I just wanted to tell you all THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart for all of the sweet comments on my last post.
Something in my heart told me to write my story, and I was super hesitant to post it. However, I know that a lot of women have suffered in silence through miscarriage, and I didn't want them to feel alone the way I did. I truly believe that each baby is a blessing from God, no matter how long we get to nurture and care for it. Whether we hold them in our arms, or only in our hearts, they will always be our babies.
Thank you all so much for giving me the confidence to not only write about the funny, happy times, but also about how much being a mommy can hurt. I know now that I can be open and honest and trust that my words will not bring judgement.
Thank You.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Friday, January 23, 2015
Nobody Wants to Talk About It
Miscarriage.
It is such a scary word, and one that is linked to so much grief, sorrow, and sadness.
After trying for 6 months, calculating every twinge in my ovaries, we finally got the double lines on the pregnancy test. Everyone knows that 6 months is about the average amount of time it takes for an average couple to get pregnant, but it seemed like years. Every month I would pee on a million sticks to check if I was ovulating, and then I would pee on a million more to see if this would be the month that we would finally get a positive test. FINALLY, it happened. We found out in April, the due date was January 21st (which was also my due date= fate), and although I knew that not all pregnancies develop normally, I didn't personally know many people who had suffered a miscarriage ( until after I had one), so I quietly and carefully told my closest friends and family. I chose to keep it off of social media until after our first ultrasound at 9 weeks, but the news spread quickly.
Those 9 weeks crept by even slower than the previous 6 months.
I immediately began ordering baby clothes, picking out strollers, buying maternity clothes, and planning our nursery. Every conversation between my husband and I revolved around baby names and plans for the next year when we would finally be parents. I began taking my weekly belly photographs, and even preparing for our announcement photo shoot. Saying that we were excited is an understatement.
Oddly (or maybe not so oddly), I continued to take pregnancy tests throughout those weeks that lead up to the appointment. With none of the normal signs of pregnancy (headaches, nausea, heightened sense of smell, cravings) I needed reassurance that I really was pregnant. It was still new and exciting each time I saw the positive.
I woke up the morning of our doctor visit and felt sick to my stomach with nerves. I even cried on the way there. It's like I knew deep down that we would be getting bad news and I refused to let myself get too excited.
As we entered the ultrasound room for the first time, I remember feeling like all of the air was being sucked out of me. I got up on the table, and lifted my shirt and prepared to see nothing in my belly. But, there it was. That little white blob up on the screen. The one I just knew that I wouldn't get to see. I WAS pregnant, and instantly relieved. My husband and I shot wide smiles of pride at each other as I asked the ultrasound tech, "is that our baby?" She responded with a bland "yes" and left it at that. We were dying to get the inside scoop, to finally learn something about our baby, and before we knew it, the nurse had left the room and our doctor entered without a trace of a smile. He sat down quietly, and began to measure the blob on the screen, not saying anything.
I could feel the room getting warmer, as our hearts began to melt. We knew that something was wrong. The silence told us everything we needed to know. There was no laughter, no talking, no heartbeat coming from the speakers.
The doctor simply said, "I'm so sorry." And then he left the room for us to gather our thoughts and have a moment to ourselves.
As soon as that door closed behind him, I melted into my husband's arms, and they weren't the strong, sturdy arms that I was used to falling into. He was melting too. We sank into a nearby chair, and cried together...for the first time ever. For the first time, we felt the same pain. It brought us closer than we had ever been. We didn't even know how much we loved that baby whom we had never met, who had no name, who had no gender, but we loved him or her so much.
Once we picked our hearts up off the floor and dried each other's tears, we met with the doctor in a regular room. He talked to us about the choices we had and the different options for "getting rid" of the baby. Even though it could be days, or weeks, I chose to allow my body to recognize that the pregnancy had been lost, and to let everything happen naturally. I couldn't stand the idea of electing to have my baby forcefully removed from my womb.
