Sometimes, This is What Being a Parent Means

This month was eventful to say the least. Thanksgiving and the kickoff of the holiday season brought warm memories, family visits and cheer, but a death in the family and a family member's medical emergency also brought a range of emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum. It brought moments that gave me renewed appreciation for my parents, my in-laws, and parents everywhere, not only for the support and love they provide but for the strength it takes to make a child's world safe when the real world is wrought with danger. It's the stuff they don't teach. The stuff they don't prepare you for. The stuff that makes you clench your teeth, swallow your tears, roll up your sleeves, or stay awake at night just to ensure everyone but yourself is taken care of. That's what being a parent is sometimes.

Being a parent sometimes means sympathetically nodding while a friend tells you about their late night, their low energy, their need for coffee, while trying to remember the last time you got more than four hours of consecutive sleep and realizing it was more than a year ago.

Being a parent sometimes means putting your sunglasses on and smiling so your kids don’t know your eyes are filling up with tears.

Being a parent sometimes means going without makeup for days because getting everyone else ready in the morning is your first priority.

Being a parent doesn’t stop at 18. It sometimes means babysitting at the drop of a hat to get your own grown-up child out of a jam, or even grabbing a bucket for her to yarf in during a bout of food poisoning, even though she’s 32 years old. (thanks dad)

Being a parent means calling every day just to see how that 32-year-old is doing. (thanks mom)

Being a parent sometimes means worrying about people other than yourself, when you are the one sitting in a hospital bed. 

Being a parent sometimes means untangling a logistical nightmare, countless phone calls, research, and developing contingency plans while still making time for Christmas crafts, shopping, lists, cooking, and generally sprinkling fairy dust all over the house when no one is looking.

It’s kissing boo-boos and softening the world. It’s painting rainbows and everything rose. It’s hoping that they stay that way as long as possible- hopeful, honest, innocent, and happy. To show them no sadness, to hide them from harm.

It's hugging a sobbing three-year-old and telling him everything is o.k.  And we are so thankful that it is.

This month, I was reminded of just how strong my husband is. He is a rock. For his family, for himself, and for our children. In this season for giving thanks, I am thankful for him.

Baby Bro spent his last morning as a nine-month-old in the Emergency Room with a stomach bug that I'd feared was something worse. I sat there holding my baby wrapped in my hoodie because it was the only article of clothing in our possession not covered in vomit. It was 39 degrees outside and I was wearing a tank top and leggings with puke on them, waiting for the doctor to take an x-ray to make sure Baby Bro hadn't swallowed anything dangerous. I was scared, smelly and cold but I didn't care about anything other than making my baby feel better as quickly as possible. I thought to myself, "sometimes, this is what being a parent means."

We are looking forward to turning a page this month and having a fun and happy Christmas season. Or in the very least, a month with less yarf.

At ten months old, Baby Bro is starting to form some really strong opinions! 

He likes: walking while holding our hands, crawling, clapping, babbling, pointing, eating finger foods (purees are so last month) kicking stuff while walking, wrestling with his brother, dancing, parades, pianos, and so much more.

He dislikes: 24-hour stomach bugs, diaper changes, and staying still.

Vacation! With Kids

I'm not sure when or where this agreement was made, or who was in charge of all of the children in the world when it happened, but at some point they decided that the only opportune time to get sick would be days before a vacation.

Three days before leaving for a friend's wedding in Florida with the whole family, I was standing in the pediatrician's office with Big Bro after his fever hit 104.7. It's the second time he's had a fever above 103. It's the second time he's had a fever above 103 the day before a planned vacation. It's the second time that fever was his only symptom of sickness, and it disappeared just as unexpectedly as it started. Thank goodness!

With Big Bro's fever gone one day into our Florida vacation, we were free to have a great time with both boys seeing family and friends!

We started out in Jacksonville spending time with Big Bro's godfather and family, and visiting with cousins:

Then we drove down to St Pete Beach for the wedding festivities:

Grandmama and Buelo even drove down to meet us and hang out at the beach!

Of course, travelling with an Arizona 3-year-old  also means I get to field some new questions about the subtle differences he noticed about life outside the desert. Those questions included the following:

Why is it raining?

Why is it windy?

When will the wind stop?

Why is it so cold?

Luckily, from my days filling in for our chief meteorologist during my career as a news reporter, I had enough weather knowledge to answer most of those. Not sure if he fully grasped the concepts of air currents and coastal convergence though.

