If the moment was a photograph, it would be black and white. The black sky,  lit only by a handful of stars peeking through heavy clouds releasing soft snow into the sky. The highlights across the curve of his forehead and the bridge of his nose from the nightlight plugged safely into the corner of the room brightened his face enough for me to see his eyes were wide open, even though his body was still. The shadows danced as I rocked back and forth, back and forth interrupting the stream of light.

He’s so content to cuddle in these moments.  Why only in the dark of night, does he curl into my heart and sigh so softly?

If this moment was a photograph, it would be in color. Two little children, dressed in footed, flannel pajamas were standing at the window watching their father push snow around outside. The boy’s head barely peeks out over the bottom frame of the window, and I can’t be certain he sees anything. But when Chessa giggles and pounds on the window, he squeals and imitates his big sister.

From behind them, I wish so hard that I had my camera, so I could capture this memory. Instead, I clench my eyes and try to freeze the memory of their hair tousled by 12 hours of sleep, their tiny hands with the unmistakable roundness of baby and the gray sky, still releasing tiny snowflakes.

If the moment was a photograph, it would be worn and soft from many years of being held close and used as a bookmark. Pausing to take a breath and remember the time, the soft smiles, the light dancing in their eyes, the three of them with their heads close together.  Craig and Chessa are reading a book, using an overstuffed bear as a pillow, Cole weaves in and out of the story, crawling over his father and grabbing handfuls of his sister’s hair.  For just a moment, time freezes and finally, this time, I get the picture.

I’m still in sweatpants and the t-shirt I slept in last night, trying to shake off the night of not so great sleep that followed the week of not so great sleep.  Cuddled in my arms is a sweet blond boy who just finished his morning bottle.  As I always do, I run my hand over his arm and his leg, feeling the soft flannel. 

The fireplace flickers as it throws off some heat to warm up the living room.  We don’t have anywhere to be and I’m so very grateful that it’s Saturday. 

On the chair, Chessa – still in her pajamas – is comfortable on Craig’s lap. His hair is still disheveled but he gave her donuts so the picture they create – him in shorts and a t-shirt, with sleep still in his eyes and her with wide eyes and powdered sugar framing her lips – both happy and loved, makes me grin. 

We’re watching Elf on a Shelf.  Yes, all four of us. Chessa is captivated, having started our own Elf on the Shelf tradition this year and the colors and the music have pulled my boy right in.

I know we need to start the day. Clothes need to be changed, proper breakfasts need to be eaten and I have a laundry list of projects to tackle (or rather, for Craig to tackle).  But then, on TV, the elf says something about the magic of Christmas living in your heart. 

So I smile at my husband, giving a knowing glance at our big girl.  I pull my boy closer to my heart and I decide the day can wait for just a few more minutes.

A Sunday afternoon earlier this month.  

Finding joy and happiness in the simplest of things.  Like a game of hopscotch. 

And learning to jump. 

When the weather was cool but not cold. When the leaves had fallen off the trees and the calendar said we should be pulling out mittens and heating chocolate, but the day was mild and almost warm. 

So we pulled on hats and sweatshirts and went outside, determined to get a little bit of fresh air and burn some toddler energy; thinking that maybe, just maybe. the baby will take a late afternoon nap that will make the evening hours a tad more pleasant.  And then, we peeked at him, tucked in under his cozy blanket. 

And we lauged and knew that there would be no napping.

Last night, I was trying to get Chessa to hold her head still while I brushed her hair.  “Sweetie, what color are your eyes?” I asked, in an attempt to distract her. Intently she looked in the mirror and studied her eyes. 

“Blue!” she answered. 

Her eyes are the exact hazel color of her father’s. 

When I was pregnant with her, I imagined a little girl with blonde curls like Craig had as child and eyes like mine – so dark brown that it’s hard to tell where the pupil ends and the color begins.  Instead she has his eyes – soft brown with flecks of gold and green – that sparkle when she gets excited, crinkle when she giggles and narrow when she’s getting mad. 

And they are perfect. 

