Lacking

You guys.  So many times I have tried to write and post photos, but the editing and spacing and everything gets wacky.  I get frustrated as my creativity lacks outlet.  Something is up with my blog and I want to fix it for good, but don't know how.  Yet.  Manna's World needs a makeover.

The Easiest Christmas Tradition

William was sleeping in his bed, my lunch was eaten, hair washed and bladder empty, all immediate needs met.  Perfect time to finish painting my kitchen so I can do some Christmas baking and decorating. Cue music!  After stupid teeny bopper holiday love song was over, classic Dean came on crooning and convincing me to let it snow.  I loved it!  Though my emotions took their cue to adjust into holiday mode: happy, sad, energized, exhausted.  You name it.  Sometimes explainable, sometimes not.  You know what I'm talking about.  Christmas music just does something to me.  Us.  This song (not to mention the movie scene) can break me in the strongest of moments.  But I'm ok with it.  Being overly emotional is the easiest Christmas tradition.

Living Room Wish List

Area Rug
Pillows
Framed Wall Art
Framed Shelved Photos
Storage Baskets
Large Floor Mirror
Round Hanging Mirror
Lamps

Everything but a place to sit.

I'm busting at the seams to decorate.

We'll get there one day.

William's Nursery

I didn't day-dream about it pre-pregnancy.  I didn't put much thought into it.  I was reluctant to give up the little bedroom that I did day-dream about being my nook.  But it is now sweet William's perfect little place in our home and I love it.  Aiming for a more neutral look that would transition with age, gender and placement in different rooms, I picked out the crib, dresser and lamp.  Everything else was either a gift, on loan from a friend or we already had.  It all fell into place perfectly!  Come take a peek:

View walking in from the living room.  Our stork sign was a gift from Kellie (who has an incredible business in downtown Greenville, SC named The Pink Azalea) to hang on our hospital door.  I hung it on our front door for all to see until William was eight weeks old.

The closet doors are painted the same color as our living room. (Behr's Gentle Mist)

Inside is my favorite area of the nursery to obsess over...

Baby clothes!!!  On top are items he can wear now.

Down below are clothes for him to grow into, wipes, a monkey bucket, and sweet keepsakes. (Framed invitation to my baby shower, a monogrammed silver cup holding William's hospital bracelet and Matt's baby brush, piggy bank and silver rattle.)

Leftie closet isn't as cute, but serves good purposes.  Diapers up top, stuff in the middle, grocery bags for dirty diapers and behind that a bag for outgrown clothes.

A place for a dirty hiney, dirty clothes and clean things on the wall.

Photograph of a miracle waving hello.

This hand painted plate is my favorite item in the room.  Other than the baby.  Duh.

Our stompin' grounds.

Six dresser drawers full of (1) blankets, (2) blankets, (3) toys, (4) clothes to grow into, (5) onesies, pants, socks, hats

and (6) diapers, bibs, burp cloths, lotions, potions galore. (Drawer dividers from Ikea.)

We happened to already own the soft yellow, green, blue and white bedding - perfect!  Puppy dog is a hand-me-down from William's second cousins.  Neither Matt nor I have needed to sleep in the bed, but it has been perfect for resting, cuddling, swaddling, rocking and bouncing.

I like that our classic Jenny Lind crib is living on the edge in black.  And the bunny bedding is perfect for our Easter baby.  The chair, on loan from our living room, was added later as middle-of-the-night nursing became more efficient and we no longer needed to find a TV playing The Nanny re-runs.

And we've come full circle.  A tiny circle perfect for our little firstborn.

And lastly, cards recieved before and after William's birth.  I have stared at those cards, the words inside them, the names on them evening after evening, night after night.  They have provided me with company and hope during lonely and tough moments.

Making our house a home one room at a time...

Seven Years Ago

September 2004.  Matt was less than two months into grad school.  I made my first of many flights from ATL to DFW for a weekend visit.  He lived in a poor man's bachelor pad with great roommates, one of whom took this photo.  (Thank you, Jeremy.)  We were two goofballs in luuuuv.

Buying Baby Clothes is Fun

I love to stretch a dollar.  Used furniture, flea market finds, BOGO deals, second hand clothing for me and now kids clothing too.  My neighbor and I recently explored two consignment sales in the area.  She is very pregnant and I am very nursing so we didn't arrive early with the birds for first pick, but I did find duds for my dude among the leftovers.  The grand total, including a tags-still-attached Lands End snowsuit and brand new three piece Ralph Lauren set that still smelled like a department store, $30.  Less than this week's glorious outdoor Friday night dinner date. 

Which was worth every penny.  Not a morsel of rice was left on our plate.  Only those leaves sticking out of a cucumber.  Friday was also William's five month birthday.  He celebrated in the stroller.  In a new outfit.

Time

I am still a postpartum basketcase.  Crying when I see new babies in public; I want to hug the parents and tell them it will be okay.   Lingering on the diaper isle in front of Newborn sizes; I want to cuddle an 8 pounder again.  Barely making it through the summer Olympics with P&G's advertising campaign focusing on Mom's.  (I just made it 30 seconds watching the ads on You Tube before sobbing into a burp cloth.)  All these outside triggers are tough, but I can make it.  What really gets me is when I think of the past five months.  I wonder where it went.  And want to remember more than I can.   That breaks me down in the worst of wonderful ways. 

If it is possible to be any more happy with a baby, I don't want to experience it.  My heart would be too full and I would be too overwhelmed with infatuation and intrigue to know what to do.  I am on the edge of that possibility now and it is the most interesting burden.  But this has not always been the case.

I joked for years that I wanted to skip the newborn months and start parenting at four months.  Turns out it was no joking matter, but was my brain prematurely jumping to conclusions that were very accurate.  The fourth trimester... Only three months... A mere twelve weeks... Less than 90 days...  The length of a school kid's summer break.  It is a very short period of time.  But when spent with a newborn baby, one hundred twenty-nine thousand six hundred minutes is a looong time.

Until it's over. 

And then, miraculously, a still-recovering yet always-sentimental momma can be caught baby lusting over the picture of an infant on his Mom's shoulder printed on a box of Newborn diapers.

Quickly fading are my memories of the days and weeks when the first thing out of my mouth when visiting with anyone was, "Why do people have more than one kid???!!!???!!!"  They would laugh and say, "I know, isn't it crazy?"  And I waited.  And waited.  Doe eyed and drooling for the answer and a magic morsel of motivation.  My inner monologue screaming, "I'm serious!  Not a rhetorical question! ANSWER ME YOU FOOL WITH 4 KIDS AND TELL ME HOW TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE NEXT TEN THOUSAND MINUTES WITH THIS UTERUS TURD!" But nothing.  They were off wiping their own kids butt or taking care of their own pregnant belly or so far removed from this phase all they could remember is that their maternity clothes weren't cute.

So I forged on.  Hunched over the crib, pacing in the street, sobbing in the shower.

And now, somewhat suddenly, over two hundred thousand six hundred minutes have passed.

I remember laying on the couch one morning, five day old William laying next to it in his Nap Nanny, my Mom walking through the door for our 8:00am shift change, greeting her with a prepared smile but true feedback about the previous ten hours:

"Third night [home from the hospital] was a charm, it keeps getting better and better." 

Little did I know I had the answer all along. 

Time will be my enemy and friend. 

Labor Day Weekend

Long story short: we patronized a niche of America's laboring workforce over the weekend.  On Friday night.  Saturday all day.  And Sunday morning.  Thank you plumbers and septic boys everywhere for doing what you do, at all hours of the day, every day of the week.