little black journal

Shane and I usually use Valentine’s Day as a great excuse to treat ourselves to a fancy dinner, a night out on the town with wine and ultra-rich food and maybe even a bouquet of roses.  Last year I had to pass on the wine, as I was ten weeks pregnant.  This year we had to pass on the fancy meal altogether, as Juliette hasn’t yet learned the art of fine dining.  And at first I told myself I really didn’t care, that Valentine’s Day has become a silly Hallmark holiday anyway, but the truth is that I felt a little pang of disappointment when I realized that we were facing another day of the same old, same old, that I wouldn’t be getting all dressed up or having creme brulee for dessert.  The days of lingering over a two and a half hour meal feel so long gone.  Then again, parenthood has not necessarily relegated us to complete hermit-dom, so we were able to get a little creative, to make the most of the fact that Shane had the day off and celebrate a family-friendly v-day.

We started the morning at Benaroya Hall for the Symphony for Tots program – we were joined by Juliette’s little buddies and loved watching their wide-eyed wonder as the women on stage led them on a “musical safari”.

We stayed close to home that afternoon, lounging about and playing a rousing round of 90’s “name that tune” via Spotify while Jules nestled comfortably into papa’s lap.  First the symphony, then Ace of Base – this kid made great strides in her musical education yesterday!

We were joined by the Rust crew for dinner at Tutta Bella.  It was a far cry from a four-course French meal, but I welcomed the chance to take a break from cooking and catch up with friends.  G and Z (who isn’t pictured below, as he would rather hop in puddles than pose for a photo!) made us a couple of very sweet valentines, and when G asked Shane if we had valentines for them, Shane responded with a very convincing, “Oh no!  We left them at home!”.  G took him at his word, so Shane and I are doing a little crafting this morning to make up for his fib and will be making a special delivery to the Rust boys later today.

After we tucked Jules into bed last night, Shane and I cuddled up on the couch to watch a bit of the Olympics and a movie.  I asked him if he missed the romance, if he thought we had lost that lovin’ feeling.  It had been a fun day, but I couldn’t shake this longing for times past.  Memories of our life before kids flitted through my head as I yawned, looked at the clock, and realized it was only 8 pm.

“Remember the days when we could stay up late on a Friday night, knowing that we could sleep in until 10 am on Saturday if we wanted to?”  

“Remember when we ordered our first bottle of wine at that nice restaurant in Morro Bay on Valentines Day of 2003?”  

“Remember when we used to travel???”

(pause)

“Remember that time earlier tonight when Juliette giggled like crazy as I wiggled and sang?”

Lord knows I’m a sucker for champagne and chocolate and sleep-ins, but damn it if that silly girl doesn’t win every single time.

I went into my office last week to start discussing the terms of my return to work in March.  Our preferred daycare has confirmed that they have an opening for Juliette, and our deposit is due on Friday.  Gaaaaahhhhh!  Where did my maternity leave go?  Is it really ending so soon? The past few months have flown by.  But in that funny trick that time often plays, it also feels like a lifetime ago that my days revolved around work rather than baby.

The question over when (or if) to return to my job has been a tough one.  When we decided last year that a March start date seemed right, Juliette was still just a fuzzy little blob on an ultrasound screen.  Now she’s here and she’s beautiful and fun and knocking-my-socks-off sweet. And she’s still so small, so reliant on me.  I know, many women don’t get anywhere close to six months of leave and I’m so, so thankful that our savings and Shane’s job have given me the opportunity to take this extended time off.  Yet…I want more.  More time with my baby girl.  More morning snuggles and afternoon walks.  More play dates with my mom friends and their little ones.  More goofy, toothless smiles.  Oh, that girl has some wickedly powerful smiles – those smiles had me wondering if it was time to put an indefinite hold on my career.

But damn, it’s complicated, because I’m fickle and non-committal and maybe a little greedy.  Because while I’m loving this time at home, I also want to keep my professional momentum going.  I want to utilize my skills as a designer and experience the sense of accomplishment that comes with a problem solved or a deadline met.  And I know this is pride talking, but I still want to call myself an architect and I still want to bring home a paycheck.

