Tuesday, July 23, 2013

A Woman in her Thirties and her Ultra-Hip Diaper Bag

I'm fairly sure that anyone reading this blog knows that I'm not exactly a fashionista.  From comfort shoes to Target tee-shirts, let's just say I'm not gracing the cover of any stay-at-home mom magazines.  My lack of fashion sense is something that I've learned to accept about myself over the years.  Other women in their thirties stake out the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale (on now!), but I'm much more in tune with the Barnes and Noble picks of the week.

However, things have gotten a little out of hand lately.  Though my clothing choices and certainly my shoe choices leave much to be desired, I've always kind of prided myself on carrying a nice purse. This isn't to make any sort of fashion statement, rather it's a way for me to feel okay about never switching bags.  Even before I had kids I carried a big purse. It was usually something designer (Summer) and very versatile and would carry my books, my giant wallet, my phone, several tubes of Chap-Stick, and other random paraphernalia.  When I did have kids, I started carrying this:

Which was big and fine and Gwen Stefani uses Skip Hop products so that makes it a little trendy, right?  RIGHT??

And then my kids started getting really big.  And MOBILE.  See this video for an example:

I mean, seriously.  They never stop.  And so I figured it was time to stop trying to wrestle my giant diaper bag AND both banshees:

And get a backpack.

Yes, ladies.  Think about it.  Me in my Chacos, Target yoga pants, Whatever's-on-sale tank tops, and a backpack.  No makeup.  We won't discuss the hair.

Looking good.

Anyway, to save whatever shred of dignity I had left in the fashion department I did some due diligence and researched.  Skip Hop has a back pack... it's way bigger than even I wanted.  There are countless other varieties, all in the hundreds of dollars, and I passed on all of them.  Too this, too that, not enough whatever...

Until I found this gem sitting in Anna's closet:

It is perfect.  Perfect size, perfect amount of compartments. Easily wipeable on the inside and forces me to carry less stuff so I can wrangle these two:

What?  That looks familiar, you say?  Well, maybe I should zoom in on that white tag on the bottom, there:

Why, yes, fellow mommas.  You have seen this bag before.  The generous souls at Similac gave it to you in the hospital when you had your babies and your boobs were about to fall off from trying to nurse for the first time.

'Here,' the bag whispers. 'Take this, you poor, tired momma... and some formula...'  I'm sure this backpack is still stained from the tears I wept in the hospital that first time, during nursing hell.

Ah, memories.

Inside I found the long-expired formula samples, and when I threw them out I realized that this backpack was the one.  The ONE.

'You could at least cut the tag out,' a friend told me, thinking that she was saving me some humiliation.  But no.  That is not happening.  I'm workin' this back, just like I'm workin' being a Mom.  A woman in her thirties works it.

And with the money I saved buying a new backpack, I think some Anniversary Sale Frye boots might be in order.

Friday, July 19, 2013

A Woman in her Thirties in Pictures

I have so much to say.  So much.  There is so much going on.  All good stuff (no, I'm not pregnant, stop it).  While I've always found this blog as a great way to process each life event one step at a time, I really haven't been able to do that in the last couple of months.

Because things with the book are happening... gulp... and it's all been such a crazy learning process that I don't even know where to begin.  I'll be able to write about it soon, but suffice it to say I feel totally excited about making a life-long dream come true and completely terrified of doing just that.

Kind of like having babies.

So, speaking of babies, here are a few pics of Anna from our last session with Kim of Mimsydotes to tide you over.  She kills me.  They both do.  

My Mom was there, too!  So cool.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

A Woman in her Thirties and her Little Mister

Dear Mister Mister,

It's been awhile since I've written a quiz, so how about I surprise you with one now.

Mom is more than two weeks late writing my first birthday letter because:

A)  She's been too busy
B)  She's been waiting on Mimsydotes' amazing pictures of you
C)  She's been a bit of an emotional wreck about it, so she's been putting it off for fear of dissolving into a pile of goo when she starts writing.

We all know that any woman in her thirties can use excuse #1, pretty much at any time.  Excuse #2 is sort of true, and sure enough Mimsydotes did deliver:

However, let's just be honest.  The answer is C.  Because last year, this happened:

And now, this:

And that's a whole lot for a woman in her thirties to take.

So let's start with the easy stuff, which is to say your general awesomeness.  You, Mr. Handsome, could also be called Mr. Curious:

Mr. Chunky Booty:
Or Mr. Daredevil:
(Look closely and you'll see your first shiner, received while catapulting toward a toy piano.)

You are the opposite of your sister in so many ways, which has thrown me for a loop.  But, just like her, you experience life with such joy that it's impossible not to be infected by it when in your presence.

You love yogurt, graham crackers (your first word besides Ma Ma and Da Da), and milk. And you love, love love your sister.

Most of the time.

I imagine that any person who's had more than one child understands the anxiety of getting through the first year.  You know how hard it is with one, and the thought of another is enough to cause heart palpitations.  Or maybe that's just me.  What I'm trying to say is that I'm pretty darn proud of myself for getting through this last year with you.  It's been hard, I'm not going to lie.  I often felt so bogged down with logistics (and foggy from a lack of sleep, you stinker), that I'm afraid I didn't enjoy the little moments with you.  I didn't fall asleep with you in my arms; I didn't spend an afternoon playing with your toes.  It was go, go, go.

Look out, buddy.

Non stop.  The entire year.

And yet.

Here comes the mushy part.

There hasn't been a single day that I haven't thanked God for you; for us.  Even at my most sleep-deprived and chaotic, even when your Dad was gone on business for weeks at a time, it's always been with me.


Aaron, I'm not sure I'll ever get you to fully understand how lucky we both are.  Even your Dad, your tough-as-nails Da-Da, has gotten a little choked up over the last week at the milestone that is your birthday.

How beyond blessed we are to have you with us. How we weren't complete until you came.  How happy this birthday really, truly is.

I think your pediatrician said it best when I brought you in for your first appointment, last year at this time.  You were only a few days old, fresh out of your stay in the NICU and not quite six pounds.  She knew our story while I was pregnant, and hearing how you came into the world had us both in tears.

'Sometimes we forget,' she said.  'What a miracle it really is to have a child.'

Miracle, indeed, Mr. B.  And you are mine.


Saturday, July 6, 2013

A Woman in her Thirties' Hodgepodge

Look, I'm sorry.  Two weeks without a blog post?  And, um, HELLO, but your BABY just turned ONE and where the heck is his monthly gush-fest letter?

It's coming, I promise.  I'm all jumbled up right now with all kinds of stuff going on.  But a woman in her thirties doesn't leave her readers hanging, so here is a mixture of pics to keep you happy until I can sit down and un-jumble.


First Twins game

Among friends at the P-Villle 4th of July Parade

And other random hodgepodgery:

Happy (and busy!) Summer!