Why Yes I'll Wiggle My Toes

Afters months and months and months of either parroting or flat out no's, Ryan has finally learned the word, "Yes." Praise. The. Lord.

Although as Ana and her sweet girls have seen, he still likes to announce, "No!" for all to hear.

I realized that I really do say, "No," a lot myself. Part of it is because my toddler's cup of curiosity runneth over, but part of it is probably because I can be a grump and selfish. I should save the nos for outlets and teetering Christmas trees and freely give out yeses when Ryan insists on closing all the doors and wiggling toes before putting on socks or footed pajamas.

And when Ryan wakes up every single time I oh-so-silently roll out of bed after putting him back down for a nap, I should definitely say, "Yes," to a nap.

Snail Pace for All

Tuesday was day two of me being the only adult at home with the boys. BoySsssss. Still love that plural s. For half of the day, Ryan wore boots on the wrong feet ... boots that I put on him. Well, I've always had problems telling my left from my right. 

We were going to go to story time, and I was very proud of myself for everyone being dressed and ready to go at the right time for us to walk there and make it in time.  We went to get the stroller in the garage, but there was no stroller. Oops! I had put the stroller in the car, and Chris had taken the car to work. Ever so confident from my self-esteem boosting ability to have everyone dressed, I decided that we would still walk to story time. Ha!

Have you ever tried to walk anywhere with a toddler with a short amount of time on the clock? It took me until the fifth time in two sidewalk blocks that we stopped to pick up a leaf with his mittened hands to close the book on making it to story time. He can stand while everyone else sits next week.

The kindest lady that I had just briefly met at a dinner pulled over to give me an umbrella since it was slightly drizzling, and she didn't know if it was going to rain hard soon. South Bend is super nice.

With an hour until we would meet Chris at the Basilica, we just walked with no purpose at all except to go at a toddler pace, as snail pace of a pace it is. There were no hurry ups, no come ons. It was my favorite part of the day, and I'm pretty sure it was Ryan's, too. He was just as content to roam from one end of the sidewalk to the next in search of nonexistent 'corns (those grow on oak trees not maple trees, Sweetie), to climb stairs leading to nowhere and to lift his beanie back that was not blocking his view at all so he could tip his head back, furrow his brow and search for curls (squirrels) in the tree. 

It really is nice to know among the daily napocalypses and periodic aggressive adjusting to being a sibling that makes me pull out my hair (and it really can't afford to be pulled on account of the pending postpartum hair loss ...), Ryan is happy to go at a snail pace. He isn't telling me to hurry up and be a perfect mom. Conor certainly isn't.  They just want me to be their mom. I don't have to become a wonder mom to two over night. 

But I do have to be able to carry two at a time after ten blocks.

How was Conor dealing with the toddler pace? Just fine, indeed. 

Brothers, Uncles, Nephews, Non-sharers

I told my mother-in-law that all I wanted this week while she is here taking care of us was for Ryan to learn how to share. Ha. 

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Sadly, I seriously thought it could happen. Always an optimist, I guess.

Well! At least I learned something about photographing this group of boys who make you scratch your head when you try and figure out how they are related; the bribing power of tootsie rolls is strong:

Yesterday's Babble

Yesterday, oh yesterday. 

It wasn't a terribly, no good, horrible day. It was actually a pretty darn good day of un-noteworthy normal. Which, in my blog world, means I have a lot of (not) cohesive notes to share. 
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We walked to story time and made it a bit early, but only after starting to get ready an hour beforehand. It only took one hour because Conor was nice on my first full day without help and slept in until ten. Only one is a success? Starting with my bar low. Nice and low. 
---
Once we departed story time otherwise known as Ryan-stands-while-everyone-else-sits-time, we entered quite the fall wonderland. Colorful leaves, huge snowflakes and a pat on the back to my morning self who decided to dress everyone in many layers. 

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Let's talk about this photo. A God's view selfie, I guess we could call them. A mark of a blogger or at least a mark of an Instagrammer. Campus was pretty quiet when I did the whole raise my phone over my head and blindly tap, tap, tap on my phone in the hope that at least one photo captures the boys and their #nofilterneeded background and not an unfortunate shot of my chest or my uncombed hair. Even if campus weren't quiet, I'm already the weird young one with kids; will a little embarrassing interpretive dancing be detrimental to my not important image? No. But when I think of myself behind the insta-scene, it's an insta-chuckle.

