Post-Wedding Parking Lot Photos.

We've fallen into a little routine lately of snapping quick photographs of each other on our way out of weddings.

I hate being in front of cameras, but I can't say I mind this tradition-in-the-making much.

Love my man and his developing photog skills.

Just Some Instagrams as of Late

I think I may just go ahead and jump on the weekly Instagram collage bandwagon.
I mean, I really like (love!) photos, so why not?

Hope you're having a great weekend!

Attention: Chandler Children.

If you've spent the day being mildly feverish and mildly coughy and your mom slips into your bedroom to check on you before she goes to sleep, she will probably decide to pull you out of your crib and snuggle you on the nearest bed. And if she does this, she'll probably have your dad bring you a glass of water. And when your dad brings a glass of water, you'll probably be eating a no bake cookie and watching Curious George on the couch less than three minutes later, followed by a bowl of Cheerios.

The Kind of Day.

Today is the kind of day where you sleep in till nine-thirty, avoid working from ten until one, say "hello!" to your husband when he comes home to study at 1:30, go swimming at two, sit down at the computer in a wet swimsuit at three, work like a speed demon until six (with, y'know, a break to look at maternity clothes), eat dinner at 7:45, look at your spouse and decide dinner is disgusting at 7:46, put the baby chock-full of mandarin oranges, granola bars, and pretzels down at 8:20, run around the apartment to find Big Bird at 8:22, and walk out of a screaming toddler's room to an empty apartment at 8:23 because your husband is driving across town to pick up takeout.

I like these kind of days.

P.S. I still haven't changed out of my swimsuit.

Glasses. And Beds. And Blogs.

I keep promising myself that I won't use Instagram photographs in day-to-day blog posts but, y'know, whatev. Today, I am using Instagram photographs.

This morning, Max and I kept things classy and paid a visit to Walmart's eye doctor. I haven't had my eyes checked since I was twenty-one so I have been seriously itching for new glasses and contacts. I've been wearing glasses since I was eight and contacts since I was thirteen and I have horrible astigmatism and, well, vision, so these babies have been a long time coming. Also, these frames were both dirt cheap ($25 for the one on the left, $9 for the one on the right) and they looked so close to the $90 glasses that I bought both of these instead of one more expensive pair. Max broke my favorite pair of glasses when he was, like, six months old, so I don't really foresee expensive or even semi-expensive frames anytime in my near future since glasses aren't exactly baby or toddler proof. Then again, maybe I am just a glasses prude... or a money prude. Probably both.

In other news, Mr. C. is trying to get Little C. to transition into a big boy bed and it is not working. Andrew is a softie, meaning he tries to cradle Max to sleep and then, twenty minutes later, a smirky little boy will come barreling out of the bedroom and a defeated dad will follow behind him (and, let's be honest, this usually ends with me putting Max in the crib because I'm not ready for him to be in a big boy bed yet). These two are best friends. A huge part of me hopes there will be another little man crawling around after them this time next year, but it would also be really nice to be able to buy polka dot dresses and pint-sized leggings and sparkly headbands for a happy little girl. We'll see.

Anyway, this is totally off topic, but I've noticed lately that I've almost completely stopped reading blogs. I didn't read them when I started this blog, but I got pretty into them when I was pregnant with Max. Now-a-days, though, I only read blogs occasionally and, half the time, they seem forced and/or so trainwreckish that I end up texting my sister-in-law for thirty minutes about a single post. So my question is this: are lifestyle blogs dying?

I guess this is a lifestyle/mommy blog, so I should probably say that it won't hurt my feelings if they are. I'm honestly just really curious.

Pregnancy.

Tonight, while Andrew drove us around town to pick up take out and fast food from our favorite restaurants, Max smiled in the back seat and we talked in the front seats. When I was pregnant with Max, I was scared out of my mind. I was scared I was going to lose him before he was born, but I was also scared of other things. After his first ultrasound, I was convinced for a week that he was conjoined twins. I was scared I wouldn't like him when he was born. I was scared I wouldn't like being a mom. I was scared I wasn't ready to be a mom. I was scared that he would die from SIDS. I was scared about a lot of things, and most of them were extremely ridiculous (see above: conjoined twins), but a lot of them were valid. The truth about pregnancy is that it could end at any time. Miscarriages and infertility are not common in my family, but that doesn't mean that I will never have a miscarriage and I will never become infertile. I mean, none of my blood relatives have ever had a c-section. I'm the lemon with that one, which is fine with me because, a hundred years ago, I would have been the lemon that died in childbirth. With motherhood, you quickly realize that there are millions of things out of your control. Like, when I dropped my brother off at school with my mom a few weeks ago, I freaked out because I realized that, at some point, I am going to have to let Maxwell walk through the doors of his kindergarten classroom or, my soul, put him on a yellow school bus and not have any contact with him or his watcher for hours. That's going to be scary, folks!

Anyway, Andrew and I talked about this a little, but mostly we talked about how, every week or so, I become overwhelmed with fear when I think of having a second child. This time around, I'm not as scared about miscarrying and I'm not scared to be a mom to two rather than a mom to one (yet). Sometimes I worry about how Max will adjust to having a brother or sister, but I know he'll be fine after a few weeks, so I'm not too stressed about that, either. What I am scared about is the surgery and delivery. I did not have a good experience birthing Max. My delivery was terrifying and extremely difficult to cope with after the fact. I don't care how babies come to families. I think it's great that women have birth plans, but I think it's absolutely ridiculous to mourn the loss of the delivery you wanted if things don't go as planned. Sure, it can be rough to not get what you want, but when you have a baby who can breathe, you are getting what you wanted all along. So, even though my c-section was a shock, what scares me now is how much it hurt. I wasn't on enough pain medication when the operation began and I had an extremely insensitive nurse. I know it's not going to be the same this time around, but I still see stars when I think back to lying on that table. I'm pretty certain I'll never be able to deliver naturally- no doctors in the area here perform VBACS- so in some ways, I'm glad that I know what's coming, but more than delivery, I am terrified of the weight gain and the possibility that I'll have postpartum depression all over again.

