Posts tagged with baby:

Some of the best memories I have of Isobel are ones that happened in small, quiet moments. ONE I settled into the glider after we brought Isobel home from the hospital and fed her. It was our first time in her room and the first time in that chair. It was lightly flurrying outside. The room was very bright after the dark of the hospital and the house was peaceful and quiet. I remember looking out the window and saying to her, “Look, it’s snowing.” TWO One day I was so tired I could barely move. I looked at Isobel and said, “I really want to lay down and read my book. Can you lay down beside me?” I was still wearing my pajamas. It was the afternoon. She stared at me. I swaddled her and laid her next to me in the bed and started reading my book with that dreaded premonition every parent gets when things are too quiet and relaxing to last. Yet, she stayed quiet. She looked at the pages of my book and then finally turned her head to me and stared right into my eyes. And then she fell asleep. I read for about 40 minutes with her softly breathing beside me. I think I might survive this, I thought. THREE Isobel and I have a favorite way of waking up Brandon. I pick her up out of her crib and then say, “Shh, we’re going to go sneak up on Dada.” She smiles and stays really still, really quiet. We creep through the hallway and into the room. Brandon is only half-sleeping by now but he pretends for our sake. I keep whispering to her, “Stay quiet, let’s get Dada.” We get close to the edge of the bed and then she reaches a hand out and I lean forward so she can touch his back. First touch! She giggles. He doesn’t move. Second touch! She laughs but he still doesn’t move. Third touch! Brandon jolts up and says, “Ahh, you got me!” She laughs hysterically and reaches for him to get a hug. FOUR There is an older issue of Washingtonian magazine in a stack of other magazines we have on our entertainment center shelves. Isobel loves to demolish this stack, throwing one magazine at a time onto the floor. For some reason, the Washingtonian magazine really grabbed her attention. There is a stack of pancakes on the front, but she’s not interested in that. Instead, she stares at the car ad on the back and points to the car. I keep saying, “Car, car, car.” She always brings the magazine to me and puts in my hands and then looks at me. Does she want me to read it? Look at it? See the car? I set the magazine somewhere else and she always finds it. She carries it around with her. She goes to her purple chair and sits, flipping through the magazine. She always stops at the car ad. “Car,” she said one day. I thought it was “cat” at first, but after she said it several more times, I knew it was “car” instead. The other day she ripped the car ad off the magazine. She carried it around with her for almost 30 minutes. I don’t know what this means, but it is really damn cute. FIVE I forget how old Isobel was when this happened, but I remember that she was sitting up on her own. Whatever was going on (maybe she was sick, maybe it was a bad day), she had been crying for hours. I probably hadn’t showered for 48 hours and that, combined with exhaustion, was too much. I finally rocked her into a state of wakeful silence. I moved the bouncer into the bathroom and was determined to take a shower. I set her in the bouncer. All clear. I started the water in the shower. Still good. I got in the shower. Wailing and gnashing of teeth. Her face was red, her eyes were watering, she could barely get her breath. I picked her up, half-soaked. “Please stop crying,” I said, trying to bargain with her. She didn’t. I saw myself in the mirror and grimaced. The shower—so close and so far. I got an idea. I brought her in the shower with me. I grabbed a few of her bath toys and turned the water stream to the opposite side of the shower as her. She sat there, hand upstretched, feeling a few random sprays as they came down. She banged her toys against the wall and the floor. She was happy. After I (carefully) washed my hair, I sat down beside her in the shower. We both stared at each other like, “What is this life.” We got out of the shower. I dressed her in her warmest PJ’s. I snuggled us under a blanket and she ate quietly while I watched TV. It was the shower that saved us all.

Some of the best memories I have of Isobel are ones that happened in small, quiet moments.

ONE

I settled into the glider after we brought Isobel home from the hospital and fed her. It was our first time in her room and the first time in that chair. It was lightly flurrying outside. The room was very bright after the dark of the hospital and the house was peaceful and quiet. I remember looking out the window and saying to her, “Look, it’s snowing.”