My editor is probably going to say that that whole paragraph does not make sense at all. And he is probably (definitely) right. Nevertheless, who got that? Because you get blog hugs from me. A valid currency, no?
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Ryan got to try out his snowflake catcher for the first time this season. 
Video here. Conor wasn't interested as he just wanted his lunch-milk.
Ryan-catching-snowflakes from Katrina on Vimeo.

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I went to heat something in the microwave only to be greeted by a burnt scent and a not-so-sweet memory from the day before that graham crackers CAN burn in the microwave. 
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The sandman forgot to stop by at nap time. He is probably on vacation. I hope he gets sand in his swimsuit.

Stubborn and nap - defiant since 2012

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Hulu plus and Bob the Builder wasn't working on the TV. Four o'clock circles around, the brooms come out and the witching hour of the day begins.

A lot of sand. I hope he gets a lot of sand in his swimsuit.
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Ryan has created another opportunity to play peekaboo - between his legs during diaper changes. Now the soiled nature of those is offset by, "Peekaboo, Iseeyou!" I'll take it. 
---
I had dinner prepped to be heated at five. 5:40 o'c'ock as Ryan says rolls around, and I remember that it is Tuesday. On Tuesdays, Chris has a meeting after work, but I could not remember if he gets home at 6 or 6:30. In case you didn't know, there are 777 or so minutes between 6 and 6:30 in stay-at-home mom time. And the number of minutes between 6:30 and 6:31? Don't even joke about it. Not funny. 

6:29 pm, the Harrington home

 ---
It is funny that any poor behavior that occurs in the time between the expected time of arrival and the actual time of arrival absolutely must be blamed on the parent that isn't home. Am I right or am I right?
 ---
But then, Chris came home, and all was right. Not just me. 

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What does the camel say? I don't know, but at bedtime when I sang that the new camel on Old MacDonald's farm had a spit here and a spit there, I sent Ryan into a peal of belly laughs. And another and another. It was one of those moments that was too good. I like that he thinks I'm funny when I don't even think that I am. 

So that was yesterday. I love you, yesterday, and I love this blog that I get to document you on.

Today we had a newborn who is, well, a newborn who wanted nothing else to be carried and a toddler with a fever who wanted nothing else than to be carried (not held, carried. And he requests that the piggy to his back-ride walk). Poor guy. Prayers that he gets better!

Whaddyathink

Related? 

7 Quick Takes

Linking up with my fellow Instagram stalker, Jen, for 7 Quick Takes! 

Source

1. One day young. I saw this très belle series of photographs this week, and j'adore, j'adore, j'adore them. The photographer documented mothers holding their one day old babies, and the exhausted thrilling love just seeps from the photos. They make me ache for that whirlwind and wrinkly day! 


2. Bodyguard. My days are (leisurely, thanks to my mom!) spent as a baby-bodyguard. In the midst of, "I kissed him!" proclamations, Ryan seems to think it is his responsibility to show Conor some good old brotherly roughhousing even though Conor is less than two weeks old.

What did I ever do to you, bro? All I do is eat and sleep and stare. 

3. Pucker up. I've had people ask me what lip product I wear, and I guess Ryan was curious about it, too. 

It's Revlon Just Bitten Lip Balm Stain in Smitten. 

4. The Center for Ethics and Culture is having its Fall Conference this weekend, and Chris and I are tossing the idea around to go to a talk or two with baby in tow. I am not a huge conference person (at all), but Chris is all about stimulating the mind one philosophical discussion at a time and I love events where babies in slings are welcome. We will see! 

5. Soft, thick sweaters? I seem to have donated and discarded all of my soft, cozy sweaters in my latest clothing purge a few months ago, and now that the temperature has dipped and our thermostat and the winter temperatures don't have an inverse relationship, I need some. Anyone have any they purchased lately that they love? Preferably thick cardigans or wraps that are nursing friendly? I would thrift store it up, but I don't think I will be doing my hit up three thrift stores in one day routine for a while. 

I'm kind of a child when it comes to itchy sweaters so I am all about the synthetic, but if you somehow have a wool sweater that is as soft as Conor's skin, I'm all ears. 