—-

At eight and a half months old Cole is starting to look over his shoulder at babyhood.  His favorite game is to crawl over pillows and come dangerously close to falling off the bed or couch.  “Move the pillows to the floor and let him have at it,” you say? We tried that. Apparently it is less fun if you’re not giving your mother heart failure. 

But still. In soft footie pajamas, sitting on my lap as I rock and feed him, he is still my baby boy.  His eyes get heavy as he eats, listens to me sing and feels the stroke of my finger on his cheek, the press of my lips to temple and the squeeze to breathe him in.  When he’s decided he’s had enough, he pushes the bottle away and turns around to snuggle into my arms, lay his head on my shoulder and drift off to sleep. 

Toddlerhood will come when it wants and with it the walking and talking that he’s flirting with now, but these moments where he is mine and I am his, I will hang onto them with every fiber of my heart. 

—-

There are big moments and little moments that make my heart hurt with love and my eyes sting with tears knowing that they will so quickly be behind us.  The moments when both kids are reaching for Craig and are snuggled in his lap in the morning; Cole giggling when he falls and I yell, “Oh! Cole went OOF!”; Chessa greeting us at the door when we came home after a weekend away; the moments when the house is a mess, dinner plates are still on the table and they both have dirty clothes but we’re all on the floor together laughing and loving and I lock eyes with Craig and think to myself, “This. This moment right here is everything I ever wanted.”

And thankful doesn’t even seem like big enough a word to describe what I feel.

In an attempt to celebrate turning 31 today I tried to put together a list of 31 random things about me.  I got to #6 before I got bored. 

Let’s just say it’s been…  a WEEK.  You know the kind that deserves use of ALL CAPS EMPHASIS.  It starts with a pinched nerve in your shoulder and kids battling colds and ends with a major organizational shift at work and kids with full -on COLDS! and TEETHING! and POTTY TRAINING! and OVERTIRED BABIES who won’t sleep! and… well, let’s just say there’s not enough wine IN THE  STATE. 

So, no list. 

And also, I’m done with all caps now. You’re welcome.

Instead I’m talking about how a year ago there was this: 

 And now this: 

There was grad school started and then put on hold to birth a baby and chase a toddler.  There was a job description that changed. And changed. And changed.  There have been questions and lists and brainstorming about what I want to be when I grow up. 

But, a year ago there was this:  

 And now this: 

 I looked like this along the way. 

Very pregnant with crazy symptoms that sent me to doctors for tests and tests and more tests. There was a c-section. Then more tests which resulted in a clean bill of health. And a ridiculously large deductible that I’ll be paying longer than I’m paying for my car.

But that all led me to this: 

There was a flooded basement, a torn up backyard and a patio that had to be re-paved and re-landscaped. 

There were weddings and family reunions, graduation parties and holidays – all spent with family, good food and not enough sleep.  

There was a  rock-star football season last year and a not so rock-star football season this year. 

There were smiles and tears. There were hugs and fights.  There were kisses and timeouts for hitting. 

There were colds and doctor visists. There were cuddles and breaking out old blankets. 

There were walks around the neighborhood as a family of three and, now, a family of four.  There was me attempting to run. Once.

There was a vacation. A visit to the local fair. A visit to the zoo. 

There were sleepless nights walking the floors with a newborn. There were sleepless nights trying to understand why a toddler wasn’t sleeping.

A year ago, we were a family of three with another on the way.  And I had a hard time imagining how it could get any better. 

I was wrong. 

Because now, there’s this:      

 Happy Birthday to me!  Now, who has the cake?

Dear Chessa;

As you grow up, I’m sure there will be thousands of things you are good at and that just come naturally to you.  Already you seem to have a pretty good throw, you’re bright and sociable.  I have no doubt that you will go places, my dear. 

But today, I need to let you in on a little secret. 

You suck at Hide and Go Seek. 

You see, the point is for you to hide and then stay there while I look for you.  Instead, you lead me by the leg of my pants to the corner of the wall where I am to count.  As I start with 1…. 2…. 3…. with my eyes properly covered (per game rules) I hear your footsteps running away. 