Overall, both boys had a wonderful time! Totally worth the fact that two weeks later we're still trying to bet Baby Bro's sleep schedule back on track.  At nine months, he likes: clapping, army crawling, standing up and cruising, eating, playing with his brother, being outdoors, and so much more!

He dislikes: being on his back, and sleeping through the night.

To My Threenager with Love, and Vengeance

Children are amazing, loving, curious, hilarious, wonderful people that warm our hearts and give us renewed priorities and purpose. They are reflections of our own personalities. They are gifts. But sometimes, they are the worst.

A final tantrum at the end of a long day, an early morning wake up call demanding breakfast in a tone I’d never dare use with my own parents, or a display of stubborn persistence in front of total strangers, are just some of the things that have had me turning to my better half and plotting a unique revenge.

You see, I have just 12 short years to plan the easiest way to get even. Just wait for the awkward, self-conscious teen years. Just you wait.

I will be the most embarrassing mother the world has ever seen. I will print t-shirts with your photo on it and wear them to all of your athletic events. And I won't use a current picture. I'll use that adorable photo from your first bath. I'll wake you up every morning just as the sun peers over the horizon with that bowl of cereal you’ve been screaming about. I'll give you hugs and kisses in front of all your friends. I will cheer the loudest, tell the punniest jokes, and brag and exaggerate to everyone about everything you do.

I get it, you have rough days. It's hard being three. Everything is new, nothing is built for you, and you don't know how to manage when you're hungry, tired or adjusting to change.

But there's one thing that will never change. I’m your mother and I’ll always love you. Even through the meltdowns, I will love you. When you're at your worst, I will love you harder. And if that means through your teen years you'll be embarrassed by it, well then that's just an added bonus I can look forward to.

While Big Bro is busy with all of the ups and downs of being three, Baby Bro is now eight months old!

At 8 months, he likes: scooting everywhere, pulling to stand, playing with his bro, taking baths, babbling, snuggling, smiling, eating and being outside.

He dislikes: diaper changes and teething.

It's Not a Purse, It's a Pump

Any working mom who chooses to breastfeed for any extended period of time knows the feeling. You're walking down the hallway in the office, carrying a subtle-but-not-so-fashionable bag filled with bottle parts, cups, tubing and everything you need to express and store milk for your baby without letting on. A coworker sees you, smiles and says, "see you tomorrow!"

We may look like the most lackadaisical employees, running in and out or around the building with a bag flung over our shoulder like we're trying to make a quick exit. But it's not a purse, it's a pump.

When we get questioned by our coworkers and answer too frankly, it's the ultimate conversation shutdown. "What's in the bag?" "A pump." Red faces and wide eyes stutter for their next syllable and we laugh because to us the topic isn't uncomfortable at all.

We've made breastfeeding a priority and we're lucky enough to be able to feed our babies this way. I'm lucky enough to work in a place that provides support and a nice quiet room complete with Ann Geddes photos. Other moms I know have to make due with an empty conference room, an office, or even a bathroom stall, stringing an extension cord for the task. Some even have to pump in their car during a commute. Like I said, we made it a priority.

When we look at our watch in a meeting it's not (always) because we're bored and looking to leave. We live in 3-hour increments. Our babies are elsewhere but they're always on our minds. We know when they eat and sleep. We try to keep track of how much. We try to pump enough.

When we can't, we go through great lengths to make more. We eat fenugreek and smell like maple syrup, or we bake cookies with oats and brewers yeast or drink dark beer and follow all the wives' tales.

We're professional when it comes to pouring because every drop of the hard-earned milk counts and when you're away from your baby you can never have too much. We know whoever said the colloquialism "don't cry over spilled milk" was not a breastfeeding mother.

We balance our day with these breaks and manage time accordingly. We work smarter and faster because we know in our society this task is not a welcome excuse. We know it's not pretty. It's not fun. But that glass won't shatter itself and mommy can't be in two places at once.

Here's to seven months of breastfeeding and four months of pumping, and to all of the other moms out there hustling too. Here's to the cookies we bake... here's to the mess we hope not to make... here's to those "purses" we take.

At 7 months, Baby Bro likes playing with his kuya, tasting new fruit, racing toy cars, pulling up to stand, scooting everywhere he wants to go, and being held by mommy.