It took three weeks for the miscarriage process to begin. I was 12 weeks along, almost to the end of what should have been a glorious first trimester. I was off of work for the summer, and I spent those weeks in quiet hopes that the doctors had been wrong. I appreciate every minute of those three weeks that I got to spend being a mommy to this baby. On July 4th, I decided that I was tired of sitting around waiting for "it" to happen, so we jumped on our boat and headed to "the islands," our happy place, to spend the holiday. When we returned to the marina that night to watch the fireworks with our family, the process had begun. I didn't mention a word about it to anyone, and allowed our parents to unknowingly spend the last night with the grandchild they would never really know. I told husband what was happening once we got home on that stormy night, and we spent the whole night curled up in bed together. He was by my side through the whole thing. Labor didn't really start until the early hours of the morning, and by that time I was so deliriously sick and in pain that the hours seemed to pass like the lightening outside. By the time the sun decided to shine, it was all over, and my 12 weeks of being a mommy had gone as fast as they had come.
It's amazing that a time in your life when you hurt so bad, and need so much, people seem to distance themselves the most. Nobody wanted to talk about it. I understand. It is awkward, it is sad, and nobody really knows what to say. But, it was so lonely. I still look at those weeks directly before and after I lost my baby as some of the loneliest days of my life. People are still weird when I bring up my angel baby in heaven, my sweet Price's older brother or sister, the baby that made me a mommy.
Now that a couple of years have passed, and I have a healthy, beautiful baby boy, people seem to have forgotten that this ever even happened. But I will never forget the love that I felt during those 12 weeks. And my connection with Price is so much stronger, and he is so much more appreciated because I know that those two lines on a pregnancy test do not mean that you will welcome a baby in 9 months. He is a beautiful blessing that my first baby taught me how to be thankful for.
I will never take for granted how blessed I am to be a mom, and how easily that dream can be lost.
It is such a scary word, and one that is linked to so much grief, sorrow, and sadness.
After trying for 6 months, calculating every twinge in my ovaries, we finally got the double lines on the pregnancy test. Everyone knows that 6 months is about the average amount of time it takes for an average couple to get pregnant, but it seemed like years. Every month I would pee on a million sticks to check if I was ovulating, and then I would pee on a million more to see if this would be the month that we would finally get a positive test. FINALLY, it happened. We found out in April, the due date was January 21st (which was also my due date= fate), and although I knew that not all pregnancies develop normally, I didn't personally know many people who had suffered a miscarriage ( until after I had one), so I quietly and carefully told my closest friends and family. I chose to keep it off of social media until after our first ultrasound at 9 weeks, but the news spread quickly.
Those 9 weeks crept by even slower than the previous 6 months.
I immediately began ordering baby clothes, picking out strollers, buying maternity clothes, and planning our nursery. Every conversation between my husband and I revolved around baby names and plans for the next year when we would finally be parents. I began taking my weekly belly photographs, and even preparing for our announcement photo shoot. Saying that we were excited is an understatement.
Oddly (or maybe not so oddly), I continued to take pregnancy tests throughout those weeks that lead up to the appointment. With none of the normal signs of pregnancy (headaches, nausea, heightened sense of smell, cravings) I needed reassurance that I really was pregnant. It was still new and exciting each time I saw the positive.
I woke up the morning of our doctor visit and felt sick to my stomach with nerves. I even cried on the way there. It's like I knew deep down that we would be getting bad news and I refused to let myself get too excited.
As we entered the ultrasound room for the first time, I remember feeling like all of the air was being sucked out of me. I got up on the table, and lifted my shirt and prepared to see nothing in my belly. But, there it was. That little white blob up on the screen. The one I just knew that I wouldn't get to see. I WAS pregnant, and instantly relieved. My husband and I shot wide smiles of pride at each other as I asked the ultrasound tech, "is that our baby?" She responded with a bland "yes" and left it at that. We were dying to get the inside scoop, to finally learn something about our baby, and before we knew it, the nurse had left the room and our doctor entered without a trace of a smile. He sat down quietly, and began to measure the blob on the screen, not saying anything.
I could feel the room getting warmer, as our hearts began to melt. We knew that something was wrong. The silence told us everything we needed to know. There was no laughter, no talking, no heartbeat coming from the speakers.
