10-12-2010

basket of markers

Ben and Maddie color

a white cardboard box

a rainy Thursday morning

gritty mud puddles

in the parking lot

buckling the baby

into her carseat while

he’s stomping, splashing, falling

down in his new

navy blue rain boots,

his first pair,

still a little too big

his eyes closed
“My orange!” he cries out
a nightmare

22

Maddie takes
half from the middle
of our bed

She coughs;
not separate,
you wake.

and look into the mirror at

my mother’s face

laughing in her sleep

three months old

(3-7-09)

dirt, dog food

nothing too gross for

the toddler palette

Maddie’s sleeping,

Ben’s at pre-school co-op,

five minutes of peace

(4-24-09)

singing, cuddling, walking for hours

these children won’t nap

This makes the third day in a row that it’s taken more than an hour to convince Ben to take an afternoon nap.  He very nearly fell asleep in his booster seat at lunch today and face planted in his almond butter and jelly sandwich.  But after I got him out of the seat, he wouldn’t nap until I had sung several rounds of our usual songs, given him an extra cup of milk, and helped him take off his pants and socks.  (Here’s hoping the diaper’s still on when I get him out of his bed after nap.)

Madeleine rarely naps longer than 30 minutes at a stretch during the day, which may be directly related to having a loud, non-napping older brother.  (At least she sleeps reasonably well at night.)

Good thing they’re so cute, these two.

Veggie Booty smashed in the rug

a toddler lives here

Does Veggie Booty count as a serving of vegetables?  Y’know, the same way the Reagan administration said that ketchup and pickle relish counted in the 80s?  Because I can’t get Ben to eat any other vegetables for love or for money.

(Credit for the Mamaku form, btw, goes to Kari Anne Roy, another Austin Mama.  I read my first Mamaku on her blog.)

in labor, at home

is painful

Me and my babies–aren’t they beautiful?  Ben sports his big brother sweatshirt, though he’s still not at all sure about the role.

After spending nearly 9 months worrying about being separated from her, I never would have guessed that being separated from him (while I’m tied to the nursing chair, changing a bazillion newborn diapers, trying to sleep while my parents are still here to help) would be the hardest part so far of becoming mother-of-two.

This is transition, I keep reminding myself, and we’ll make it.  Still, I can hardly wait until I’m healed enough from the birth to be able to lift Ben when he reaches for me.

more waddle than walk

stretch marks fan across my belly

the thirty-sixth week