He dislikes ear infections, teething, and going to sleep.

School Days

In Arizona, August doesn’t mean the end of summer heat. It’s not even close. Last year I had to cut off the sleeves of Big B’s Halloween costume to cool it down. I used to associate an autumn chill in the air, colored leaves and colored crayons as the end of summer signified the beginning of a new school year. Maybe that’s why this caught me off guard.

Last week, Big B had his very first day of preschool. And the only tears were mine.

We arrived early to make sure he had time to settle in. I packed healthy snacks in a lunchbox that matched his backpack, made sure he had his water bottle, some extra clothes, and everything else I’d meticulously prepped the night before along with his first day of school outfit. I’d combed his hair and we took his photo and held his hand all the way to the door. Just before he set out to meet the other kids at the playground he gave a half-hearted hug, said “Bye mommy!” and ran off.

I only cried a little. And in truth, I’m so excited for him and this new adventure starting school. That first day we went out to lunch afterwards with his Lola and Papu. B talked about circle time, singing songs, and making friends. When I asked what their names are he replied, “the kid in the black shirt.”

I guess we’ll have to keep working on those social skills. But now that he’s in school, he’ll get plenty of practice.

Meanwhile, Baby Bro is celebrating his half birthday! At six months old, he is 19lbs, 27inches.

He likes: eating everything mommy makes for him (except kale), hugs, blowing raspberries on my face, trying to crawl, playing with his brother, playing in the pool or tub, and so much more.

He dislikes: being left alone, and sleep.

The Cleanest Floor on the Planet

I'm writing this blog on my phone with a sleeping baby in my arms. When you're a mom, you learn how to do a lot while holding a sleeping baby. You might also find yourself violently angry at anything that would wake that baby after all the work you put into getting it to sleep. At this point I would cut our mailman so fast he wouldn't even have time to think about why ringing our doorbell was a fatal mistake. I have paced, bounced, rocked, sang, and briefly even Gregorian chanted to finally achieve this coveted thing we call a nap. The four month sleep regression arrived on time just as it did with Big Bro when he was a Baby B. Some parents say the regression lasts a few weeks and then baby starts developing a sleep pattern and going back to its normal rhythms. Those parents are what I like to call liars.

From my experience, the four month sleep regression turns into a 6-month regression, then 9-month and so on until they head off to preschool. Baby makes a big developmental mental leap, and then mobile and mental milestones cascade one after another so quickly that you just resolve to kiss the prospect of sleep goodbye and go along with the ride, wide-eyed and holding on. Its my opinion that if there were a secret recipe for getting a baby to sleep, there'd only be one book about it. So, I do whatever works.

In Baby Bro's case, that means wearing him in his ergo carrier while vacuuming the floor. It's a little weird and it's always my last resort, but when I'm at my rope's end and can't take any more rocking, singing, or swaying, I turn on that blessed white noise making device and it works. Every. Single. Time.

Then, when he's finally quiet and snuggly and comfy in my arms, I look down at my baby boy and whisper the reassuring yet terrifying mantra of motherhood: This too shall pass.

At 5 months, Baby Bro likes: smiling, giggling, taking toys from his big brother, floating in the pool, playing in his exersaucer, practicing sitting up, putting everything in his mouth, snuggling his blankie, being in mommy or daddy's arms, and so much more.

He dislikes: sneezes and naps.

Pause

For about a month now I’ve been waking up, feeding Baby Bro, feeding myself, feeding Toddler B if he’s up, and then driving to the office to realize I forgot something (cell phone, breast pump, bottles, badge, the occasional no make-up day, and once I nearly left the house without shoes.) While at work, the boys have been having adventures at home with Drew’s parents or sister, depending on who is doing what that day. After work we get home, get dinner started and do a few chores, all while feeding, changing, rocking, wrangling, and whatever else it takes to get a three-year-old and three-month-old fed, clean and off to bed. Life as a family of four with two working parents is… busy.

It’s easy, especially in a sleep-deprived state, to slip into autopilot and zombie through the week. While my job keeps a good pace and variation, the routine of home can come and go like a commute. Sometimes you see your garage door opening and realize you don’t remember half the drive. A couple weeks ago as I walked into the house from that garage, I picked up a fussy baby boy and started rocking him to sleep while Drew started dinner. He fell asleep quickly and I got ready to put him into his crib. Then, I stopped.