TWO

One day I was so tired I could barely move. I looked at Isobel and said, “I really want to lay down and read my book. Can you lay down beside me?” I was still wearing my pajamas. It was the afternoon. She stared at me. I swaddled her and laid her next to me in the bed and started reading my book with that dreaded premonition every parent gets when things are too quiet and relaxing to last. Yet, she stayed quiet. She looked at the pages of my book and then finally turned her head to me and stared right into my eyes. And then she fell asleep. I read for about 40 minutes with her softly breathing beside me. I think I might survive this, I thought.

THREE

Isobel and I have a favorite way of waking up Brandon. I pick her up out of her crib and then say, “Shh, we’re going to go sneak up on Dada.” She smiles and stays really still, really quiet. We creep through the hallway and into the room. Brandon is only half-sleeping by now but he pretends for our sake. I keep whispering to her, “Stay quiet, let’s get Dada.” We get close to the edge of the bed and then she reaches a hand out and I lean forward so she can touch his back. First touch! She giggles. He doesn’t move. Second touch! She laughs but he still doesn’t move. Third touch! Brandon jolts up and says, “Ahh, you got me!” She laughs hysterically and reaches for him to get a hug.

FOUR

There is an older issue of Washingtonian magazine in a stack of other magazines we have on our entertainment center shelves. Isobel loves to demolish this stack, throwing one magazine at a time onto the floor. For some reason, the Washingtonian magazine really grabbed her attention. There is a stack of pancakes on the front, but she’s not interested in that. Instead, she stares at the car ad on the back and points to the car. I keep saying, “Car, car, car.” She always brings the magazine to me and puts in my hands and then looks at me. Does she want me to read it? Look at it? See the car? I set the magazine somewhere else and she always finds it. She carries it around with her. She goes to her purple chair and sits, flipping through the magazine. She always stops at the car ad. “Car,” she said one day. I thought it was “cat” at first, but after she said it several more times, I knew it was “car” instead. The other day she ripped the car ad off the magazine. She carried it around with her for almost 30 minutes. I don’t know what this means, but it is really damn cute.

FIVE

I forget how old Isobel was when this happened, but I remember that she was sitting up on her own. Whatever was going on (maybe she was sick, maybe it was a bad day), she had been crying for hours. I probably hadn’t showered for 48 hours and that, combined with exhaustion, was too much. I finally rocked her into a state of wakeful silence. I moved the bouncer into the bathroom and was determined to take a shower. I set her in the bouncer. All clear. I started the water in the shower. Still good. I got in the shower. Wailing and gnashing of teeth. Her face was red, her eyes were watering, she could barely get her breath. I picked her up, half-soaked. “Please stop crying,” I said, trying to bargain with her. She didn’t. I saw myself in the mirror and grimaced. The shower—so close and so far. I got an idea. I brought her in the shower with me. I grabbed a few of her bath toys and turned the water stream to the opposite side of the shower as her. She sat there, hand upstretched, feeling a few random sprays as they came down. She banged her toys against the wall and the floor. She was happy. After I (carefully) washed my hair, I sat down beside her in the shower. We both stared at each other like, “What is this life.” We got out of the shower. I dressed her in her warmest PJ’s. I snuggled us under a blanket and she ate quietly while I watched TV. It was the shower that saved us all.

  • k 62 notes
  • qComments
These are fun. MOM: Forever 21 Fedora, $10.80 Topshop Tee, $32 Gap Sunkissed Shorts, $33.96 (from $40) - Take 20% off with code GAPGIFT Target Sandals, $16.99 BABY: Target Fedora, $7 Gap Checkered Dress, $23.96 (from $30) - Take 20% off with code GAPGIFT Zara Leather Sandals, $39.90

These are fun.

MOM:

BABY:

  • k 13 notes
  • qComments
The dog on this Baby Gap tee ($14.95) looks like a papillon, right? Help justify my spending. 

The dog on this Baby Gap tee ($14.95) looks like a papillon, right? Help justify my spending. 