6. Hair Help Needed. In the year of 2000, I was very touched by the millenium or something, and my New Year's resolution was to wear a different hair style seven days of the week. What a great self-improvement goal, no? What can I say, my fifth and sixth grade self was a gem (just for clarification - that is supposed to be read with sarcasm). I curled my hair so often that one of my close friends thought my hair was naturally curly. Uh, no. 

Anyway, I peaked too early in the hair department and by the time I was a senior in high school when people normally care about their appearance, I pretty much never did anything noteworthy with my hair, save for dances. To this day, I pretty much never even brush my hair because I can't shake a line I read in a magazine in high school that Gisele, "doesn't own a hair brush." I should probably get over that. 

So. What is this babbling take about? Well, I think I am ready to start sticking my split ends back into the doing my hair regularly waters so if anyone has any easy hair styles for long hair, send them my way! Hair tutorials, Pinterest boards, whatever. Extra points for updos because the baby in my arms is constantly getting his nose tickled by my wannabe-but-never-gonna-be Rapunzel hair. 

7. And we will round it out with a baby photo.

Happy Weekend! 

Conor's Birth Story, Part I

On Friday night around 10, I started to hit my normal wall that can't even be blown down by a second wind and started to fall asleep on the couch while cross-stitching. Wow, if you read that sentence again, you so cannot guess that I am twenty-four. In the midst of the nodding head and accidentally poked fingertips, I noticed that I was having slight cramps in my lower back every ten minutes or so. Finally after my fingers had had enough, I got up and told Chris that I was retiring for the night. I mentioned the cramps and that I thought they were Braxton-Hicks since they were so light.

We had been hoping that I stay pregnant until the following weekend for various reasons, and it seemed like I was going to. I felt as perfect as you can while pregnant! With Ryan, you could tell that his entrance into the world was coming. Swollen ankles, retaining water, Braxton-Hicks, crazy, hormonal pregnant woman not fitting into any clothes, etc. But at 39 weeks, 6 days with this one, I was not swollen one bit, had barely any practice contractions as I like to call them, my hormones were pretty well behaved (maybe Chris would have a different opinion on this ... ) and I still had clothes to wear as long as I stayed on top of the laundry. At my appointment on Wednesday, I was 3.5 cm dilated and 50% effaced, but after reading many extra-expert forums of expectant mothers claiming they were 75% effaced for weeks, I decided that the measurements meant nothing. I called my dad on Friday night, and I boasted that I wasn't going to go into labor soon.

The next morning, Ryan woke me up at 5:40 as usual. He had a PB & J for breakfast and so did I. We settled onto the futon and began reading like we do pretty much every morning. In the midst of Ryan's animal imitations, I noticed that I was having cramps. When they kept coming, I started casually glancing at the time on my phone whenever they started, and they were about seven minutes apart. I didn't really think much of them.

At 7:30, I went to wake Chris up, which happens every day. But on this particular day, he woke up startled and played the stereotypical father in the movies. "Is it time?!" came from him as he threw the blankets to the side before I even mentioned anything at all about the cramps. I wasn't even planning on saying anything at the time. His reaction made me stop and think. Is it time? Chris told me to rest and start timing them. So I got back into bed with my cross stitch and opened up the contraction timing app that was still on my phone from Ryan's labor. Cross stitch and an iPhone app: a geriatric and Millenial combination. The contractions were about forty-five seconds long and four to six minutes apart, were getting stronger and they weren't stopping. We were in the baby delivering business, people.

Early labor with my early riser

Since we had been hoping for a late delivery, we had planned to not do any baby stuff until the very end, thinking that we could trick my body into knowing when I was ready for the baby to come. Out of bed, I jumped. In between timing contractions, I threw a bag together for Ryan and then started packing one for myself and the coming babe. I went up to the attic to bring down the newborn clothes so I could wash a few onesies and the polar bear sleeper that Ryan came home in. Next, I cut Chris' hair because who knew when I would do that again post baby. Once the onesies were in the washer,  the bags were packed, and Chris' hair was cut, I started to bake a pumpkin pie.

I like to stay active during early labor to keep my mind off of the contractions, and I'm really sentimental about repeating things. For example, when I guessed Chris was going to propose to me, I purposefully wore the same shirt that he had first kissed me in. When I went to the Grotto at Lourdes, I wore the scarf that was around my neck when we got engaged at the Grotto on campus which is a replica of the one at Lourdes. Etc., etc., I'm a weirdo. Anyway, a few weeks ago when I was grocery shopping, I picked up pumpkin and evaporated milk not just because it is fall, but also because I wanted to have the ingredients to bake a pumpkin pie on hand for when I was in early labor just like I did before Ryan was born. Washed clothes for the baby? Not a priority. Pumpkin pie ingredients? Priority.