More than anything, I want to do what’s best for Juliette.  Initially I thought nothing could be better for her than unlimited access to mama; I love her like no one else can, I’m her sole source of nourishment, I know which books are her favorites and which songs she likes best before naptime.  But is there more out there for her?  What if she ends up loving the chance to spend some of her days with other babies at daycare, with other grown-ups who will surely come to adore her?  What if a little space from her dad and me allows her to be more confident, more secure, more adaptable?  And long-term, how can I best encourage and motivate her to pursue her dreams?  I received a magazine in the mail last week from a contractor I’ve worked with for several years, and as I flipped through it with Juliette on my lap, we came to a spread on a project I worked on recently.  I pointed to the glossy photos of the shiny new building and exclaimed, “Look, baby!  Look what Mommy made!”, as if I was expecting her to pat me on the back for a job well done.  Clearly, it will be awhile before she’s able to appreciate the merits of sustainable architecture, but someday I hope she’ll be inspired by the fact that her mom has worked very hard to create beautiful buildings in this city that we love.

Am I over-rationalizing, trying too hard to convince myself that my return to work is what’s best for our family?  Probably.  I’m an excellent rationalizer.  But I’m also a pretty good architect, so I’m going to be spending three days a week in the office while Juliette thrives (fingers crossed) in her new daycare environment.  We’ll ride the train in together in the mornings and I’ll go visit her at lunchtime, as she’ll be just a couple of blocks away from me.  And then I’ll go pick her up at the end of the day, and she’ll smile at me as I scoop her into my arms and my heart will just about break with how good it will feel to hold her.  Because I’ll still be mama to this little goofball above all else.

Rather than host our annual New Year’s Eve bash, we rang in 2014 with takeout pizza and our latest Netflix rental.  Ok, so technically I rang in 2014 with a bunch of Z’s, as I had already been in bed for an hour when the clock struck midnight.  I wished Juliette a slightly belated Happy New Year at 3 am when she awoke to eat, and then muttered the same to Shane when I slipped back into bed.  No champagne toasts, no fireworks, no Carson Daly…I missed the fanfare a little bit this year, but our quiet nights at home hold their own kind of charm.

We brunched with the gang yesterday to kick off the year, gathering at Jason and Nancy’s for buttermilk waffles and a walk around the park.  So I guess we party at 10 am now, instead of 10 pm.  No shame in that!

We spent the rest of the afternoon at home, playing with Juliette and then dozing during her afternoon nap.  Jules has teased us with a couple of brief giggles lately and seems to be on the verge of all-out laugher, so we’re constantly making fools of ourselves in front of her, trying to elicit a chuckle.  Despite all our dancing and blubbering and raspberry kisses, she held out yesterday, but her smiles were a pretty great consolation prize.  And Shane and I certainly do plenty of laughing at each other in the process, so there’s that.

The year is off to such a joyous, cozy start.  And yet, there’s a part of me that’s a little melancholy.  2013 was so, so spectacular – will it ever be topped?  I mean, there was this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this, New Years Day 2013, when we toasted to the good news I’d just received from the doctor’s office: lil’ Schnell was on her way!

I’m sure 2014 will hold adventures of a different sort.  I don’t foresee any helicopter rides over Kauai, and camping might be tricky, but there will be excitement in watching our baby grow, there will be precious time with family and friends, maybe a mini-getaway or two.  And there will be laughter.  Lots and lots of silly, unbridled laughter.  Happy, happy new year!

We’re beginning to fall into a (loose) schedule with Juliette and are putting her to bed earlier these days, starting the go-to-sleep song and dance around 7:00.  This gives Shane and I more time to ourselves in the evening, which is great, but by the time we turn in around 10:30, I actually kind of start to miss that girl – I’m often tempted to lift her out of her crib for one last snuggle to top off my love bank.  I don’t, for fear of waking the sweetly snoozing beast, but I do creep into the nursery to gently stroke her hair and whisper good night.  This is also my time to pray for her, to lay my hand on her and lift up my hopes and dreams for our baby.  Some prayers are for the immediate future, for a good night’s sleep and a tomorrow full of smiles, and some prayers are for the longer-term, for Jules the little girl and Jules the teenager and grown-up woman.

Dear Juliette, this is some of what mama so desperately hopes for you…

I pray that home will always be a place of safety and comfort and joy for you.  That you’ll rest in the absolute assurance that your dad and I love you unconditionally, that we’ll hold you when you need to cry and take you out for pizza when you want to celebrate.  Sometimes we’ll mess up and lose our patience or raise our voices or get too busy to give you the attention you need, but in the midst of our shortcomings, I hope you know that you are safe and wanted here.