The doctor simply said, "I'm so sorry." And then he left the room for us to gather our thoughts and have a moment to ourselves.
As soon as that door closed behind him, I melted into my husband's arms, and they weren't the strong, sturdy arms that I was used to falling into. He was melting too. We sank into a nearby chair, and cried together...for the first time ever. For the first time, we felt the same pain. It brought us closer than we had ever been. We didn't even know how much we loved that baby whom we had never met, who had no name, who had no gender, but we loved him or her so much.
Once we picked our hearts up off the floor and dried each other's tears, we met with the doctor in a regular room. He talked to us about the choices we had and the different options for "getting rid" of the baby. Even though it could be days, or weeks, I chose to allow my body to recognize that the pregnancy had been lost, and to let everything happen naturally. I couldn't stand the idea of electing to have my baby forcefully removed from my womb.
It took three weeks for the miscarriage process to begin. I was 12 weeks along, almost to the end of what should have been a glorious first trimester. I was off of work for the summer, and I spent those weeks in quiet hopes that the doctors had been wrong. I appreciate every minute of those three weeks that I got to spend being a mommy to this baby. On July 4th, I decided that I was tired of sitting around waiting for "it" to happen, so we jumped on our boat and headed to "the islands," our happy place, to spend the holiday. When we returned to the marina that night to watch the fireworks with our family, the process had begun. I didn't mention a word about it to anyone, and allowed our parents to unknowingly spend the last night with the grandchild they would never really know. I told husband what was happening once we got home on that stormy night, and we spent the whole night curled up in bed together. He was by my side through the whole thing. Labor didn't really start until the early hours of the morning, and by that time I was so deliriously sick and in pain that the hours seemed to pass like the lightening outside. By the time the sun decided to shine, it was all over, and my 12 weeks of being a mommy had gone as fast as they had come.
It's amazing that a time in your life when you hurt so bad, and need so much, people seem to distance themselves the most. Nobody wanted to talk about it. I understand. It is awkward, it is sad, and nobody really knows what to say. But, it was so lonely. I still look at those weeks directly before and after I lost my baby as some of the loneliest days of my life. People are still weird when I bring up my angel baby in heaven, my sweet Price's older brother or sister, the baby that made me a mommy.
Now that a couple of years have passed, and I have a healthy, beautiful baby boy, people seem to have forgotten that this ever even happened. But I will never forget the love that I felt during those 12 weeks. And my connection with Price is so much stronger, and he is so much more appreciated because I know that those two lines on a pregnancy test do not mean that you will welcome a baby in 9 months. He is a beautiful blessing that my first baby taught me how to be thankful for.
I will never take for granted how blessed I am to be a mom, and how easily that dream can be lost.
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| Photo by: Delaina Marie Photography |
Thursday, January 22, 2015
And Then It Ended
My breastfeeding journey has had ups and downs, but way more downs than ups.
When Price was born, it took a little over an hour for him to finally latch on. But, he did, and he did a great job. He ate constantly, and seemed to fall asleep satisfied. He was having the right amount of poops and pees, and I was just positive that things were going well. But then we had our first doctor's appointment for a weight check the day after we left the hospital. Price had lost another 3 oz. on top of the 8 oz he had already lost during our hospital stay (which is normal). We continued to have weight checks every other day for 2 weeks, and his weight was just not budging. He wasn't losing, but he wasn't gaining. He was eating what seemed like all the time. I was getting advice from every direction and trying to take it all into consideration, but nothing seemed to help him gain weight. I had seen lactation consultants, talked to my mom, my breastfeeding friends, and everyone just said to keep trying. So I did.
At Price's 1 month appointment, he was still 3 oz below his birth weight of 6lb, 7oz, and that was even after I had began supplementing with my best friend's breast milk. The doctor said the words I had been scared to hear...
"He is a failure to thrive."
The doctor pointed out his sagging skin and wrinkled head where there should be small baby fat rolls forming. I finally saw that he was not doing well. He slept too much for a new breastfed baby, and his newborn clothes still swallowed him.