I told Ryan that I was going to bake a pumpkin pie. He shouted, "Baking! Watch!" and then ran off. He returned with his bath toys, lined them up along the sink and proclaimed, "Watching!"

Then he moved them so they could get a better view.

After the pie had been pushed into the oven, I went to go take a shower. The contractions were definitely picking up in intensity, but not in frequency. I was frustrated because now that I was in labor, I just wanted it to be fast and furious. I wanted to meet the baby that afternoon.

While in the shower, I didn't want to stop timing the contractions because I was so hoping that they would get close enough to really mean something. We weren't going to leave for the hospital until they were three minutes apart or so because I didn't want to labor in the hospital long. I like laboring at home. Every time a contraction would start, I would have to open the shower door, dry off my hands, open my phone, and then begin the time. By the time all of that was finished, the contraction would be really strong, but I wasn't in a good mindset to relax through it. This whole process did not help me relax at all, and I kind of hated it so I just got out of the shower.

I started to curl my hair since I hadn't washed it. I was able to relax through the contractions more since I didn't have a multi-step process to undergo in order to start the timer. This is another thing that I seem to like to do while in labor. With Ryan, I painted my toenails, blew dry my hair and did my makeup. It never makes any sense (but, then again, when do I ever make sense?) because I always plan to get in the tub at the hospital, plus labor isn't exactly a walk in the park so whatever amount I primp, it is all going to be long gone by the time the baby arrives. Nevertheless, it keeps my mind off of the coming contraction so I do it.

A crooked picture frame and a penguin bath toy keeping me company. And here is more proof that I am a sentimental weirdo ... that is the same shirt I wore to the hospital while in labor with Ryan.

Chris' job that morning was to spend time with Ryan so I could relax as much as possible. He would check on me periodically to see how things were going. I could hear the cheers coming from upstairs where they were watching the Manchester United match, which is always a good sign. By 11:40, the pie was cooling, the hair was curled and I settled down on our bedroom floor to labor. I laid down on my left side in the runner's position from the Bradley method book that really helped me reach 7 cm by the time we got to the hospital with Ryan. Chris and I have never taken a Bradley course; we just read the book with Ryan and then reread three chapters during my last week of pregnancy. It is definitely a dated book and Dr. Bradley thinks very highly of his own method and isn't afraid to show it, but his husband-coached method really works for us.

The game was over so Ryan started to come looking for me. Chris told him that Mama needed to rest so Ryan put his hands on my cheeks, "Mama." Then he laid down next to me on the floor and fell asleep. Naptime the whole week prior had been such a battle with lots of crying and protesting and screaming. But somehow his little toddler heart knew what his mama needed right at that moment. I know that that moment, that picture of his innocent and caring face with his brown eyes somehow containing compassion beyond his age slowly closing under his curly head of hair will always be with me.

I ate a roast beef and cheese sandwich made by Chris (thanks, Laura and Luke!) and stayed on the floor for his whole nap. My rosary that my friend Aubry brought me home from the Holy Land was clutched in my hand, and I rolled it around in my fingers in between contractions (yep, you guessed it ... I used the same rosary for Ryan). My contractions were still concentrated in my lower back (Glory, back labor!). I started offering up each contraction for various intentions on my mind. Praying and offering up the pain helped an immense amount.

By the time Ryan woke up around two, the peak of the contractions were really intense and much more painful than before, but the spacing of the contractions were still only about four minutes apart. I was so discouraged because I thought we would have met the baby by now. Chris took Ryan to play in the living room, and I followed because staying in our room just didn't seem to be working. However, soon after camping out in the living room I realized that I could no longer be around sound during my contractions. Back to our room, I went. The contractions were no longer of the level that I could handle on my own. I needed Chris to be there.  I texted Alexandra who was graciously taking Ryan while we were at the hospital and told Chris that Ryan had to go now. 