I pray that God will keep his hand of protection over you.  Gosh, this world feels scary sometimes, especially for a woman. But I don’t want you to live in fear; I just want you to be aware and be wise and let your dad and I interview any boy that wants to take you out on a date. (kidding.) (ok, not really kidding.)

I pray that you will find fulfillment in expressing your creativity, whatever form it takes.  Whether it’s music, or art, or, if your dad has his way, iPhone app development, I hope you’re able to experience the joy of making and sharing something beautiful or innovative.

I pray that you’ll love yourself, that you’ll look in the mirror and feel confident and beautiful.  I hope you won’t buy into the media-driven myth that beauty is about being thin and wearing designer clothes and having airbrushed skin.  Nobody looks like those girls in the magazines.  Even those girls in the magazines don’t really look like those girls in the magazines.  Decide for yourself wherein beauty lies; don’t let Victoria’s Secret ads do it for you.

I pray that kindness and compassion will be your guide, rather than popularity or ease.  Few things would make me prouder than to see you invite the lonely new kid to come sit with you and your friends at lunch.  I pray that you’ll care about justice and and mercy, that you’ll be bold in speaking out for those who have a hard time making their voices heard.

I look at you, so quietly sleeping in your crib, and this list hardly begins to capture the way my heart bursts with all that I want for you.  I ache with the hope that you’ll live a life brimming with joy and love and adventure.  I’ll help you along, cheer you on, smother you with kisses, but I must remember that ultimately, you’re in God’s hands.

So please, please, please Lord – take care of my baby.

The sentimental-ist in me is big on family traditions, and now that we’ve added a kid to the mix, I’m even more intent on maintaining certain annual rituals.  Our yearly trek out to North Bend to cut down our Christmas tree tops the list of favorite Schnell family traditions, so on Friday we donned our warmest winter clothing and headed east for our eighth (!) visit to Mountain Creek tree farm.  I still remember our first time there back in 2006, when we were newlyweds giddily buying our inaugural Christmas tree as a couple.  The woman behind the counter asked as we paid if we had any kids that would like a candy cane.  We both laughed and told her “No, thanks”, unable to imagine how a child would fit into the fancy-free life we lived in our small Capitol Hill apartment.  That same woman has asked us that same question every single year, as our nervous “No thank you’s” slowly morphed into anticipatory “Maybe next year’s” and then into pained “Still not yet’s”.  And now, here we are, in the midst of below-freezing weather with a child that often throws fits in the car, but dammit, I wanted a candy cane, so off we went!

Juliette fell asleep within minutes of hitting the road and opened her sleepy eyes just as we rolled into the parking lot.  Shane and I bundled her up, crossed our fingers, and set out in search of the perfect tree.  Usually this search takes a good 30-45 minutes, as I insist that we wander the entire farm to get a complete sense of our options.  I’ll narrow it down to three or four contenders, circling each tree several times to evaluate symmetry and fullness before making a final decision.  But once we stepped out of the car on Friday, felt the cold, and heard Juliette’s little whimpers, we were on a mission.  Fifteen seconds into our search, I pointed to a tree that I said I liked, and as I was turning to find the best angle from which to snap a photo, Shane was already hacking away at it’s trunk and slinging it over his shoulder.  I didn’t even have time to yell “timmmmmber!”.  Jules and I hung out by the wood stove in the front shop while Shane tied the tree to our car; he joined us for a quick cup of cider and then we were back on the road in record time (candy cane in hand!).

Thankfully, despite our impulsiveness, this tree is a beaut and looks great in our living room.  I unwrapped my ornaments yesterday while Juliette sat in my lap and I told her about the plastic snowflake I’ve been hanging on Christmas trees for over 25 years, about my collection of angel ornaments, about the beaded green bird I bought in Portland with my mom a few years ago.  I’ll be carrying on the tradition my parents started by giving my own daughter an ornament every year, and as I hung her pretty glass owl on the tree, I pictured Christmas next year, when we’ll have to hang these breakable ornaments high and out of reach of toddler hands, and Christmas a few years from now, when Jules will start to look forward to opening up her box of familiar ornaments to hang on the tree, and Christmas a couple of decades down the road, when I’ll hand over Juliette’s collection to hang on her own tree.  I guess that’s what I love about traditions – the way they bring forth good memories of years prior and anticipation of years future.  Happy holidays, indeed.

