.