The guilt was too much to handle. I felt like I had been starving my baby for my selfish need to breastfeed. I wanted nothing more than to do what was best for him, but in that process I had harmed him. I knew that breast milk was best for him, but I just wasn't able to produce enough for him. Then I felt guilty for having to give him formula. It was a no win situation for me, but I knew that I had to do it for him.
I continued to breastfeed for every feeding, and then I would give him formula after. I tried EVERYTHING to get my supply up so that we could go back to just breastfeeding, but it just never happened. I pumped and nursed constantly, around the clock. I took herbal supplements and drank special tea. I drank my weight in water and made sure I was getting enough calories. Nothing worked.
Then came the unbelievable gas, constipation, and screaming. Price has an intolerance to cow's milk protein. I had to go three days without nursing to let the dairy get out of my system. I pumped as often as I could, but I knew my supply was dropping even more. Finally when we could nurse again, he went right back to it with no problems, but my milk supply had suffered and showed no signs of returning.
I continued to tell myself that any breast milk is better than none.
When I returned to work after 8 weeks off, it was so hard to continue to work on building up my milk supply and I just knew that after a month of supplementing with formula, Price would never be exclusively breastfed again. I still pump as many times a day as possible to give him whatever I can. And up until last week (4 months old), I continued to nurse any time he would agree.
And then he quit. He just stopped. I went to nurse him one night, which is how he was always fed if he woke up, and he just refused it. And he hasn't nursed since.
I am so heartbroken that I didn't know that his last time was his last time. I would have savored it more, and rubbed his little cheek, and admired his little noises against the quiet night. I wouldn't have wished it away so that I could get back to sleep.
I still try everyday just in case he decides he wants to nurse again, but it hasn't happened yet, and I doubt it will. I still pump throughout the day to bottle feed him as much breast milk as possible. And I still feel a nagging guilt for not trying harder in the beginning, for starving my baby, and for our dependence on formula.
Why is motherhood so riddled with constant guilt that I'm not doing a good enough job? Being a mom is hard. But in the end, I know that my baby is fed, he is happy, he has fat cheeks, he still gets breast milk and all of the benefits from it, and I know that I really did try all that I could.
When Price was born, it took a little over an hour for him to finally latch on. But, he did, and he did a great job. He ate constantly, and seemed to fall asleep satisfied. He was having the right amount of poops and pees, and I was just positive that things were going well. But then we had our first doctor's appointment for a weight check the day after we left the hospital. Price had lost another 3 oz. on top of the 8 oz he had already lost during our hospital stay (which is normal). We continued to have weight checks every other day for 2 weeks, and his weight was just not budging. He wasn't losing, but he wasn't gaining. He was eating what seemed like all the time. I was getting advice from every direction and trying to take it all into consideration, but nothing seemed to help him gain weight. I had seen lactation consultants, talked to my mom, my breastfeeding friends, and everyone just said to keep trying. So I did.
At Price's 1 month appointment, he was still 3 oz below his birth weight of 6lb, 7oz, and that was even after I had began supplementing with my best friend's breast milk. The doctor said the words I had been scared to hear...
"He is a failure to thrive."
The doctor pointed out his sagging skin and wrinkled head where there should be small baby fat rolls forming. I finally saw that he was not doing well. He slept too much for a new breastfed baby, and his newborn clothes still swallowed him.
The guilt was too much to handle. I felt like I had been starving my baby for my selfish need to breastfeed. I wanted nothing more than to do what was best for him, but in that process I had harmed him. I knew that breast milk was best for him, but I just wasn't able to produce enough for him. Then I felt guilty for having to give him formula. It was a no win situation for me, but I knew that I had to do it for him.
I continued to breastfeed for every feeding, and then I would give him formula after. I tried EVERYTHING to get my supply up so that we could go back to just breastfeeding, but it just never happened. I pumped and nursed constantly, around the clock. I took herbal supplements and drank special tea. I drank my weight in water and made sure I was getting enough calories. Nothing worked.
Then came the unbelievable gas, constipation, and screaming. Price has an intolerance to cow's milk protein. I had to go three days without nursing to let the dairy get out of my system. I pumped as often as I could, but I knew my supply was dropping even more. Finally when we could nurse again, he went right back to it with no problems, but my milk supply had suffered and showed no signs of returning.