I listened. Drew and Toddler B were happily working together in the kitchen to make dinner. The rest of the house was quiet. I thought about the laundry that needed folding, the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and the rest in the machine ready to put away. I thought about the toys all over the floor of the playroom. I looked at the sleeping baby in my arms, and I sat down.

I sat and rocked and watched his cute little face and his chubby little cheeks. He snuggled in, happy to be in mommy’s arms again. My phone was in my purse and nowhere near my mind. The laundry, dishes, and mess could wait. Dinner was at least 20 minutes away. I just sat there, holding my baby. He’s growing so fast it’s as if I could see it if I sat still long enough. Eventually, I placed him gently in his crib and joined the busy big boy and dad, started dinner and later, the dishes.

I’ve heard time goes by even more quickly with a second child and I can see why. We’re so busy with the first and with our lives, that we only really get to soak it all in if we think to stop. To hit pause. And sit still enough to watch our baby grow.

At four months, Baby Bro weighs 16lbs 15oz and is 26 inches tall. 

He likes: to roll over onto his tummy, playing with his big brother, grabbing his pacifier, reading books, waking up, songs, the sound of the shower, and mommy and daddy.

He dislikes: when the dog shakes, and riding in the car.

Baby's First Tour

With just a couple of weeks left of my maternity leave, we decided to take Baby Bro to my hometown to visit my side of the family. That's right. We voluntarily packed up our three-year-old and 10-week-old and took them on a non-stop flight across the country. Ever hold your breath for four and a half hours? Well, it worked. They were both perfect angels!

Baby Bro got to meet his uncle, aunt, cousins, Papa, Nana, Grandmama, Buelo, and my grandmother, his "Grammy." What a wonderful time he had snuggling and babbling at all of those doting grandparents! Meanwhile, Big Bro was having a blast with his cousins at the petting zoo, playground, play place, and more. I even got to celebrate my birthday with my mom's angel food cake with chocolate frosting- a tradition I hadn't experienced in a decade.

It was wonderful to spend time with family and friends, and a rare opportunity to get everyone in one beautiful photo:

Soon enough it was back to Arizona and for me, back to work. My maternity leave ended as Baby Bro turned three months old.

At three months, he likes: smiling, songs, being outside, trying to roll both ways, eating, being tickled, and his brother.

He dislikes: Being startled and garlic.

Rescuers, Train Wrecks and a Happy Spider

One of the most rewarding experiences as a mom and as a creative with a vivid imagination, has been witnessing the way toddler B's imagination takes over. As a kid, I would've much rather played outside as a fairy or witch or power ranger than watch tv or play video games. B seems to be following suit, pretending the day away and making up elaborate storylines and characters to go with it. It's been one of my favorite parts of being on maternity leave; watching as he creates his own world within our playroom. One moment he's a firefighter spraying out the blaze on the sofa, the next he's towing away wreckage from a train crash on his train table, or selling me vegetables in his grocery store.

He even has an imaginary friend. It's an ironic one for a 3-year-old whose father has a bit of arachnophobia. B's friend "Happy Spider" has been a part of our household for several months. It's a small black spider, about the size of his hand. He joins us for meals, drives B's toy cars around, rides with him on his bike, and takes naps when baby bro has to sleep. When he first arrived, I thought he slept with B, so I offered to tuck him in. B looked at me like I was crazy and replied "he's at home in his cave." I've since learned happy spider has a family of his own, but they haven't been to our house. (Thank God, because I don't know if we can take any more spiders, real or imaginary)

Sometimes Happy Spider even makes an appearance around friends who are non-imaginary. This week at the playground, B was playing with some new friends and I overheard him tell them that happy spider was coming too. I couldn't help but notice it was Happy Spider who was afraid to climb all the way to the second level of the playground, not Toddler B. It reminds me of Big Bird and Snuffleupagus. I just hope this figment of B's imagination stays imaginary!

Complications

First, I'd like to clarify, I'm very lucky. When it comes to breastfeeding, both of my boys latched right away, drank like they're on the sidelines of an NFL game, and I haven't had to supplement so far with Baby Bro, never had to in the year I nursed Toddler B. But anyone whose done it knows- breastfeeding is hard. Even for those for which it comes easy- it's hard.