  • k 10 notes
  • qComments

The Mother’s Day gift that keeps on giving

I cannot tell you how many mom friends I have spoken to or blog posts I have read or articles I’ve stumbled across that say essentially the same thing: I don’t understand how the balanced and healthy division of labor and responsibilities between my partner and I changed so drastically after having a baby. It’s not griping or whining or man-bashing and it’s especially not nagging. It just seems to be a pretty common enough occurrence. Why does the birth of a baby sometimes turn a “normal” and balanced marriage into one that occasionally seems like one big traditional gender role cliche?

Part of it seems to be a natural progression. For a mother, especially one who exclusively breastfeeds, the bulk of early newborn care falls to her. Unless she is committed to pumping and committed to shoving her partner off the bed at 2 am to go get the bottle out of the fridge (at which point she’s awake anyway), it’s mostly a one-man woman show for a number of weeks at the beginning. For the first month or two of a baby’s life, their biggest need is FOODFOODFOOD. Second to this is SOOTHESOOTHESOOTHE (usually solved by FOODFOODFOOD). It is what it is and it mostly has to be. Yet, I knew this and I understood this and still found myself alarmingly ragey and unbelievably jealous. Shuffling over to a darkened room during the night, half-dressed, half-lucid, with a blissfully sleeping spouse—there is no scenario I can think of yet in our marriage that inspired more murderous thoughts than that. But it is what it is. 

One night when Isobel was probably two or three weeks old, Brandon vowed to stay awake with me for a few night’s feedings to keep me company. He sat on the floor of Isobel’s room as I tried to wrangle her into position to try for a decent latch (something that still wasn’t perfected) and his eyes kept closing and the pets were splayed out near him, giving us both side eye for keeping them awake. I finally said, “Just go to bed. There’s no point in us both being tired in the morning.” So he left. Those moments—the ones where it is just you and your baby, your brain so foggy from sleep deprivation that you can barely speak, when you feel like you are the only person awake in the entire world—they are very lonely moments indeed. 

A key problem that Brandon and I identified early on was that I tended to just do something instead of waiting for him to do it. My efficiency trumped my desire for him to assist—and then I’d blame him for it! Oh, hello! I’m falling into every parenting cliche ever, thanks! I tried to do better but it was hard. It’s such a bizarre dichotomy: I want you to help, but I don’t have the patience to let you learn. I’d get better about this and then worse. It came it fits and starts. 

We laugh sometimes (sometimes) now about how quickly we fell into every cliche we swore we wouldn’t. Frankly, we still struggle with the occasional competitive “I did this, now it’s your turn” nonsense. It’s so hard not to. Even in the moment where these stupid see-saw arguments are happening, I know that it’s ridiculous and yet I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. Martyr diarrhea. “But I did this all week and now it’s your turn BLARGGHHHHH FIX IT GOODBYE!” 

To be fair, there are some universal truths we have discovered that have made things bearable for both of us. A few months ago we had a long conversation about what we’d done wrong. We concluded that on my end, I’d get resentful but wouldn’t always ask for help when I should have. On his, he’d often step back and wait for me to make a first move because he was intimidated by how well I knew Isobel’s schedule and/or needs. If you’ve been in this vicious cycle, you know how difficult it is to break. One person has to say, “Enough!” It was hard for me to be the one to say it because it was oddly fulfilling to be the hard-working martyr. (I do not recommend doing this.) It was hard for Brandon to say enough because, damn, it’s so much easier when she takes care of everything. 

I’m guessing that the thing that’s so wonderful about Mother’s Day is that someone else is making the decisions, someone else is fully invested in making sure you aren’t the only one feeding the kid(s), someone else is actively thinking about ways to make your parenting role less arduous by stepping up a little bit more boldly. 