Chris grabbed Ryan's bag and asked if he needed to pick anything up for me to eat. I told him that I didn't want to eat anything. Chris was concerned that I wouldn't have enough strength throughout the rest of labor and to push the baby out because I took so long with Ryan so he kept insisting that I eat something. I told him I would have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if I had to eat something.

I told Ryan that he was going to play with Peter, Mary Frances and James like I had told him for the past few weeks would happen when I went to the hospital. He kept saying mama and making me cry. Finally, he gave me a kiss and Chris carried him off. I heard the garage door open and close.

And then it started.

In a Hole in the Ground, There Lived a Hobbit and a Halloween Costume Link-up

Halloween!

Chris went and picked up some candy for our first ever handing out candy experience. We have always lived in apartments where children and costumes were not aplenty so this year will be fun. I will be manning the porch with Conor while Chris takes Ryan around the neighborhood in search of, "Sugar!" as Ryan is known to run around exclaiming.

I will come back to add better photos when (okay IF), I can get Ryan to stand still long enough for a clear photo of his costume and when I figure something out for Conor, but I wanted to go ahead and set the link-up since I know a lot of people went to Halloween parties over the weekend and might already have photos!

At my last midwife appointment, the midwife asked Ryan what he was going to be for Halloween. I didn't think Ryan would answer the question since we hadn't really discussed it, I had just had him try his costume on a few times because I couldn't get enough of it. So I was just tickled when he gave her a slight knowing smile and whispered, "Ah-bit."

I followed the instructions from this costume that Tess pinned a couple of months ago. The pants are Ryan's normal corduroy pants rolled up. The shirt and vest were also already residents in Ryan's closet. I bought a green fleece blanket from Goodwill and sewed a cloak using a tutorial that I cannot find at this moment! I bought some flip flops at Once Upon a Child then wrapped eyelash yarn around them to create some hairy feet. Finally, I ordered this leaf clasp.

aaaaaaand he wouldn't stand still for a photo before leaving for story time with Chris. Hairy hobbit toes crossed that I get at least one during trick-or-treating.

Luckily, my friend, Lauren, miraculously snapped a photo of Ryan and Carson at story time. 

Chris says they look like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure: 

Source

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ETA:

Okay we are back post trick or treating and those crossed hairy hobbit toes worked! Got a photo. Okay, got photoS so forgive me in advance. Conor sat with me as cute as pie ... because what is a hobbit without his pastries??

A hobbit, his pie and their dad.

 

Searching for gold ...hope Smaug doesn't get him.

Share your Halloween costumes here!

Postpartum Bullet Points

We have been home as a family of four for two days now, and it has been pretty blissful. Although, if you hear Ryan the Parrot's latest word, you would think otherwise. "Dan-nit!" doesn't exactly paint a picture of bliss does it? But, it is. We are enjoying a week of almost constant nursing, readings of Baby Bear, Baby Bear, What Do You See?, casual lunches with a baby in arms, casual dinners with a baby in arms, somersaults down Uncle David's old, giant beanbag and renditions of I'm a Little Pee-pot on repeat because well, when else in our life will we get a week straight together like this?

>>> Almost peri, peri bad - I was taking a luxurious shower yesterday morning when through the glass door, I saw Ryan walk into the bathroom. He was just in a diaper (duh), which just adds to the "we definitely have it all together" aura that is oozing from this post. Anyway, I watched him clammer up onto the toilet, and then watched him swipe the peri bottle from its permanent spot on the counter (any mom will understand it is my crutch that first week home).

Stooooooop! That is NOT a water bottle! Chris!!!

Fortunately, he put it down. Chris came in, I told him what happened, and we both laughed which caused Ryan to start crowing, "Joke! Joke! Joke!" otherwise known as his latest trick. 

>>> Ryan loves Conor. A bit too much, if that is possible? Baby! Kiss! Baby! Kiss! Let me put all of my weight on you, little eight and a half pound brother so I can kiss you!

>>> Conor loves nursing. Like brother, like brother. If his lips so much as brush anything, he starts rooting and rooting until Chris uproots and finds him his feeding source.

>>> I am not good at taking naps. I just normally burn the midnight oil and the noon oil until one day I crash. Having Chris at home this week means he forces me to take a nap with Ryan and Conor when Ryan goes down every day. I kind of love it. Maybe I will be a nap convert.

>>> Poor Conor is sporting his first badges of brotherly love and curiosity after Ryan scratched his nose on the ride home from the hospital.