We had a joy-filled Thanksgiving, complete with a quiet morning at home, an afternoon walk in the perfect fall weather, and a belly-bursting evening  meal at Jack and La Verne’s.  My plate literally overflowed with blessings.  We have so much to be thankful for, in our home, our friendships, our family, and our sweet little babe.  Juliette somehow got wind of my previous blog rant and has been making amends the past couple of days, with smiles and long naps and a generally sunny disposition; she was a trooper as we made the meet-the-baby rounds at my office and Shane’s office on Tuesday and was great company when I lugged her to Costco and Trader Joe’s for pie fixin’s on Wednesday.  Today we laid on the floor together and chatted for over an hour, Juliette responding to my nonsense rambling with sweet oohs and ahhs and mmms until our eyelids began to grow heavy and we both fell asleep, her serene little face just inches from mine.  Best nap ever.  I’m so indescribably thankful for this girl, for the ways she’s taught me to give and love and hang tight through the tough stuff.  I’m thankful for Shane, who fills in the gaps when I’m short on patience or sleep, who is unabashedly silly for the sake of making Jules (and me) smile.  I’m thankful for this blessed up and down and up, up, up life we live.

I’ve had lots of quality time with my Kindle during Juliette’s middle-of-the-night feeding frenzies, and I just finished reading Glennon Doyle Melton’s Carry On, Warrior.  In her book (and her blog) she chronicles the ups and downs of being a wife and mother.  One of her most famous essays is “Don’t Carpe Diem“, in which she describes the pressure placed on parents to enjoy every single moment of their children’s lives, as it all goes by so quickly.  But the reality is that parenthood is often wrought with trials and tantrums and tears, and it’s unfair to expect moms and dads to spend all day, every day in a state of parental bliss.  Some days, the best you can hope for are just a couple of precious, fleeting moments with your kids.

Spot on, sister.

We had some bumps in the road today, with bouts of fussiness, stubborn resistance to naps, and hoped-for outings left undone.  I wanted to take Juliette to a Halloween party at my office, but the cute mo-hawked rockstar outfit I had planned for her fell to shambles, as she ended up looking more geeky grease monkey than punk rocker.  And I could tell she was tired and on the brink of a meltdown as I gathered our things to go.  I knew I was pushing it, pushing her, and it wouldn’t end well.  So I sighed, washed the coconut oil from her hair, and settled in for another marathon bounce session to get her down to sleep. And man, she fought that nap somethin’ fierce, with wailing and writhing and then the notorious naptime fake-out, acting all snoozy and limp-limbed only to pop open her eyes the second I put her in her crib. We were both at our wit’s end by the time she fell asleep (and four hours later, she’s still sleeping! that girl must have been zonked).

But let’s not forget the good stuff.  Like, hey!  Jules rolled over today!  She was in the midst of her morning tummy time session, lifting her head like a champ, when she leaned a little to the right.  And then she leaned a little farther, and a little more, and whoop!  She was on her back!  You’d think she’d just received her first college acceptance letter for all the hootin’ and hollerin’ Shane and I did.

And dang, this girl is flashing us some good smiles these days.  These aren’t “I just made a big poop” smiles.  These are “Hey!  Mama, Papa, you’re funny!” smiles.  As she laid on the floor after her morning snack, kicking her feet and waving her arms, she gave us a little smirk, which was all it took to throw Shane and I into a complete tizzy of silly songs and dance moves and smothering kisses, all the while coaxing bigger and bigger grins from our girl.  This feeling that she finally sees us, knows us, that we’re no longer just a bouncing robot and a milk machine – it turns us into a couple of giddy idiots. Joy runs deep when your screechy monkey sounds elicit a smile from your most favorite little person.

It wasn’t a perfect day. In fact, there were times when this day made me want to pull my hair out and hand Juliette off to the first trick or treater that came to our door. But those smiles. Sweet Jesus, those smiles! Best, brightest silver lining ever.

I know, my last couple of posts have been syrupy sweet with new mama bliss, so allow me to present…the flip side.