I continued to tell myself that any breast milk is better than none.
When I returned to work after 8 weeks off, it was so hard to continue to work on building up my milk supply and I just knew that after a month of supplementing with formula, Price would never be exclusively breastfed again. I still pump as many times a day as possible to give him whatever I can. And up until last week (4 months old), I continued to nurse any time he would agree.
And then he quit. He just stopped. I went to nurse him one night, which is how he was always fed if he woke up, and he just refused it. And he hasn't nursed since.
I am so heartbroken that I didn't know that his last time was his last time. I would have savored it more, and rubbed his little cheek, and admired his little noises against the quiet night. I wouldn't have wished it away so that I could get back to sleep.
I still try everyday just in case he decides he wants to nurse again, but it hasn't happened yet, and I doubt it will. I still pump throughout the day to bottle feed him as much breast milk as possible. And I still feel a nagging guilt for not trying harder in the beginning, for starving my baby, and for our dependence on formula.
Why is motherhood so riddled with constant guilt that I'm not doing a good enough job? Being a mom is hard. But in the end, I know that my baby is fed, he is happy, he has fat cheeks, he still gets breast milk and all of the benefits from it, and I know that I really did try all that I could.
Terrible Morning, Great Day
This morning, I learned about mama superpowers. I also learned where those powers come from.
Husband has been at work for 24 hours, leaving me home alone with a teething, sick four month old and two big, spoiled, extremely demanding and needy fur babies.
Here is how my morning went:
Baby decides to wake up (screaming/ crying) every 1.2 hours throughout the entire night. It takes mama 30 minutes to fall back asleep once the baby is settled each time. You do the math. He also will only sleep on top of me and only if I'm sitting up. Perfect position for me to get some rest, right?
Baby makes the official wake up call and is finally happy and awake for the day at 5AM. No big deal, I wasn't going to get any sleep anyway. Might as well do something productive.
We get up, he eats breakfast and at the same time makes an explosive poop. You know, the change the whole outfit including the socks kind of poop. But, he doesn't want to take a break from his breakfast so he is angry. Can you imagine how that diaper change went?
Diaper changed, headed back to the living room to finish breakfast (wishing I had an IV of coffee, but a cup will do) and on the way we get the lovely projectile spit up... right down my shirt which is already soaked from my hormonal reaction to a screaming baby all night (ie: milk). We get cleaned up. Finish baby's breakfast.
I let the dogs out to potty. I make more coffee. I hook up breast pump. I feed dogs. I let dogs in to eat. I start pumping.
One minute into pumping and I hear a dog gagging at the door... that's right, more vomit. None of it my own. I ignore it. Husband can clean that junk up when he gets home. I've dealt with enough bodily fluids this morning already.
I continue to pump. Alarm goes off in bedroom (this is when I SHOULD be waking up). Alarm scares baby, angers dogs. I detach from pump. Turn off alarm. Spill half of pumped milk while rehooking pump (and want to cry). Take deep breath and a giant gulp of coffee. Continue to pump. Get ready for the day, pack the car, make lunch, wash pump parts, grab another cup of coffee (all while holding/ entertaining baby), load up baby.
Look in the rear view mirror. Baby smiles.
And now, it's all worth it.
Conclusion: Baby smiles give mamas super powers.
Today will be great because 1) After all of this, I still managed to have a smiling baby, and 2) My awesome husband brought me breakfast to work, so after this crazy morning, at least I won't be starving.
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| That smile makes it all worth it. |
Friday, January 9, 2015
Who will 28 be?
As I'm closing in on my 28th birthday, I can't help but look back on how much has changed in the past year. Above all, the thing that has changed the most is me.
Less than four months ago I was a carefree, newlywed, twenty something who drank lots of wine (not while pregnant, obviously), loved to shop, had plenty of time for friends and social events, and even more spare time to actually give away through volunteering. I spoiled my husband, cleaned my house, played with my dogs, visited friends, held dinner parties, got haircuts and pedicures on the regular, and actually shaved my legs more than once a week (even if I was going to wear pants!).