If you’re a new parent, maybe you can learn from our mistakes earlier than we did. Mom: it’s easy to take over everything because you’ve probably been the one that’s there. You know everything. You know where all the clothes are, you can find every paci in the house, you’ve got the schedule down. You know she or he likes this, but not that. You know which pile of laundry is dirty and which is clean (although they’re stacked awfully close together on the bed but that’s neither here nor there.) You’ve got this. But you don’t want to. You want someone else to get it. But you can’t let go. You can do it faster. You can do it in the time it takes to explain how. But you have to let go. You have to speak up and say, “It’s time for the baby to nap. Feed him. Put him down. I’m going to eat some cheese. See you in thirty minutes.” Walk away. Don’t explain how you do it. If you hear frantic rustling or panicked noises, do not respond. Eat your cheese. I should have spoken up more and asked for more help. I still struggle with this, although on a much, much smaller scale. But there is no dignity in quiet resentment about a task that you never asked for help with. I wish I’d learned that earlier. 

Dad: Just step in. You see the baby needs something. Don’t wait to be asked if you can help. Just do it. There are, at most, maybe five possible solutions for a fussy newborn. Try them all until you find one that works. Change a diaper. Feed. Swaddle/rock. Give a paci. Distract with a walk or a book or an activity gym. You know how to do these things! You can do it as good as mom can. (Maybe better.) But what if baby is hungry and you don’t have the proper mammary equipment? This is most important: if Mom is exclusively breastfeeding and you can only help with occasional pumped feedings, you need to find a way to fill that void. If Mom is feeding baby, you do the dishes. If Mom is feeding baby, you make dinner. If Mom is feeding baby, you do the laundry. You don’t have boobs, so make yourself useful. If you aren’t sure what to do, just ask, “What can I do?” Those are some damn beautiful words. When Brandon asks me that, I see the stars, the moon. I have hearts in my eyes. Nothing sounded more romantic to me than that phrase as I rocked a crying baby for hours. What can you do? GodDAMN, I love you for asking. 

Parenting is some hard shit and it wears everyone out. Be nice to each other. It makes everything seem a lot easier when your partner is nearby with a smile on their face and a cup of coffee in their hand. We’re still working on navigating our marriage through the relatively new lens of parenting, but it’s getting so much better. So there’s your last cliche for this post—it gets better. Like everyone says it will. 

  • k 120 notes
  • / print
  • qComments
Honest reusable swim diapers are great. We used them last summer and I just ordered Isobel a new one (size L, wah, so big). If you get the diaper bundle already, you can add a swim diaper as your “add on” and get 20% off. They’re $13.95 otherwise. (Well worth it. Do you know how much disposable swim diapers cost? Highway robbery.) Here is my referral link, if you’re so inclined. :)  P.S. I have an extra one I bought last summer and never used (she didn’t fit it then and won’t fit it now). It’s a size medium (16-21 pounds) and navy/white stripes. Here’s a pic. Tags are still on! Do you want it? First person that emails me (jaclyndianeday[at]gmail) gets it.  Claimed! 

Honest reusable swim diapers are great. We used them last summer and I just ordered Isobel a new one (size L, wah, so big). If you get the diaper bundle already, you can add a swim diaper as your “add on” and get 20% off. They’re $13.95 otherwise. (Well worth it. Do you know how much disposable swim diapers cost? Highway robbery.) Here is my referral link, if you’re so inclined. :) 

P.S. I have an extra one I bought last summer and never used (she didn’t fit it then and won’t fit it now). It’s a size medium (16-21 pounds) and navy/white stripes. Here’s a pic. Tags are still on! Do you want it? First person that emails me (jaclyndianeday[at]gmail) gets it.  Claimed! 