>>> Chris is really good at taking care of us. Thanks, parents-in-law, for making him the oldest of twelve!

>>> Newborn sneezes are awwww-inducing. Newborn sneezes followed by a, "Bwess you!" are let-me-have-a-million-babies-feeling-inducing. 

>>> After-birth contractions are not fun at all. At all.

>>> Ryan still likes to kiss my belly, but that is okay since Kate Middleton brought bellies back. Plus, it's kind of cute.

I know things will get much harder when Chris goes back to work and after my mom leaves and then his mom leaves and the terrible twos come and maybe colic will introduce itself to us. But right now, this second time around with a newborn has been so fun, and we are treasuring it.  Maybe it's because we know in the blink of an eye, Conor will be clammering up onto the toilet to swipe a peri bottle ... but that will be a treasure, too. I kind of love being a parent.

Ruv You.

I am guilty of taking a lot of photos. A lot. I just had to go through 900+ photos on my camera app to clear enough space off of my phone so this little baking baby in my oven can be graced with the privilege of being captured by such fine photography equipment. Those 900+ photos were in addition to the thousand already living in my camera roll. 

I know, it's embarrassing. 

The next morning after making my phone win the biggest loser contest in terms of space used, Ryan and I were hanging out on the kitchen floor at five something in the morning. He was delightfully perched on the bottom step, and the cute combination of his heavy eyes above his it's a new day! smile were just daring me to not be content with the short hand on the clock. 

I snapped a photo, of course.

But the next day we were again at our luxurious seating arrangement, the kitchen floor, and having a ball singing, "I'm a Little Teapot." I couldn't bring myself to bring out that phone paparazzi of mine. I have no problem snapping photos of the warm-my-heart moments between Chris and Ryan because I'm just an observer in those sweet father-son moments. However, out of the 1500+ that were on my phone alone, I think only one shared between just Ryan and me was truly a Kodak moment - and it was captured by luck. It was Ryan's first smile, and I just happened to be taking a photo of him at the time to send to Chris at work. Most of the others were amazing times, of course, but they involved getting the phone out, choosing the app, waiting for the camera to focus and then inviting that intrusive biographer into our mother-son moment. Click, click. 

The best times are the ones for which I have no serendipitously timed photos. The best times come before the photos.

I should always remember that I am Ryan's mother, not his full time photographer. Right now, I don't always remember. When I am conversing with him about the ducks that flew! away! in the air! after he was running!, I want to truly be involved in the conversation no matter if it may be the tenth time we have had this conversation in two minutes. Because of this, I don't have photos of those sweet moments when we are jumping on the bed or singing about, "pee-pots." Or when he finally learns how to just turn the letter P just so for the puzzle space. Or when he lets us in on a new phrase for the first time (for example, tonight it was, "Mama! Girl! Gassy. Stinky!!")

Or of when he said first told me, "Ruv you." 

This morning, after rising in the more reasonable hour of six, we were wandering about the house. He was in his dinosaur footed pajamas with a black fleece pullover and had the craziest case of unruly hair that rivaled the namesake of one of his favorite baby youtube shows. (Einstein, if you aren't a parent who is thankful for screen-time). We went into the bedroom to grab something or other and as we passed the dresser, he hugged my leg and murmured, "Mama! Ruv you." 

Was I supposed to go search for my phone, run back to the spot and ask him to say it again? Isn't that like a significant other saying, "Thanks," in reply to your angst-ridden confession of love? I was just happy to soak it all in and feel my heart swell ... and swell ... and swell.

I ruv you, too, Ryan. Thanks for giving me a million uncaptured Kodak moments.

Welcome, Fall!

That was the title of one of Ryan's favorite library books as of late that we just returned today, on its due date. I have been pretty good about delivering our library books on time recently since racking up quite the fine of an amount that I will not be divulging. Just know it was bad, and maybe share a story with me about your own New York Times best fines list to make me feel better. Hmmm, I wonder if due date delivery will be a trend around here??

I know that everyone proclaims, "Pumpkin spice lattes! Boots! Scarves!" when that can't-keep-its-balance season comes around. I love all of that, too, don't get me wrong, but you know what I think has been the biggest perk as of yet? My poor ironing skills and efficiency can be covered up by Chris donning a sweater. Mediocre housewife seasonal winning.