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| 26 and Completely Free |
I begged God for change. I was tired of living so frivolously. I wanted more. I decided that what my husband and I needed was a baby! We were ready to be parents. Little did I know, that as of January 3rd 2014, we would get that positive pregnancy test and our dream was only a short time away from being a reality.
My husband and I lived it up in 2013. 26 was a great year.We went camping in the mountains, white water rafting, took beach vacations, and went snow skiing. It's like we knew that 2014 would be different. And oh boy, was it different. At 27, reality slapped me in the face, even before the baby's arrival. We went on zero vacations in 2014. Instead, we saved every penny, rearranged the house, bought baby furniture, cancelled plans with friends because I didn't want to be the pregnant party pooper. I had to limit everything I loved, from coffee and wine to staying up late. It felt like everything had a limit. There was a limit to how much of "this" or "that" I could eat, there was a limit to how much money I could spend, there was a limit to how much weight I should gain, how much exercising I could do. I had never felt so limited. 27, although we were blessed with an amazingly easy pregnancy and the most beautiful boy in the world, was a tough year of a lot of change.
And here we are now. It's 2015, I'm a mom, and I'm about to turn 28.
What will this year bring?
I know that I will get a limited amount of sleep, I will have a limited amount of money available to spend on "me", there will be limited social engagements, and limited alone time. The limits that I hadn't known at 26, and showed up at 27, will still be a part of 28.
But, even with all of those limits still in place for this year, 28 and mommyhood will introduce lots of limitless joys that I've never known before. I will get more kissses, laughs, and cuddles than I could have ever imagined. I will get to watch the love of my life grow as a father, nurturer, and husband. I will witness my sweet boy's first giggles, first words, and first steps. I will connect with other moms who will become new friends. And I'm positive that my heart will grow even more than it has in these last few short months. I will learn to give more, and take less; to listen more and talk less; and to put someone else's needs before my own. 28 may just be my best year yet.
It's so hard to say goodbye to the person you've known yourself to be for so long. Becoming a mommy means saying goodbye to your own body, your own time, extra money, and so much more. But, it also means saying hello to a whole new world that just may be even better than all of that other stuff. My goal for 28 (on top of being the best mommy in the world) is to learn to truly love this new me. Change isn't always bad, even if it's hard.
Cheers to 28!
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Endless Guilt of the Working Mom
It's OK to work, mama.
Everybody says it's harder for me than it is for baby, but I can't help but think how scary it is for him to go to sleep in the car with mommy and then wake up to no mommy. It's not at all that I don't love and trust who he wakes up with once I'm gone, it's the fact that I feel like I'm tricking him everyday. I know that he will adjust eventually, and I will too, but it hasn't happened yet.
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| Would you be ok leaving this every day? |
I will never make peace with the fact that I have to cut our morning "talks" and play time short to get ready for work. I'll never make peace with the fact that I'm missing 50 hours a week of my baby's laughs, smiles, cuddles, and even his cries. I'm not there to soothe him, or feed him, or teach him. I missed the first time he rolled from his belly to his back, and I didn't know he could do it until I witnessed it for what I thought was the first time over a week later. I have to trust that someone else is doing a great job.
It's hard. It's hard every day. And, despite all of those moms who swear it gets easier, I say it doesn't. I know I've only been doing this for a couple of months, but I don't see an end to this guilt and sadness anywhere in the near future.
I tell myself every morning (in a desperate attempt to keep my tears at bay as I drive away from my sweet sleeping baby) that it is okay to be a working mom. Lots of moms do it, and the children survive (and even thrive). I am doing the best for my family and I am providing what we need. I'm a teacher, so I remind myself that summer will soon be here. I try to be thankful for having a job that comes with so much time off.
I can't say that I haven't tried to rework our family budget weekly to see if I've missed something that would miraculously change it enough to allow me to quit working. But, of course, I've missed nothing. I knew I would be a working mom before Price was born, and I honestly thought that I would need that "escape" from mothering each day to hold on to that work driven, go getter, do-it-all woman I used to be. I was wrong. The second my baby was born, I lost that woman and became "just" a mom. I'm not sad at all to have "lost" my former self. It's the best change I've ever experienced. I am more focused, selfless, and I have more love than ever before. And this is exactly what I have to remember as I leave my baby each day to go to work. It's the most selfless and loving thing I can do for him at this time in our lives. He does have to eat after all, right?