  • k 5 notes
  • qComments
This Sunday is my second Mother’s Day as a mother. Hard to believe. Besides the obvious—the late nights, the morning cuddles, the sleep struggles, the milestones, the firsts—what does it mean to be a mother? I never thought of myself as a particularly maternal person. Early in my pregnancy, I’d occasionally even forget. I’d be going about my business and forget. Then I’d realize I’d forgotten and the horror and panic would play across my face (I’m sure it did, I know it did) and I’d wonder if anyone realized that I had just forgotten about what should be the most important thing. Crap, I would think. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. A story I’ve never told: I didn’t cry when Isobel was born. I was so overwhelmed with adrenaline and excitement that I let out a few gasps that maybe sort of could have turned into tears, except they didn’t and I just smiled instead. Later, in the quiet of our dark room, I got nervous. Shouldn’t I have cried? What does this say about me? The next day the photographer came to take some photos. I originally didn’t want to do it—I looked like hell and VANITY—but someone said I’d regret it if we didn’t. So she came back a little later and she took some photos of us and lots of Isobel. She said she’d be back in a few hours to show us the photos. Later the photographer knocked on the door and came in with her laptop. I was holding Isobel and Brandon was sitting nearby and she put the laptop up and told us she had a slideshow of the photos to show us. “I’ll let you look and come back in a few minutes,” she said. I wondered why she’d leave the room. It’s only a short little slideshow. Two seconds into the slideshow—set to music, naturally—I lost it. Tears, drool, sobs. A few minutes later the photographer came back in and slowly shut the laptop. “We’ll buy all of them,” said Brandon. After she left again, he said, “That was so sweet that you cried when you saw the photos.” Sweet, maybe, but there was more to it. There was fear. Can I protect her well enough? Anxiety. Am I capable? Exhaustion. Can my body actually function like this? Love. This is mine. The thing about motherhood that’s so new and scary is how you become the sole source of strength for someone else. Every time I picked her up, every time I fed her, every time she cried, I was conscious of the fact that it was on me. The act of mothering slowly becomes similar to what might happen if you were to grow a third arm or leg. It is a core part of you, but you devote very little energy to consciously making it function. It just operates. The mechanics of motherhood are at first swallowed up by the overwhelming survival instincts of mother (to sleep, to eat) and of baby (to sleep, to eat). Things that seemed so daunting before Isobel was born—diapering, swaddling—were skills that I mastered without even trying. You just do. And that’s why I believe the hardest period I’ve had so far as a mother was when Isobel was between 3 and 6 months old. I had to start making actual decisions that could have actual results. It wasn’t survival-mode anymore. It was how do I mother you most effectively. The first time I realized the implications of that, I was immediately brought back to that panicked moment while I was pregnant and had momentarily forgotten about it. When will someone realize I don’t know what the hell I’m doing? There has been a lot going on in my personal life over the past two years. It has not been easy and it is still enormously complex, but it has taught me that family is so precious. A child’s memories of his or her family are so important. This Mother’s Day, I will celebrate that we’ve now been together for two of them! We’ve made it this far. Dad, Mom, Isobel. A family of three. A pack. A club. Oh, I have already made mistakes as a mother and will surely make more. But please—please! Let me do right by my daughter. Let me give her the world.

This Sunday is my second Mother’s Day as a mother. Hard to believe.

Besides the obvious—the late nights, the morning cuddles, the sleep struggles, the milestones, the firsts—what does it mean to be a mother? I never thought of myself as a particularly maternal person. Early in my pregnancy, I’d occasionally even forget. I’d be going about my business and forget. Then I’d realize I’d forgotten and the horror and panic would play across my face (I’m sure it did, I know it did) and I’d wonder if anyone realized that I had just forgotten about what should be the most important thing. Crap, I would think. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.

A story I’ve never told: I didn’t cry when Isobel was born. I was so overwhelmed with adrenaline and excitement that I let out a few gasps that maybe sort of could have turned into tears, except they didn’t and I just smiled instead. Later, in the quiet of our dark room, I got nervous. Shouldn’t I have cried? What does this say about me?

The next day the photographer came to take some photos. I originally didn’t want to do it—I looked like hell and VANITY—but someone said I’d regret it if we didn’t. So she came back a little later and she took some photos of us and lots of Isobel. She said she’d be back in a few hours to show us the photos.

Later the photographer knocked on the door and came in with her laptop. I was holding Isobel and Brandon was sitting nearby and she put the laptop up and told us she had a slideshow of the photos to show us. “I’ll let you look and come back in a few minutes,” she said. I wondered why she’d leave the room. It’s only a short little slideshow.

Two seconds into the slideshow—set to music, naturally—I lost it. Tears, drool, sobs. A few minutes later the photographer came back in and slowly shut the laptop. “We’ll buy all of them,” said Brandon. After she left again, he said, “That was so sweet that you cried when you saw the photos.”