Besides that perk, I adore fall at Notre Dame. Breaking news, no? The changing leaves can cancel out any chilly weather incident where I'm the mom at the playground with a running toddler with a runny nose and zero tissues on hand.

For all of September and until last week, we were preemptively compensated for surviving the pending permacloud in the currency of golden sunshine. We spent so much time outside! I'd bike around the lakes until we would find the trio of a swan family. It was perfect. The paths were normally busy with runners and walkers, but they were usually spaced out enough that I could take swigs of Ryan's stale straw-cup water without a single rogue eyebrow judging me. Ryan would go nuts tossing fallen walnuts into the lake, and I would get my thrill of the day by sitting under the walnut tree attempting to be Isaac Newton pre-gravity discovery. There were some pretty close calls, but I have yet to feel the impact of a falling walnut on my nut so thank you, Guardian Angel!

The temperatures have sadly decreased, but our need to be outside hasn't. Thanks to this week being fall break, we have our our backyard all to ourselves. A positive: wider windows of time for the aforementioned straw-cup sneaking. A negative: Waddick's, the sweet cafe in the Arts and Letters building with equally addictive breakfast sandwiches and scones is closed for the week even though this is potentially the last week of my pregnancy and, thus the last week of my pregnancy craving excuses. Hmph.

This afternoon we ventured out once again and discovered a new game: how many ways can I try to get a toddler to keep his hat on? Incentives and distractions were the winners today. Cross your fingers in your mittens that I can win the battle again tomorrow.

Adapted by Motherhood

Chris and I spent a short bit (a long bit) of time the other night clicking through baby photos of Ryan (yep, Baby #2 is due in a week and I still don't have photos of my firstborn printed out. Millenial mama?), and I just had to chuckle a bit and furrow my brow a little at what I remembered that baby looking like compared to what my oh-so-professional phone photos captured.  All of this then got me thinking about how I have changed in the jungle of motherhood.
 
So, the five senses. Have mine changed? Yes, I think so. Mothers have to adapt, after all.

SIGHT.

>>> Feline Fine - Can successfully make it from the bed to to the child with nary a toe stub in the pitch black dark. 

>>> Rogaine Strength - If everyone had a mother's eyes, Rogaine would be unnecessary. I never saw my child this bald:

But he was. 

>>> Clearly Better Than Clearasil - What baby acne? I don't see it. Teens all over the world wish that this power could be bottled up and sold at Walgreens across from the Haribo candy. 

HEARING. 

>>> Batman Has Nothing On Me - Not only can I anticipate sound and wake up before my baby cries, I can also hear the faintest scratch of a pencil on a wall. 

>>> Better Than a UN Translator - Frantic arm waving. Squeal and squawk. Yes, that is a bird in a tree! 

>>> Fear of Silence: Silence = Destruction. 

TOUCH

>>> Mom Bounce - She's got the rhythm (and baby's got to snooze) (Alan Jackson, anyone?)

>>>In addition, see above for navigating through a dark room ability.

TASTE

>>> Apathetic to Ideal Temperatures - A room temperature dinner just magnifies the flavors, right? 

>>> Standards Set to Sink Half Empty - Oh does that food allow for zero dish usage? Bingo, we have a winner. 

SMELL

>>> Hound Strong - Bomb or bullet, in this case, she who smelt it, did not dealt it, but probably has to change it. 

>>> Perfumist - How else could a newborn always, always smell like the best in the world amid spit up and diaper bombs?

Anyone have anything to add? Make me laugh, my friends! 

The Pacifier

Chris and I are definitely not a perfect married couple. We have our petty fights and our huffing and puffing fights. Ever since we dated, we planned on not fighting in front of our future children. Constructive arguments and disagreements, yes. Emotional and irrational fights, no.

Of course, what was planned doesn't always happen. Lunch yesterday was one of those times when hormones reached an emotional plateau (me) and impatience flared (both). There was a mockingbird at the table with us.  

Blah, blah blah, that's crazy.

Ryan: Crazy!!

Blah, blah, blah, you don't understand!

Ryan: Stand!

Blah, blah, blah, love it. (sarcastic tone)

Ryan: Love it!!! (excited tone). 

And with that Chris and I both failed at keeping our angry faces as we burst out laughing thanks to our dear parroting pacifier. 

You're a keeper, kid. But I hope we don't utilize your conflict resolution services often.