4… 5… 6…

And this is where we start to go wrong.  I hear your footsteps getting closer to me.  I peek through my fingers and see you running towards me with a big giant grin on your face. 

7… 8… 9…

You prance just steps behind me, waiting…

And when I take my hands away from my eyes and spin around, you squeal, jump and clap your hands.  It’s like you think you just won the toddler lottery of cookies for breakfast and ice cream for dinner. 

And I just don’t have the heart to tell you that you lost.  But, my love, you are not good at Hide & Go Seek.  Maybe you should try Go Fish.

It’s always a struggle isn’t it? Finding that sweet spot where you feel like all parts of your life are not only equally taken care of, but equally enjoyed.  No matter how we parent, if we work or stay at home, attachment parent or not, we fight to find the right mix of mom, wife, friend, employee, etc.

Most days I fail miserably.  Either the house is a mess or I’m days behind at work. Either I’m yelling at my kids or pulling clothes out of a big basket of laundry that needs to be folded.  I’m either realizing I forgot to return a phone call, email or text from a friend or that I haven’t had an actual conversation with my husband in two and a half days. 

Weekends aren’t always much better.  As often as I savor the extra hour or so of sleep, I cringe at the crumbs that are taking over our house.  As much as I enjoy snuggling Cole in my arms, my gut clenches as I look out the window and see Chessa playing with her father or grandparents and not me.  I try to stay away from work emails or editing case studies, but often the memory of looming deadlines or an irritating email finds a way to sneak back in. 

But then sometimes? The stars just align and everything feels right. 

This weekend was one of those good ones. I left work Friday knowing everything was in an OK place until Monday.  I had drinks with a long lost friend who moved halfway across the world six months ago.  The kids and I met my mom for breakfast and spent time with a dear friend and her family.  We chatted while the girls played and I snuggled my boy into my chest.  Craig and I made appearances at two parties before coming home to two sleeping babies, thanks to my mom and dad.  Chessa learned to paint and I didn’t even flinch when she started painting the driveway magenta.   

The best part? I got to enjoy my girl again.  As much as I struggle between wife and friend, employee and mommy, I ache to stretch my attention to two children.  And, it’ s not always easy.  The one who seems to need me the most right now, is the (not so) wee one.  All too often I miss Chessa’s squeals of excitement and learning new tricks while I’m occupied with her brother.  But this weekend was different. 

I got to watch her run so fast her heels kicked her bottom.  I watched the concentration in her face when she saw her friend, almost a year older, do something that she couldn’t do.  I saw the nervousness when she stood at the top of the slide looking down and the thrill as she let go and coasted down herself.  I saw the hesitation when I handed her a paint brush give way to curiosity and then to joy. I soaked in the belly laughs as she learned to play hide and seek. 

As the weekend winds down with my last few sips of wine, I feel satisfied. I feel happy. 

I feel balanced.

I love weekends so much more when I’m working.  That’s obvious, I guess?  When I was on maternity leave any given Tuesday could have been a Saturday or Sunday.  Other than Craig being home there was nothing to tell them apart. 

But now? Now, I start looking forward to the weekend somewhere around 8:37 on Monday morning.  And, I’m not just looking forward to the possibility of a nap.  I love the lazy, no plans, just enjoy the day and the kids and the husband feeling of Saturdays and Sundays.  I love the ability to stay in my sweats all day if I want.  I love not having to shower until 3:00, if I shower at all. 

I love sneaking in and seeing this face looking at me. 

I love drinking my tea while sitting with Chessa as she eats her cereal.  I didn’t exactly teach her to drink her milk out of the cereal bowl, but she may have seen me do it.  Once.  OK, twice. 

The sun is warming up the air outside, but inside it is still cool, so we put the baby boy on his activity mat in front of the fireplace.   He bats at the toys and talks to the little frog like they are long lost friends.

Chessa decides it is her responsibility to introduce her little brother to football.  “Cole, hands!” she says as she drops the ball on him.  Apparently the wee one needs to learn to use his hands. 