It's a team sport where baby and momma work together in a game set by instinct and biology. For baby it means putting in demand for milk production before growth spurts and working hard to learn a brand new digestive system. For mom it's eating healthy, eating enough, and drinking water like never before. Here in the desert, I get to double down on that last one. Which is why when I got food poisoning after five successful weeks of nursing, I got hit hard. A nursing baby is draining a moms fluid. When mom can't even keep down water, that's a big problem.

After 12 hours without being able to keep anything down, and losing nearly 5lbs, we made the decision to go to the ER so I could replenish some fluid and continue my breastfeeding journey. Ironically, after all that preparation and pain management to have a successfully needle-free labor and delivery; here I was hooked up to an I.V. With some anti-nausea meds and rehydration, everything went back to normal. Including my hungry baby boy.

At 8 weeks, baby is growing so quickly! He likes: being outside, his brother, smiling at mommy, listening to songs, playing with daddy, the octopus toy on his play mat, his cousins, and so much more!

He dislikes: tummy time, but he quickly solved that issue by learning to roll over!

Party of Four

To new mothers, they all say “sleep when the baby sleeps.” But what do you do when the baby is sleeping, and your 3-year-old baby is wide awake and running around the house playing chase with the dog, seconds from waking your baby baby? That, I’ve quickly learned, is life with two.

Baby Bro is one month old today and already making our noisy, hectic house feel more complete. His little coos, adorable expressions and sleepy snuggles have made me fall in love and it’s not just me. His older brother is absolutely infatuated! Toddler B wants to help whenever and however possible. He hands me clean diapers during changing, comforts him when he starts to cry, and doesn’t want to leave his side. It has made naptime very interesting, if nonexistent.

It hasn’t all been snuggles and cuddles. Toddler B is transitioning from being an only child to sharing the spotlight. Combined with the fact that he’s now officially a “threenager,” it means he’s taken negotiating to a new level. Every time I tell him “no” I catch a glimpse of his future as an attorney. Bringing home a newborn also means transitioning as parents from one potty-trained child who can articulate his every need, to diapering, crying and guessing- is he hungry? Sleepy? Gassy? Thankfully the answers to those questions come more easily the second time around.

We’ve been a family of four for one month now and though it takes a bit of adjustment, it feels as if we were always waiting for Baby Bro to arrive and multiply the happiness in our home.

At one month, Baby Bro likes: sleeping, playing on his play mat, listening to his brother sing songs, being outside, and snuggling.

He dislikes: garlic, we think.

It All Started with a Piece of Cake

When I look back on my labor and delivery with Toddler B, it's with fond and proud memories. I went into labor on my due date, everything went according to plan and happened very quickly. I had him naturally, with no drugs as I had intended. It was beautiful.

As we ate B's leftover birthday cake the night before my due date, I thought this labor and delivery would be just that- a piece of cake. I'd done it before, the second was "supposed" to be faster, and I'd felt so great all week I thought I might have a baby by the end of the weekend, but certainly not on my due date. What are the chances?

Then, a plastic plate hit the floor. It was the last piece of birthday cake, and without hesitating or thinking, I dove, nine months pregnant, to save a piece of cake from the dog like I was saving a child from oncoming traffic. I got up from the floor laughing hysterically at myself. Shortly after, I sent this text to my coworker: (pardon the autocorrect)

Funny, right? Well, about 10 minutes later I started feeling very unusual.

It was just past B's bedtime when the real contractions started, but the pain was all in my lower back. By 1 a.m. they were 2 minutes apart, so we went to the hospital. When we arrived, I was only 2cm dilated so we walked around slowly for an hour, still contracting every 2-3 minutes with nearly unbearable pain in my back. I hadn't progressed. The triage nurse mentioned that I was "posterior" but she wasn't concerned because it was early. I was in so much pain I didn't quite process what she was saying. Turns out, the baby was positioned with his head down, but facing the wrong direction, making it more difficult. It was around 5 a.m. and I still hadn't progressed at all. I was waking up Drew to help get me through each contraction, which were becoming fewer and farther between but just as painful. I was exhausted and defeated. The nurse gave me a Lortab to ease the pain and sent us home. I spent 5am-8am sleeping between contractions, wondering if I could birth a posterior baby. Luckily, I had a scheduled appointment at 9:30am for my due date, so I knew I could see my midwife and get some answers.

