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.   

They won't remember meeting sweet baby June, but I will.  The way Henry beamed when he met her, how he asked to hold her over and over again during that short hospital visit, how small both he and Nelle really seem yet so big at the same time next to June.  The phase of dressing himself Henry is in, clearly documented and what a doozie of an outfit that day, goodness.  Nelle's wild curls.  And their little voices.  

That may be my favorite part.  

My June Bug,

You came into this world like a dream.  It was easy and peaceful and calm and serene.  Nothing like Henry's birth.  And nothing like Nelle's.  You'll have your own way little one.  Your path is meant only for you, and you're already on your way.  As much as I want to hold you and keep you next to me, to watch your breath rise and fall, to know you are safe like we did on the day you were born, you're on your way.
Your story has begun. 

I woke up the morning of your birth day around 6:30 with another series of Braxton Hicks contractions.  I had been having them mildly for weeks and weeks and weeks, but the noticeable ones, the ones that made me wonder if this could be the beginning of meeting you, had been starting up and then fading away for about a week.  I had my last scheduled doctor's appointment that morning anyway so I thought even if they weren't in the first stages of labor, at least I'd hopefully get an idea of my progression from the week prior and a better idea of when you might arrive.  I slipped into the shower just as Henry and Nelle started pitter pattering into our room, and I told Andrew
we might just have a baby today. 

He helped Henry and Nelle with milk and juice and was putting his keys in his pocket, picking up his phone, getting ready to head into work when I asked him to call my parents.  There was a two hour drive between us, and I really wanted them to be able to make it before we had to head into the hospital.  And the contractions were definitely contractions and kept on coming.  

He came and kissed me goodbye over the shower door, and I told him I'd keep him posted throughout the morning on how I felt.  Ten minutes later, Henry couldn't get his shoes on and didn't want my help, but needed it so he could go outside and play, I had continued to have several contractions already, and I called Andrew after breathing through a mild contraction.  Please come home, I'm in labor and can't do this alone.  Which was really a you need to come home.  Now.

And about 10 minutes after that, he swooped Henry and Nelle in their last moments of just two to play and left me to finish getting ready to head to the doctor.  

I didn't want to drive myself so we all went together.  It had been about three hours and the intensity of my contractions had increased by a small amount, but the duration and frequency really hadn't.  It was somewhat comforting knowing at this point Nelle had already been born.  I hadn't acknowledged to myself how much anxiety I had leading up to your birth about what might happen if things were
even faster the third time around.  

I had progressed from a 2 to a 4 from the week prior, and my breath caught a little bit when Dr. Hild said yes, today was baby day.  I wanted to go home and labor for a bit until my parents arrived, and she said she'd call the birth care center to let them know we'd be coming in a couple of hours.  

I texted my friend down the street to see if she would walk with me for a bit.  I wanted to keep labor progressing, and I needed the distraction.  We walked for about an hour, all the while my body working to meet you.  Slowly, but steadily, until the end when I just couldn't quite walk or talk through my contractions anymore,
at least not with a lot of concentrated effort.  

My mom and Nelle met us on the street in front of our house.  It was a gorgeous August morning.  The sun shone so brightly, and it was warm, but not stifling. 
The light filtered through the trees in the most gorgeous way, and it was all very surreal.

I ate about half of an early lunch, but I didn't have much of an appetite, plus I kept having to get up to manage contractions.  I caught Andrew's eye after one and told him it was time to go so we snuck out the garage door and drove to the hospital.  That same drive we've done in the middle of the night twice before we now got to do in the middle of the day, meeting cars going about on their normal days knowing our day was nothing ordinary, but extraordinary.  We were about to be blessed with witnessing our third miracle arrive; we were going to be gifted another precious gift, one moment protected and ours, and the next earthside, vulnerable, and shared with the world.

We arrived at the birthcare center at 11:30am, and had to wait what seemed like through maybe three or four contractions before we were walked back to the room you would arrive in.  Contractions were maybe two to three minutes apart at this point, and even though they weren't long and intense like they had been when I was in labor with Nelle, one crashing directly into the other, they were still doing their job.
The resident checked me, and I had moved to a five.


We waited maybe twenty minutes for the anesthesiologist to arrive, and Andrew helped me with each contraction during the wait, applying counter-pressure to my back as I swayed back and forth through each, and then looking over our name list on my phone in between.  We had decided on our boy name months ago, but hadn't on a girl name.  I wasn't worried; I was sure you were a boy from early on in my pregnancy.  I hadn't had such strong gender feelings with Henry and Nelle and was positive this was the time I was going to be right and your dad would be wrong.

The epidural started working moments later, Dr. Hild came in to break my water around thirty minutes after that, and we waited. There was such a peace in the room,
even with so much anticipation. 

Maybe an hour and a half went by, and Dr. Hild came back to see how I had progressed.  I was a 10, and you were already in position to be born.  Our nurse was expected back from lunch in about 15 minutes so we waited.  I started feeling the most intense contractions again, and I was given extra anesthesia directly into my IV moments before it was time to push.

The lights in the room changed, the energy instantly changed, and after I pushed through only two contractions later, we watched you arrive into our world at 3:14pm.  You were so purple in that moment, but your cries and breath were strong, and I couldn't take my eyes off of your sweet face.  I reached for you, and Andrew announced, "it's a girl!" and I was so overcome with joy.  And shock!  Another girl!

You felt so perfect next to me, you were meant to be there along,
and our hearts instantly grew to love you.  So much.

June, we will love and protect you as fiercely and unconditionally
as we did in that moment forever and ever.

Little one, what will you do in your one wild and precious life?  We can't wait to watch you write your story and it's our greatest joy, our greatest achievement,
our proudest moment to be a part of it.

Always yours,

Mama