When it’s warm enough for hats and sunscreen it’s time to play outside.  Her spunk and independence shine as she runs from our house where she draws on the driveway with chalk to her grandparent’s house where she plays with the basketball hoop or gets tractor rides to the neighbor’s house where she borrows their swingset.

And as I watch her run around with her daddy on her heels, Cole sits happily in his stroller, searching for that elusive thumb. 

And finally, at the end of the day, after trying to avoid a tantrum to come inside, after trying to sneak a few veggies into the toddler during dinner, after baths that make the baby ANGRY, there is peaceful sleep.

In the early morning hours, the house is quiet.  I hear him start to stir in the bassinette next to me.  I silently plead for a few more minutes of sleep and wearily reach over to turn on the vibration feature.  It buys me a little bit of time but after a few moments the stirring gets louder.  His grunts and whimpers and a look the clock tell me he’s hungry.  I throw back the covers and peek at my boy.  I see that once again he’s broken his swaddle and I lean in to kiss him.  His eyes are still closed, but he’s rooting.  I promise him that Momma will be right back with a bottle. 

In the early morning hours, the house is dark, save for the flicker of the television.  We lock eyes as he eats.  His blue eyes are full of sincerity and amazement as he drinks me in. I wonder what’s behind those eyes.  What does a baby dream of?  What does a little boy dream of?  I think of my prayers for him and lyrics from old country songs play in my head.  I know that these days are fleeting.  I know that someday I will want these moments back.  But right now my brown eyes caress his face with the weariness of a new mom not getting enough sleep.  I lean over and kiss his forehead, smooth down his hair and press my temple against his. 

In the early morning hours, the house is peaceful.  His head presses against my cheek as my hand lazily pats his back and my eyes start to close.  I smell the lotion from his earlier bath and I grin thinking about how our family of  four curls up on the bed to read books before we tuck in his big sister.  As my pats become soft strokes, I can hear his breath become regular.  In and out.  His back rises and falls.  His heart beats fast against my chest and I wonder if he can feel the thump of my slower heartbeat against his.  His infant breaths are short and staccato like as he drifts off to sleep.  I look at the clock wondering how many hours of sleep I can get before he wakes.  I know I should lay him down.  But not yet.  I’m just not ready yet. 

In the early morning hours, the house is cool.  I lay him down.  Wrapped up tightly in a soft blue blanket just bought for him by his grandmother – it’s new and light and soft. I stroke his hair.  I kiss his cheeks and whisper my good nights and sweet dreams.  Next to him, I curl up under a quilt made by my grandmother – it’s old and worn and soft and wraps me in warmth and comfort as I close my eyes and drift off to grunts and breaths of my boy sleeping.

“KA-DUL” she says when we get her out of her crib in the morning.  “Yes, peanut, we can go cuddle in Mommy’s bed for a little bit.” 

“NA-NEE!” she exclaims when I ask her where she’s going to go today.  “Yep, you’re going to Nauni’s house.  Who are you going to see there?” 

“BAAA” she says when she sees the stuffed sheep that someone got her as a baby gift. 

“ELMO” she says when I pull out the Pampers.  “Yes, it’s Elmo.”  “BUTT” she says.  “Yes, the Elmo diaper goes on your butt.” 

“GU-GA” she says when I praise her for sitting still, or wearing a big or coming back when I called for her.  “Yes, C is a good girl.” 

“APPA- JU” she asks as she walks to the fridge.  “You want some apple juice, honey?  Are you thirsty?” 

“NOOO!” she says way too much. 

“MON-EEEE” she cries when she sees a glimpse of the ice cream in the freezer. 

“HAN-NEE” she says when her daddy comes home and lathers up with the hand sanitizer.  She’ll have some too, please. 

“BAY-BEE” she answers and points to my belly when I ask if she wants a brother or a sister. 

“BUBB-OOLSH” she says as she peers over the side of the bathtub making sure that I didn’t forget to add the bubbles. 

“PASH-EE” she asks as soon as we step foot into her bedroom.  I want my paci now, please. 

“HAP-HEE” she she whispers as she curls up with her daddy and the big teddy bear, sharing goldfish before bedtime.  Yes, my love.  We are happy.