Like a crazy person, I showed up to the office for my regularly-scheduled appointment, only instead of entering the building with some sense of composure, I was crying behind my sunglasses, trying not to make a scene in the waiting room while having contractions. I didn't wait long because it turns out as soon as the front desk saw me they called a nurse. Everyone seemed more in the know than I was... when the midwife checked me I was 6cm. Time to finally go to labor and delivery! The midwife showed me a few tricks to turn the baby and after traumatizing those poor pregnant women in the waiting room on our way out with my wincing, breathing and moaning, we drove quickly right around the corner to the hospital where we were led straight into a delivery room. It was about 10am.

Contractions were strong and close together, but I still had about a 2-minute break in between and my water still hadn't broken, which according to most movies and birth stories I've heard, meant I had a little time before the baby arrived. So, when I said, "I have to go to the bathroom," the midwife told me to go ahead, but sit backwards in case I had a contraction so I could lean and breathe through it. Drew followed me and a nurse followed him, putting on her gloves. That's when it happened- my water- right into the toilet. Not a second later the baby followed- thank God the nurse was there to catch! The midwife and the rest of the nurses ran into the bathroom to assist, shocked at the sudden arrival. For a baby who seemed in no rush to get here, he certainly waited for an opportune time... and location.

Baby Bryce was born at 11:59a.m. weighing 7lbs, 15oz and measuring 20.5 inches. We briefly considered naming him "John."

The Worst Part of Being a Parent

With just a couple of weeks to go before we meet our exciting new addition, our family is already changing before my eyes. Toddler B will be three in just over a week, and recently I realized the one thing that is truly the worst part of being a parent.

It's not the sleepless nights, the toddler tantrums, the battles over bedtime or the constant worrying. The worst part is a very different kind of unknown.

Last Thursday, B stopped napping. Usually on weekends he would consistently fall asleep in the car, I'd carry him inside on my shoulder and snuggle on the sofa, snoozing for an hour or two before snack time. He still looks like a baby when he's asleep. Not just a blur of activity and motion and dirt and noise like he does during every waking hour. He's safe and warm and comfortable in his mommy's arms. But last Thursday, he stopped napping.

Maybe he'll do it again on occasion after a busy day or while battling a cold, but I don't know when that will be or if it will happen or how many times. I realized... the worst part of parenting is not knowing when it's the last time, while you're in the last time.

Someday I will nap with him on the sofa in my arms for the last time. It may have already happened. Someday I will carry him from the car for the last time, or help him use the potty, or put a band-aid on a hurt knee. On all of these occasions I will just go about the task routinely, unaware of the monumental privilege I may never have again. The last time will come and go, only for me to try to remember later when I realize there hasn't been another.

They don't tell us. We don't get a notification. It's not written down in a book of developmental milestones. There's no fanfare or celebration or recognition. These moments just pass as part of life.

Soon I'll be singing happy birthday to my baby boy. And welcoming another life that will be full of last times. Luckily for me we all still have so many firsts to look forward to.

Almost Ready

At 36 weeks, we're officially a month away from our baby boy. After a pretty rough third trimester riddled with cold virus after cold virus because of my compromised immune system, I'm finally feeling normal again, or at least as normal as one can feel while carrying a bowling ball around in their stomach all day and night. I recently came to an agreement with my baby bump, that he'll arrive at a time and date convenient with my busy schedule. After all, it's the least he can do for putting me through all that discomfort.

So far, he's holding up his end of the bargain as we get ready for his arrival and I wrap up our most important project of the year at work, as well as plan Toddler B's third birthday party. I still have a few things to check off my list- install the infant car seat, pack a hospital bag, etc. But we recently completed one major transition that was essential for baby's arrival- B's big boy bed.

If there's one pregnancy stereotype that's true in my case, it's nesting. I love getting the house ready for a new baby even if it means redesigning a toddler room instead of a nursery. Since we already have what we need for a baby from Toddler B, I was excited to take on the task of painting, planning and assembling everything in his brand new room. Don't worry, I wore a medical mask while painting and I only lifted half a bed. Despite crazy looks from my

husband for being a little too ambitious for someone in their third trimester, we finished B's new superhero room just in time for the
new year. He loves his new room and his new bed!

The nursery has been converted back into a true nursery with diapers and all, and is waiting for its new tenant. 

At 36 weeks, baby boy weighs almost 6lbs and should be about 18 inches long (although the kicks in my ribcage indicate he may be as tall as his brother was.)