Sweet, maybe, but there was more to it. There was fear. Can I protect her well enough? Anxiety. Am I capable? Exhaustion. Can my body actually function like this? Love. This is mine.

The thing about motherhood that’s so new and scary is how you become the sole source of strength for someone else. Every time I picked her up, every time I fed her, every time she cried, I was conscious of the fact that it was on me. The act of mothering slowly becomes similar to what might happen if you were to grow a third arm or leg. It is a core part of you, but you devote very little energy to consciously making it function. It just operates. The mechanics of motherhood are at first swallowed up by the overwhelming survival instincts of mother (to sleep, to eat) and of baby (to sleep, to eat). Things that seemed so daunting before Isobel was born—diapering, swaddling—were skills that I mastered without even trying. You just do. And that’s why I believe the hardest period I’ve had so far as a mother was when Isobel was between 3 and 6 months old. I had to start making actual decisions that could have actual results. It wasn’t survival-mode anymore. It was how do I mother you most effectively. The first time I realized the implications of that, I was immediately brought back to that panicked moment while I was pregnant and had momentarily forgotten about it. When will someone realize I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?

There has been a lot going on in my personal life over the past two years. It has not been easy and it is still enormously complex, but it has taught me that family is so precious. A child’s memories of his or her family are so important.

This Mother’s Day, I will celebrate that we’ve now been together for two of them! We’ve made it this far. Dad, Mom, Isobel. A family of three. A pack. A club. Oh, I have already made mistakes as a mother and will surely make more. But please—please! Let me do right by my daughter. Let me give her the world.

  • k 82 notes
  • qComments

I need a budget friendly maxi dress type outfit to bring baby home after delivery. Im also 5'1" so finding something I won't trip on is a factor. What would you suggest?

- Asked by losingwins

If you’re looking for a budget-friendly maxi, Old Navy is definitely your best bet. 

image

But can I make a suggestion? You may not want to wear a dress (even a comfy maxi) home from the hospital. I know lots of people do it and they look great…but there are also very bulky, very unwieldly undergarments you’ll be dealing with. If you get hit with a postpartum sweating session, you do not want both bare legs trapped together in a skirt sweat box. 

My suggestion is to wear something that you won’t be face palming yourself for when you look at photos but that is comfortable to move around in and that you’ll feel confident in. When I left the hospital, I looked at least 6 months pregnant. I wouldn’t have wanted to wear a dress then—any dress! I would have definitely still looked quite pregnant in a regular, non-maternity dress. I’d suggest packing a loose tunic or long maternity top like this Topshop one. Avoid gray (in case you start sweating). A pair of basic black leggings would be fine, but a maternity pair will be even more comfortable. If you’re worried about breastfeeding access in a regular top, you can wear a nursing cami underneath (letting you forgo a bra if you want, phew!) Another option is a maternity buttondown tunic like this one. It will skim over your body without being too clingy and you have easy boob access if needed. Paired with comfy, chic flats, a watch or bracelets, a simple ponytail and a little bit of makeup, you’ll look pulled-together and you’ll feel comfortable. 

  • k 20 notes
  • qComments
Old Navy has a 30% sale on toddler/baby clothes today. Here are a few cute things I spotted (or that I own and like): Embroidered Bubble Romper, $13.95 (from $20) - I had a bunch of rompers last summer for Isobel and they were great when it was 100 degrees outside and I needed to dress her in something quick and cool.  Straw Fedora, $9 (from $13) Jersey Dress 2-Pack, $13.95 (from $20) - I have these for Isobel and love them. I’ve been putting them with leggings now but they’ll work great this summer with sandals.  Hooded One-Pieces, $8 (from $13) - These are available in other colors and I LOVED them last year.  Madras-Plaid Cargo Shorts, $11.86 (from $17) Bow-Tie Jersey Romper, $10.45 (from $15) - I mean, it’s basically sacrilege not to dress Isobel in this and that straw fedora.  Printed Jersey Biker Short 2-Pack, $9 (from $13) - Shorts versions of the leggings I dress Isobel in almost every day.  Tone-Tone Cross Front Sandals, $6.95 (from $10) Ruffle-Trim Shorts, $5.56 (from $8) Striped Tees, $5.55 (from $8)