I was toxemic with Max, so when I went on bedrest six weeks before he was born, I bloated up like a whale. I put on over thirty pounds in six weeks! I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror and, bit by bit, I began to feel like I had totally lost myself. Things got better once Max was born, but when it came time for me to take care of him myself, I felt paralyzed. What if I hurt him?! All the irrational fears I had before he was born came flooding back, only this time there were more. Like, what if he drowned while I bathed him? What if he didn't have enough to eat? What if he had too much to eat? What if I didn't change his diaper enough? What if I fell asleep when I was nursing him? What if, what if, what if. I drove myself crazy and was in way over my head because I was scared to ask for help. So, naturally, I'm scared that this will happen again. Like last time, I don't have any family living in the same town I live in (actually, last time, I had a brother-in-law in town and he watched Max while I was in class which was awesome). My family is much closer this time, but they're not right here. Andrew and I will be on our own, which is how it's supposed to be, but that doesn't make it any easier.

I lost myself when Max was born. Not just in bad ways- I also lost myself in good ways. I loved (and still love) just lying down next to him on the floor and singing him songs and tickling his baby fat and hearing his guttural laugh. I adore that babe, but after being a mom for two years, I've really come to realize that, if I don't take care of myself, no one else is going to. Yes, my husband will talk me through my fears and will support me through whatever I'm feeling and yes, my babies will make me feel more matronly love than I ever knew possible, but if I don't get up and shower and get dressed and allow myself time to do things I love, then I won't feel good about myself. I didn't understand that when I was pregnant with Max and when I was going through the depression that I experienced my first year of motherhood. I didn't understand that, to fully take care of my family, I need to fully take care of myself. I know that now and, because I know it, I'm glad I went through the things that I did.

I mean, of course I wish I'd never lost myself, but I would go through everything I went through with Max repetitively for the rest of my life if it meant that I could be his mother. I already feel the same about this babe. Being pregnant this time around, I love my family so much more. I love my life so much more and I have so much more of a desire to live in the moment than I ever have before. I am just amazed at how much love mothers are capable of carrying. I can't get over how lucky I am to have my family and it makes me feel so humbled that I am going to be a mom for a second time. I'm not as naive this time around. I'm much more of an adult now and I realize that pregnancies and motherhood are not always rosy. I have had my challenges. I know women who have gone through challenges that would totally break me. I know how important it is to take care of a child and how important it is to love them. I still cry over baby blankets and little clothes and I still argue with my husband over names, but this time, I know how much love I'll have for this baby. I don't have to imagine how much love there will be- I already know. I know about the late night snuggles and the fat cheeks and the messes and the stuffed animals and the absolute chaos and the baby breath and the hand holding and I know how much I love the quiet moments where I can just sit and nurse.

I can hardly wait for this baby to join us. I'm scared, but mostly I'm excited.

Early Saturday Morning

This weekend, we packed up our car and two hours (and one ticket!) later, we pulled up to my Grandma's house. I used to spend a week there every summer when I was little, but I hadn't been there since I was seventeen. We were there so I could take my cousin's senior pictures, but it was really fun to see Andrew and Max see the house for the first time.

Anyway, we didn't go to bed until pretty late on Friday and, Saturday morning, Max woke up as soon as the sun started rising (read: like 5:45). We were in the same room (fine, same bed, even though he'd started the night on a mattress on the floor), and when he woke up, it took every ounce of my Mama strength to not bury my head underneath the pillow, cover my ears, and scream loudly. But! After he wouldn't stop talking or laughing or crawling over us no matter how many times we tried to lull him back to sleep, we decided to be parents instead of the sulky twenty-somethings we wanted to be and played with him in the bed until the sun was fully risen:

Needless to say, a day that starts out with baby squeals and animal noises before 6:30 is a day of baby bliss. Max had such a good time staring at cows and swinging on the porch swing and flirting and eating pancakes and going on long walks and walking through the trees. He is so curious and we love him and laugh so hard when he convinces everyone around him to love him, too.

See? My baby is a heartbreaker.

Nine.

Today, I loved my husband a little extra for the following nine reasons:

One: He played with our son when he woke up bright eyed at six in the morning.

Two: He listened to all of my Grandma's stories and was genuinely interested in what she had to say.

Three: He took me to Sonic's Happy Hour and bought me a watermelon slush.

Four: He didn't get mad at Max when he broke his only pair of glasses (Max destroyed the other last summer).

Five: He stood behind me on a rickety bridge during a photo shoot to make sure I wouldn't fall.

Six: He taught our baby to sniff loudly when asked "What does a hedgehog say?"

Seven: He looped my arm through his during a morning walk, even though he was pushing the stroller.

Eight: He took photos of my dad's high school pictures because they make both of us laugh.

Nine: He looked really, really dreamy, even though we both only slept five hours last night, two of which were spent with a nearly twenty-two month old in between us.

Just Some Instagrams as of Late