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babyhood / LIVING WELL / MOTHERHOOD
I feel like I should put a disclaimer at the beginning of everything I write these days–something about not being held accountable for my thoughts and words and misspellings and jumbled ideas because of my sleep-deprived, over-tired state.
The newborn fog is still lingering over the mommycoddle household. Birdy has proved to be quite a fussy baby and we are trying to get to the bottom of what might be causing it. As my husband explained when we turned down an Easter dinner invitation–she's either nursing, napping or screaming.
A trip to the pediatrician last week has us thinking she may have acid reflux. She's on some medicine that will hopefully bring her relief, but it takes a few weeks to really see the changes. It's been a rough start to the world, for sweet Birdy.
In the meantime, I'm learning to celebrate the little victories–like finding time to shower, or wash the breakfast dishes before dinner time, or sit outside in the sun. This morning, I miraculously managed to clean Elizabeth and Mary's bedroom, with their help. Today's little victory.
The girls have been amazingly supportive and easy-going about life's temporary lack of balance. They aren't put off by the crying, but come swooping in with gentle rubs on Birdy's head, kisses and cooing.
And I am working hard to shake the mommy-guilt of all the things that aren't being done that should be getting done. It's hard sometimes to fight, but I know this too shall pass. And I'm doing my best to cut myself some slack, take that nap, ignore that mess, let people help, and celebrate the little moments in each day that make it sweet.
I feel like I should put a disclaimer at the beginning of everything I write these days–something about not being held accountable for my thoughts and words and misspellings and jumbled ideas because of my sleep-deprived, over-tired state.
The newborn fog is still lingering over the mommycoddle household. Birdy has proved to be quite a fussy baby and we are trying to get to the bottom of what might be causing it. As my husband explained when we turned down an Easter dinner invitation–she's either nursing, napping or screaming.
A trip to the pediatrician last week has us thinking she may have acid reflux. She's on some medicine that will hopefully bring her relief, but it takes a few weeks to really see the changes. It's been a rough start to the world, for sweet Birdy.
In the meantime, I'm learning to celebrate the little victories–like finding time to shower, or wash the breakfast dishes before dinner time, or sit outside in the sun. This morning, I miraculously managed to clean Elizabeth and Mary's bedroom, with their help. Today's little victory.
The girls have been amazingly supportive and easy-going about life's temporary lack of balance. They aren't put off by the crying, but come swooping in with gentle rubs on Birdy's head, kisses and cooing.
And I am working hard to shake the mommy-guilt of all the things that aren't being done that should be getting done. It's hard sometimes to fight, but I know this too shall pass. And I'm doing my best to cut myself some slack, take that nap, ignore that mess, let people help, and celebrate the little moments in each day that make it sweet.
animal kingdom / DAILY FARM LIFE / life on thomas run
Last fall, when our ducks finally grew up, flew off and never returned, my uncle casually mentioned that maybe they would come back in the spring to nest somewhere on our farm.
And just a few weeks ago, two of the three started to show up again. They'd fly in low together, doing circles around our fields and then move on. We'd see them land at the neighbor's farm. Or watch them fly over down by the stream.
We were all so excited to see them return. It was a big event to have a duck sighting.
By last week they were bravely hanging around in our yard early in the mornings when Dan would leave for work. We knew they were our ducks–wandering around among the cats and the dogs completely unintimidated by their presence. We loved hearing their telltale duck laughter letting us know they were here.
But sadly, this weekend we found one of the girls nestled in the grass alongside the road. She wasn't flying, was bleeding a bit from her beak and had trouble walking. We're not sure what happened to her.
So for now, she's back in her first home while we watch her closely to see if her body can fix itself. She's eating a little bit, drinking a little bit, but mostly resting.
We're hoping our bittersweet reunion with her will have a happy ending.
Last fall, when our ducks finally grew up, flew off and never returned, my uncle casually mentioned that maybe they would come back in the spring to nest somewhere on our farm.
And just a few weeks ago, two of the three started to show up again. They'd fly in low together, doing circles around our fields and then move on. We'd see them land at the neighbor's farm. Or watch them fly over down by the stream.
We were all so excited to see them return. It was a big event to have a duck sighting.
By last week they were bravely hanging around in our yard early in the mornings when Dan would leave for work. We knew they were our ducks–wandering around among the cats and the dogs completely unintimidated by their presence. We loved hearing their telltale duck laughter letting us know they were here.
But sadly, this weekend we found one of the girls nestled in the grass alongside the road. She wasn't flying, was bleeding a bit from her beak and had trouble walking. We're not sure what happened to her.
So for now, she's back in her first home while we watch her closely to see if her body can fix itself. She's eating a little bit, drinking a little bit, but mostly resting.
We're hoping our bittersweet reunion with her will have a happy ending.
home / life on thomas run
It’s funny how twenty minutes outdoors, with my camera around my neck, suddenly feels like a luxury. I’d like to bottle this weather and put in my pocket–save it for a…wickedly hot and humid day in August.
And these forsythia are irresistible. There is one that taps at the window in the living room. I’ve been watching it slowly open and bloom from my perch on the sofa.
I wandered around with my camera for a bit this afternoon, once I got Birdy down for a nap. The forsythia were begging to have their picture taken in the late afternoon sun.
The cats were loitering around the shed, hoping we might just feed them one more time. Henry, the king of all cats, sits on the roof of the shed–his favorite overlook.
The row of bushes and trees makes me think of mowing season. The diving in and out of them on the mower. The bugs and spider webs dropping on my shirt, in my hair, the branches scratching across my face and arms. I can’t believe it’s already time to mow again.
The tree swing is rarely at rest. It seems that every time I look out my kitchen window I can see it swaying back and forth. We’re all relieved to see tiny buds forming on the branches of this late bloomer. We were worried we’d lost her after the lightning hit.
I love the changing of seasons, spring in particular. The open windows, the longer days, the way it feels to be outside again after a winter gathered around the wood stove in the living room.
Welcome, spring!
It’s funny how twenty minutes outdoors, with my camera around my neck, suddenly feels like a luxury. I’d like to bottle this weather and put in my pocket–save it for a…wickedly hot and humid day in August.
And these forsythia are irresistible. There is one that taps at the window in the living room. I’ve been watching it slowly open and bloom from my perch on the sofa.
I wandered around with my camera for a bit this afternoon, once I got Birdy down for a nap. The forsythia were begging to have their picture taken in the late afternoon sun.
The cats were loitering around the shed, hoping we might just feed them one more time. Henry, the king of all cats, sits on the roof of the shed–his favorite overlook.
The row of bushes and trees makes me think of mowing season. The diving in and out of them on the mower. The bugs and spider webs dropping on my shirt, in my hair, the branches scratching across my face and arms. I can’t believe it’s already time to mow again.
The tree swing is rarely at rest. It seems that every time I look out my kitchen window I can see it swaying back and forth. We’re all relieved to see tiny buds forming on the branches of this late bloomer. We were worried we’d lost her after the lightning hit.
I love the changing of seasons, spring in particular. The open windows, the longer days, the way it feels to be outside again after a winter gathered around the wood stove in the living room.
Welcome, spring!