Old Navy has a 30% sale on toddler/baby clothes today. Here are a few cute things I spotted (or that I own and like):

  1. Embroidered Bubble Romper, $13.95 (from $20) - I had a bunch of rompers last summer for Isobel and they were great when it was 100 degrees outside and I needed to dress her in something quick and cool. 
  2. Straw Fedora, $9 (from $13)
  3. Jersey Dress 2-Pack, $13.95 (from $20) - I have these for Isobel and love them. I’ve been putting them with leggings now but they’ll work great this summer with sandals. 
  4. Hooded One-Pieces, $8 (from $13) - These are available in other colors and I LOVED them last year. 
  5. Madras-Plaid Cargo Shorts, $11.86 (from $17)
  6. Bow-Tie Jersey Romper, $10.45 (from $15) - I mean, it’s basically sacrilege not to dress Isobel in this and that straw fedora. 
  7. Printed Jersey Biker Short 2-Pack, $9 (from $13) - Shorts versions of the leggings I dress Isobel in almost every day. 
  8. Tone-Tone Cross Front Sandals, $6.95 (from $10)
  9. Ruffle-Trim Shorts, $5.56 (from $8)
  10. Striped Tees, $5.55 (from $8)
  • k 7 notes
  • qComments
A PERFECT MOTHER’S DAY: Sleep in. Wake up. Coffee is made. I can smell it from upstairs. Isobel is already dressed and fed! Take long shower in which I will hear a baby crying approximately 20,000 times. Yes, this still happens. Go to brunch at a location I have not thought of, suggested or made reservations for. (It seems so trivial, but someone taking care of all dining-related details, including choosing where, is the best thing ever to me. There are moments when we’re trying to figure out where to eat that I feel like I’m going to start some gnawing-on-my-hair-crazy-eyes-tic because I cannot possibly make one more decision please just choose I will eat anything I am a garbage disposal just drive.) Go to the park. Get a pedicure. Come home, then have play time, bath time, bed time for Isobel. Baby is asleep. Proceed to couch to watch Game of Thrones. Please hand me that over-full glass of wine and that giant cheese plate. I am ready for it now. It is now 10:00 pm and I am falling asleep. YOU MADE THE BED WHILE I WAS SHOWERING THIS MORNING? Thank you for an amazing Mother’s Day. END SCENE What’s yours?

A PERFECT MOTHER’S DAY:

  • Sleep in.
  • Wake up. Coffee is made. I can smell it from upstairs.
  • Isobel is already dressed and fed!
  • Take long shower in which I will hear a baby crying approximately 20,000 times. Yes, this still happens.
  • Go to brunch at a location I have not thought of, suggested or made reservations for. (It seems so trivial, but someone taking care of all dining-related details, including choosing where, is the best thing ever to me. There are moments when we’re trying to figure out where to eat that I feel like I’m going to start some gnawing-on-my-hair-crazy-eyes-tic because I cannot possibly make one more decision please just choose I will eat anything I am a garbage disposal just drive.)
  • Go to the park.
  • Get a pedicure.
  • Come home, then have play time, bath time, bed time for Isobel.
  • Baby is asleep. Proceed to couch to watch Game of Thrones.
  • Please hand me that over-full glass of wine and that giant cheese plate. I am ready for it now.
  • It is now 10:00 pm and I am falling asleep.
  • YOU MADE THE BED WHILE I WAS SHOWERING THIS MORNING?
  • Thank you for an amazing Mother’s Day.

END SCENE

What’s yours?

  • k 88 notes
  • qComments

hello friend! do we get to see your picks for mother's day in your latest gift guide?! xoxo

- Asked by fromcoasttoshore

Yes! I posted my gift guide for Mother’s Day about two weeks ago. Here are a few more last minute ideas:

  • k 5 notes
  • qComments