Some days, this gig is rough. Yesterday was one of those days.  It was Juliette’s one-month birthday, and I had high hopes for the day – a photo shoot of our sweet little babe, a walk in the park, maybe a long nap…  Things got off to a rocky start with a bout of morning fussiness.  She wanted to be held constantly, which I don’t mind if it involves a cuddle session on the couch, but she wanted to be held and bounced.  Lord help me, the incessant bouncing…  We (meaning primarily Shane) have logged hours upon hours on that dang exercise ball, soothing the baby into a full-on, knocked-out, limp-limbed sleep, only to have her wake the second we stop to give our aching backs a rest.  We played this bounce/sleep/fuss game for a couple of hours yesterday morning before she finally conked out for a late morning nap.  Success!  She woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed around noon and I rushed her up to the nursery to snap a few pictures while she was alert and content, but she was less than photogenic, just staring at me blankly while I cooed and babbled.  My little song and dance eventually resulted in frustrated tears, for both of us.  I know, she’s a newborn, not a trick pony, but throw me a bone, girl!  I put away the camera and we spent a relatively quiet afternoon at home before deciding to get out and enjoy the sunshine.  I bundled her up and strapped her into her carseat for a ride to Jefferson Park.  She whined a little in the car, then cried a little as we walked the park’s loop, and began to wail as I took a detour to enjoy the fall foliage.  Back to the car it was, then.  The ride home was the longest five minutes ever – you’d think her car seat was lined with shards of broken glass, to hear her screaming.  Shane went for a quick run to decompress after I assured him I could handle her madness, but by the time he got home 30 minutes later, I was on the brink of a meltdown.  I was tired, and discouraged, and having a hard time finding the little girl I love inside our moody, red-faced monster.  Shane urged me to get out for awhile, so I grabbed my coat and flew out the door before he could utter the words “retail therapy”.  I found refuge in the mall, overwhelmed with my options now that I can shop outside of the maternity section.  I’ve still got some pregnancy pounds to shed, so finding the right fit has its challenges, but the break did me good.  By 8:00, I was ready to go home and make amends with my baby.  I headed out to the parking lot after making a quick stop at the Clinique counter to snag my bonus bag, but didn’t see the car outside of Macy’s.  Wait – had I parked outside of Macy’s?  I thought so…  I walked up and down the aisles of the lot three times before going back inside the store, to see if I could retrace my steps.  I completely drew a blank – I had absolutely no memory of walking into the mall.  I went back outside and walked the lot, again.  I started to panic.  I called Shane and really began to panic as I wondered aloud if our car had been stolen.  He was obviously helpless, at home and car-less with a sleeping baby, but he did his best to talk me off the ledge and then asked me to call a friend for a ride home while he looked into the protocol for reporting a stolen vehicle.  I called La Verne, doing my best to put on my calm and collected voice as I asked if she was busy, but she saw right through my guise and left her dinner guests immediately to come pick me up.  Is this who I’d become?  A lost, crazy lady wandering a mall parking lot in the dark, crying into her Jamba Juice?  As I was waiting for La Verne, I walked over to the adjacent Nordstrom parking lot, just to check, and…voila!  I have never been so happy to see our beat-up Civic.  I’ve also never been so embarrassed to call a friend and say, “Uh…nevermind.”  (Thanks, anyway, La V!)  I called Amanda on the way home, wanting to share my brush with insanity with a fellow mother, and as I told her that I felt like a total basket case, she kindly assured me, “You’re not crazy, Kel.  You’re just a sleep-deprived, hormonal new mom.”  True that.

Thankfully, the tides have turned today.  Juliette has flashed us dozens of smiles, as if she’s trying to make up for yesterday’s grump-fest, so we’re on speaking terms again.  I guess we both just needed a day to flush the crazy out.

I turned 32 years old yesterday.  In my card from my parents, my mom asked, “best birthday ever?!”  Hmmm…  There’s some stiff competition for the title of best birthday, as October is typically a pretty stellar month for the Schnell clan.  Last year at this time, Shane and I were frolicking around New England, pairing platters of fresh oysters with crisp glasses of white wine.  Two years ago, we were in Amsterdam, ringing in my 30th year with cheese fondue and a canal-side stroll.  Yesterday, I ventured only as far as the neighborhood diner for a late breakfast with girlfriends, and the neighborhood pizza joint for a casual lunch with Shane and Juliette. How times have changed…

Shane arranged for me to go out with Nance and La Verne yesterday morning, so that I could have some “time off” from the baby. Feels ironic, that his gift to me was time away from Juliette, when I think about the longing for a child that hung like a cloud over those previous two birthdays.  I remember being terribly disappointed when my monthly cramps set in two years ago as we arrived in Lyon after visiting Amsterdam and Bruges; I sat on the bed in our tiny little hotel room and shed a few tears as I relinquished the fantasy that we’d be celebrating a positive pregnancy test on our European tour.  I remember the fragility of my emotions this time last year, as we began talking about fertility treatments, wrestling with the idea that a baby might require more physical/emotional/financial investment than we’d imagined.  Those trips also held dozens of beautiful memories, but they took place during a time in my life when I so fervently hoped for more.