Friday, January 2, 2015
Merry 7th Day of Christmas!
This post may be a little rambling because I've taken the last couple of weeks to concentrate on my sweet little man, family, and holiday fun!
Today is the 7th Day of Christmas, so technically this is not a late Christmas post.
Price's 1st Christmas was wonderful, and he seemed to go with the flow of our normal Christmas festivities. On Christmas eve, we always attend mass and then return home to host a delicious chili dinner with our parents and siblings and exchange a few gifts. This is always my favorite night because it is low key, the food prep is easy, and we get to enjoy each other's company without being overwhelmed by a ton of people.
This year was even better because we had a little extra entertainment, compliments of baby Boyd.
Christmas morning this year was such a great experience! Price actually participated in opening his gifts, and seemed to really like what he got! It was the cutest thing ever. Sine he is only three months old, we kept his gifts to a minimum, really getting him things that he needs. He got a pretty cool mobile that has a light display, his very first life jacket (we are super pumped about island trips this summer with him!), a few cool toys, pacifiers, and some teethers. We are SO excited for next year!
Christmas day, after we do "Santa" at home and drink tons of coffee, it is tradition to drive to Louisiana to my Grandmother's house for a super loud, super crowded (wouldn't have it any other way) traditional cajun style Christmas dinner (really lunch). We've done this since forever, and this year Price joined us. We were a little nervous that he wouldn't cooperate with all of the people and action, but with a little outside air, and the coziness of his ring sling, he made it through the day without a hitch! Daddy, however, forgot all of Price's food on the counter at home, we both almost had a melt down, and he had to find a store open on Christmas day that carried Price's particular formula before a melt down occured. It all worked out, and we had a great day.
I hope that you all enjoy your next 5 days of Christmas! As much as I absolutely love this time of year, I am so looking forward to packing away the Christmas clutter, getting back into a semi normal routine, and kicking off 2015!
New Year post coming soon!
Today is the 7th Day of Christmas, so technically this is not a late Christmas post.
Price's 1st Christmas was wonderful, and he seemed to go with the flow of our normal Christmas festivities. On Christmas eve, we always attend mass and then return home to host a delicious chili dinner with our parents and siblings and exchange a few gifts. This is always my favorite night because it is low key, the food prep is easy, and we get to enjoy each other's company without being overwhelmed by a ton of people.
This year was even better because we had a little extra entertainment, compliments of baby Boyd.
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| Isn't he precious? |
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| Even the doggies get Christmas gifts! This year Gran Gran spoiled them. |
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| Price couldn't hang. |
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| Aunt Deanna loving! |
Christmas morning this year was such a great experience! Price actually participated in opening his gifts, and seemed to really like what he got! It was the cutest thing ever. Sine he is only three months old, we kept his gifts to a minimum, really getting him things that he needs. He got a pretty cool mobile that has a light display, his very first life jacket (we are super pumped about island trips this summer with him!), a few cool toys, pacifiers, and some teethers. We are SO excited for next year!
Christmas day, after we do "Santa" at home and drink tons of coffee, it is tradition to drive to Louisiana to my Grandmother's house for a super loud, super crowded (wouldn't have it any other way) traditional cajun style Christmas dinner (really lunch). We've done this since forever, and this year Price joined us. We were a little nervous that he wouldn't cooperate with all of the people and action, but with a little outside air, and the coziness of his ring sling, he made it through the day without a hitch! Daddy, however, forgot all of Price's food on the counter at home, we both almost had a melt down, and he had to find a store open on Christmas day that carried Price's particular formula before a melt down occured. It all worked out, and we had a great day.
I hope that you all enjoy your next 5 days of Christmas! As much as I absolutely love this time of year, I am so looking forward to packing away the Christmas clutter, getting back into a semi normal routine, and kicking off 2015!
New Year post coming soon!
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