And now here I am, celebrating my first birthday as a mother.  Even in the midst of my brokenness, my bitterness, my envy, and my impatience, even though we already lived a life rich with so many blessings, God gave me more.  Because God is such a generous gift-giver.  His timing is mysterious, his presents often wrapped in unlikely packaging and delivered via circuitous routes, but I have been reminded this season that he doesn’t just give us what we earn or deserve (too often I deserve a lump of coal or a bag of sour grapes). Instead, in his infinite grace, he lavishes us with joy, peace, love, hope…

I enjoyed getting out with ladies yesterday morning for a bite at Geraldine’s.  I was due for a break from the baby, particularly as the little gremlin in Juliette has been making an appearance between the hours of 7 and 11 am.  But dang, it also felt good to spend a quiet afternoon at home, to scoop Jules up in my arms and feel her eagerly nuzzle against me (even if that nuzzling is usually out of hunger more than love…).  There were no big sights to be seen, no extravagant meals to be had, but still, the day exceeded anything I could have dreamed of a year ago.

So yes, Mom, without a doubt.  Best birthday ever.

We have proudly bore the title of parents for 2 weeks now and are slowly but surely finding our way through the topsy-turvy terrain of caring for a newborn. It’s been better, sweeter, and at times (usually in the wee hours of the morning), much harder than we imagined.  It feels like any given day, any given hour, can hold the highest highs and the lowest lows.

I stood with Juliette in my arms in the nursery the other night, bouncing and shushing until I was short of breath, watching the clock tick its way past midnight, crying tears of frustration as she wailed in my ear.  How could she possibly be hungry again?  I fed her thirty minutes ago.  Couldn’t she give my sore breasts a break? Was I producing enough milk? Or was she just an over-eater? Why did I let her take that long evening nap, right before bedtime? My mind ran amuck, all sense of reason lost in the mix of too little sleep and too many hormones. But once I worked up the will to feed her again and laid her quiet, milk-drunk little body across my chest, I was reminded that she’s not trying to be difficult – she’s just trying to figure out life on the outside, and the learning curve is steep, for her and for us. This mutual vulnerability sometimes results in tears, but it also results in a kind of closeness I’ve never known before. There is no match for the feeling of her collapsing against me after a big meal, her serene, satisfied face saying “thank you”.

As I’m feeling stronger and Jules is more alert, we’re embarking on mini family outings to break up our long, quiet days at home. We took her out to the Columbia City farmers market on Wednesday night, eager for fresh air and a short walk. Shane and I tucked her into her car seat and then playfully argued over who would get to push the stroller and enjoy the best view of her curious, wide-open eyes. It was fun to join the ranks of other neighborhood families, to see cider for sale and sense the onset of Fall. But then Jules started to fuss as I lingered by the freshly picked apples. We headed back to the car, wanting to keep her happy and squeeze in a quick run to the grocery store before going home. Halfway to PCC, the girl totally lost it – we called it quits on our fun family outing and turned the car around just as her crying morphed into full-on purple-faced shrieking. Shane became frantic as we waited at a stop light, begging me to do something as her periods of suspended breath between wails grew longer and longer – he thought she was literally crying herself to death. I assured him that she’d be fine, but by the time we made it home and pulled her out of her (apparently tortuous) car seat, my nerves were shot. Hearing her cry like that and feeling powerless to stop it had left me tired and anxious – I cradled her in my arms and sighed as I wondered how many more years of on-the-road meltdowns we had in front of us.

Every day holds one or two (or 15) moments of doubt or fatigue; thankfully, every day is also full of precious nuggets that outshine the tough stuff. A smile, a goofy cross-eyed gaze, a quiet minute to stop and stroke her soft brown-and-blond hair – these are the joys that get us through the day. When she drapes her arms across my body after a good feeding or nuzzles against Shane to watch the Giants game, all is suddenly right in our little world.

And, by popular demand, the latest photos…

I’d like to think she was smiling at me, but the sounds coming from her derriere suggest there was something else going on:

Best natural highlights I’ve ever seen:

Blue steel:

Passed out.  One of these days I’ll learn that I should be napping while she’s napping, rather than obsessively taking photos of her:

Feelin’ fresh after her first shower:

Sleeping the day away on her 2-week birthday: