Busy hands are happy hands?....

Busy hands are happy hands...or so the saying goes, but are they?

I have been thinking a lot about this lately, in the context of my own life, the lives of the women I know and in the context of the changes I am making.

Here is what I am coming to see and understand. In today's society women are expected (often by other women) to be successful, and it seems to me that it is hard to define success and so by default success has been defined by how busy someone is. How many volunteer committees are you involved in, how many nights a week are you running to and from meetings, or children's activities, how many mornings do you rise with a full plate of things to do places to be? How many businesses do you have your hand in? How much networking are you getting in, to push those businesses? How many hours do you spend working to get ahead?

I stopped...

I stopped to ask myself these questions and to take a moment to define what success meant to me.

via my pinterest

I stopped and looked at my life from the inside out, not from the outside in as I had been, and here is what I saw.

I saw someone who from the outside in may have looked like she had it all together.
I saw someone who was busy on this committee or that committee, going to that meeting and this meeting.
I saw a woman who worked to make her business successful and who spent many hours away from her family in order to do that ( even if she was physically present).
I saw a woman who spent quiet moments alone wondering about how her children were but not being with her children.
I saw a woman who was living with her shoulders up around her ears tight with tension and stress trying to please everyone around her, trying to be heard and seen doing the 'important things'
I saw a woman who missed an entire session of her children's swimming lessons because she had a business to run.
I saw a woman who when the weekend came and her children's eyes would light up at the idea of being together as a family had to tell her children no, she had to go to work.
I saw a  woman who had no time to visit her eldest daughter as she begins her life and career.
I saw a woman who had lost sight of her priorities.
I saw a woman I did not like, nor want to be.

Now, not everyone will stop to look and not like what they see. Some people will be completely happy to spread themselves thin and stretch their limits and challenge themselves. For some people this will give them purpose and meaning. It will fill them with pride and contentment. Some will be able to balance the many facets of their lives in a way that makes them feel whole. Not me.

I love my family, my children, my husband and they are my priority. I want to have as much time and flexibility to be with them as I can. I want to be able to be present in all ways, not just physical. I want to stop checking emails and messages every ten seconds because I might miss something. I want to not have a tension headache all the time. I want to feel normal again...whatever that is.

You see, the thing is only you can decide what is right for you, but many of us are trapped or wrapped up in this notion that being busy equates to being successful...it does not...in my case it just makes me tired.

And so as change is the only constant in this world, I am making changes, and I am happier for it. I left all the committees I was on. I stepped away, and the world did not crumble. I am closing the business we have worked at for the last four years because now is not the time for this...now is a time to be a mom, and while I will have to work outside the home, I will come home at the end of a day and be present. I will have weekends to spend with my children and I will have vacations to take. Hopefully my shoulders will drop and the headaches will lessen. I will be a dedicated employee but when it is time to head home, I will be a dedicated wife and mother. This will be my definition of success.

I wish each of you your own definition of success.
Jo

Of days gone by...

Oh how joyful it is to watch your kids grow up. My wee girls are both in school now, the youngest in Junior Kindergarten. OY!

Time is flying and we often feel the need to record every moment because the things that they do and say are so very precious we are terrified we will forget them.

Some of my favorites...

Lilah asking if she can sit 'benext' to me or if we can go on a b'venture. Even more precious was Lilah saying the other night 'I miss the old days...I miss being three...being four is hard'
Or Izzy when she used to sing 'Kwinkle Kwinkle' Little Star.

Then there is Lilah and her wiggle dance that she does...primarily when she is naked...or 'nakey' as she calls it, and Isobel talking with her hands like what she is saying is the most important thing on earth...which it is!

They grow up so fast and before you know it they are getting their first raise (like my oldest daughter Cait). Take the time today to put down the phone, tablet, newspaper...close the computer turn off the TV and watch and listen to your kids...today will be tomorrow before you know it and there will be so many yesterdays you wish you could get back. Sing  to them, read to them, dance with them...play with them. they need you more than they need anything else and the most precious gift you can give them is time...and it is really all they want.

Looking for some more parental inspiration? Check out this post over at A Cup of Jo and then read anything over at Hands Free Mama.

My favorite time of day is bedtime when I crawl into bed and sing to each of my girls...three songs each and then I give them snuggles, kisses and say goodnight...I always say 'I'll see you in the morning'...and they always say 'not if I see you first'. It doesn't matter what has happened that day, how frustrated I have been with them...it always makes me smile.

I can't wait until bedtime...you?

In my household of late...

Good Day everyone in blogland...oh how I am missing you. I have tried to keep abreast of what is going on out there, comment when I can but time is tight these days as many of you well know, and some things just fall to the bottom of the imaginary list...not today!

I downloaded some pictures off my camera this morning and thought I would share all that has been happening in our household of late.

The tree is up and trimmed. This is my favorite thing to do getting ready for the season ahead. Nothing starts until the tree is up for me. My husband tries to hold me off as long as he can, but this year he did a wonderful thing and surprised me with a tree... Or he would have, had I not looked at the bank account and noticed a transaction that did not make sense. Still it was a nice surprise that I totally needed. More important...he knew I needed it. I could love him for that alone.

Last week I came home to find this wonderful craft that my daughter made at school, it is her handprint on a glass ball with the fingers made into little snowmen (I'm sure you've all seen versions of this on pinterest) but it was so nice to receive it along with it's little poem about how fast she will grow up...not gonna lie, I cried...yup it was a nice gift to receive and hang on our tree.

 My tree is steeped in tradition and memory. My family growing up was not big on following the same traditions each year, there was never a right way or a wrong way to do Christmas, but the one thing we always had were our ornaments. The same ones went up every year, I always had my favorites, and I still do today. the ornaments have been passed to me, and for that I am thankful. Each year I realise just how much these simple little things mean to me. I am not one to hold onto things for sentiment, so these things that I pack away every January and dig out every December bring me great joy.

Another thing I try to do each year is to build a Gingerbread house. One year I even made my own gingerbread...only one year because ugh that was a chore, and a frustration to beat all frustrations...so now as un inspired as it is, I buy a kit. The girls and I did this one day last week, it was fun, they enjoyed and I let them...meaning I did not take over too much, try too hard to control the outcome wanting perfection, these moments were perfection enough...

 

A self portrait by Isobel...I couldn't resist :o)

So this is what has been up in my neck of the woods in my moments at home with the girls...the rest of the time I have been in the gallery where I am happy to report that people are shopping local and buying handmade.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to each of you!

2 Days until my big girl comes home...

2 More Saturdays to shop...

10 Days until the big day...

YIPEE!

Halloween wrap up...

I am not a huge fan of Halloween...I never trick or treated when I was a kid, my parents preferred instead to take my brother and I out for dinner and then to the mall where we could pick out something special.

As a mom I find it a bit stressful. Coming up with costume ideas and then feeling the need to make the costumes myself. Having said that, when the costume is done it is a great sense of accomplishment, but it is just one more thing on the ever growing 'to do' list.

This year we opted for easy...still home made, but easy. The girls went as black cats...a far cry from the original purple sponge that Izzy wanted to be and a whole lot easier. I simply made cat ears and a tail that I sewed onto a black shirt, painted the tip of the tail white, painted on the nose and whiskers, and Bob's your uncle, we had kittens!

They had fun, my husband had fun,and I handed out candy. All in all it isn't so bad. Izzy has already informed us she wants to be a puppy next year...we'll see if that one sticks.

I did partake in a few candies despite it being day one (see post here) however day two has me down 1.5 pounds...so it proves that drinking water and exercise makes all the difference in the world...and it proves it is exactly what my body has been waiting for...hence it's quick response. That result won't be everyday, but it is a good start. And as for the candy...well we threw all our leftovers out and only kept two small buckets for the girls...I can steer clear of that.

I hope every one had a great Halloween.

Happy Tuesday!

How long does itt ake you to get ready?...

So as I was getting ready this morning I was recalling an episode of  Gail Vaz-Oxlade's Princess where the money maven gets a young woman's spending under control.

First of all, I love Gail, she is an amazing financial expert whose approach to money and debt makes so much sense to the lay person...she should be setting up curriculum in high schools that all teens should have to take before graduating...it would save so many from the throes of debt. I digress...as usual

The reason I got to thinking about Princess is because the young woman that was featured the other night was 26, and it took her no less than three to four hours to get ready each day. Now I'm not talking getting ready for a night on the town, I am talking get ready for work, or school. Crazy right?



9 step dark smokey eye tutorial via pinterest ... 9 steps

 Now this morning as I was getting ready I took stock of what that took for me (not including a shower); 1. select clothes, approx 3min. (this sometimes takes 10 minutes itself if I am feeling indecisive)
2. get dressed, approx 1min.
3. fix hair, approx 5min. (it is really short for this very reason)
4. do makeup, approx 2min.
There you have it, 11 minutes to get ready. Is that enough time? Do I really look ready?



via pinterest

 To me I do. I decide to keep my hair short because I have three children two of them quite young still, I run a household, and own a business, I need life to be as easy as possible. I wear makeup, but not a lot. My regime consists of moisturizer, some blush, a nude eye shadow, mascara (I can do without everything else, but I have to have my mascara on), and lip balm...that's it.  Don't get me wrong I can  doll it up nicely when going out on the town, but lets face it, how often does that happen?

How long does it take you to get ready? Would you ever take 4 hours?

Happy Wednesday All!

...and Lilah makes three...girls that is

So last but not least we come to my darling little Lilah. My baby, my youngest and perhaps my most headstrong of the bunch. This a long one people...sorry ;)

Lilah's story begins with an ongoing discussion between Jake and I as to whether or not we wanted to have another child. More truthfully he was sure he did and I was not. Being uncertain about this is strange to me now as up until about two days ago (when we found out the big 'v' had indeed taken) I was not sure if I could live without having a fourth.

Jake always felt that he wanted a family of the same size as he grew up in, as he is one of two children, he felt he should have two children. Given that Cait is from my first marriage and 18 years older than Izzy I understood where he was coming from. Me on the other hand, I was scared about the prospect of raising two children at the same time. I knew how to raise one, and I had gotten her to 18 without too much trouble, but two...could I manage that? Did I want to? In the end we decided to leave it to chance certain that our ease of getting pregnant with Izzy was a fluke and that it could take a while or not happen at all, I was after all getting older.

Jake an I got married in early September 2008 and late that month, on my birthday actually, I felt as if my whole being was unraveling. I remember saying to Jake that I was either pregnant or having a nervous breakdown...I was pregnant. Jake and I were having a honeymoon baby. I was surprised once again at how easily I got pregnant. thinking back I shouldn't have been, right from the word go it was evident that I was a fertile being; I got pregnant with Caitlin the first time I ever had sex, pregnant with Izzy the first cycle after coming off  Depo Provera, and now pregnant with Lilah mere weeks after stopping the pill.

So here I was pregnant and I am ashamed to say now that I was not too sure how I felt about that. Surprised was the first thing, and then I had to settle into the idea...and I had to tell my mom. My mom had many times voiced her feeling that we should not have any more; she wasn't sure she had enough love to go around she said. She could not imagine loving anyone as much as she loves Izzy and Caitlin. Caitlin figured it out right away and was happy for us all, and she would be part of my plan to tell my mom. We decided to all go to Ikea one morning for their dollar breakfast...it was the plan to tell here here in the crowded cafeteria so as to limit her reaction...her reaction would be that of joy and happiness...and surprise that I was afraid to tell her.

The morning sickness that plagued both other pregnancies was present for this one as well and once that was behind me it seemed it would be smooth sailing...but it was not. One night at around 13 weeks after having been to the doctor for a check up I had some spotting just before going to bed. As my appointment had included an internal, we thought it was of little concern. At about 2am I woke in pool of blood, and I was consumed the the fear that I was having a miscarriage. Jake jumped into action and away we went to the hospital. Thankfully we only live about 3 minutes by car from the hospital as so from the time I woke to the time I was on a gurney being examined was probably less than 20 minutes. Unfortunately they could not tell me much. the heartbeat was not evident yet but that at this stage of the pregnancy meant little. They examined everything looking for evidence of a miscarriage but again could not find anything and again this meant little. Being in a small town hospital is great, but it has it's drawbacks...no overnight radiology. And so we were sent home to wait for an appointment for an ultrasound.

This would not come until the following day. To say that the day spent waiting was agonizing would be an understatement. Not knowing if you were losing your baby or not was worse than knowing I think...at least at that point it time it felt that way. The bleeding continued during this time, though it did slow, but I spent that day grappling with my emotions. Here I started this pregnancy unsure of my feelings and now it was very very clear that I had grown attached to the life growing inside and it may be taken from me. Everything became very concrete for me; the knowledge that I loved and wanted this child and the guilt at having been so unsure at the beginning. I promised myself that I would embrace this pregnancy fully if I was lucky enough to continue with it. As I walked the hall of the hospital going into the ultrasound suite alone (they would not let Jake come in with me) I had to steel myself for whatever news may come. I laid on the table belly bared and held my breath as the technician made her initial passes with her wand...and then she said words I will cherish for all of time...'there is a heartbeat'. Everything came back to life for me and I know how very lucky I am. I cannot imagine what it is like to lose a child to miscarriage, but I know the fear of not knowing.

It would be diagnosed as a uterine tear and I was told not to worry about it, as it would repair itself, and the baby was fine. The bleeding continued but slowed to spotting until  two days later when I had another gush of blood soak me. Jake hurried home from work, and this time I went to hospital alone. Luckily, one of the doctors that runs the prenatal clinic I receive my prenatal care from was in the emergency department that evening, and he was intent on getting to the bottom of this. He even called the radiologist back to the hospital so we could get an ultrasound immediately...bless his heart for this let me tell you. Again the ultrasound confirmed that the baby was okay and again the diagnosis was a uterine tear but this time in a different location. The doctor explained the situation to me and I was told no heavy lifting, no snow shoveling, and no intercourse. If I followed these directions everything should repair itself and be fine...and it was.

Because of the bleeding there were many ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy, but in none of them would this baby reveal it's gender to us. This time I needed to know, so we went for a 3D ultrasound. I did not want to see the baby, and I think the technician thought I was nuts. I honestly just wanted to know if it had girl bits or boy bits, so we stipulated that we were not to be shown the face or anything else, just the bottom half. Even for this ultrasound the strong willed nature of this child would be apparent, but after some prodding we discovered that we were indeed having another girl. Being a planner this made life much easier, we had all we needed by way of clothes and everything, the only thing we needed to purchase was a crib, as Isobel would only just be 18 months when Lilah was born we did not want to rush her into a big girl bed.

Labour would begin again in the wee hours of the morning, and progress without too much excitement or stalling. Again I made the stipulation of no drugs and a quiet delivery, and again I was the one making all the noise. The pain was a bit more with Lilah as she was sunny side up, but with a little perseverance and a few pushes she joined us weighing 6lbs 14oz. Caitlin would again be present and she would again cut the cord. Lilah was jaundiced and needed a few days in hospital under the lights before we could bring her home, but once home she was welcomed easily by Izzy, which was a relief.

Lilah is my blond hair blue eyed angel with a will stronger than both her sisters combined. Now that she is two it is becoming more and more difficult to manage but she is also the sweetest thing full of love and hugs.

I look at her now and cannot imagine life without her and have had to give myself permission to let go of the guilt of being uncertain about her pregnancy. The reality is I would not have a life without her and I am so glad she is the baby in my brood of girls.

Thanks once again for reading and feel free to share.

Happy Monday all!

...and along came Izzy

So to those few who are following at this point, I am remembering and retelling my birth stories. I must say I am thoroughly enjoying it, as giving birth to my three girls has been three of my greatest accomplishments, and three of the greatest days of my life.

Today I a going to recount my pregnancy and birth story for Isobel.

Sometime in the fall of 2006 we had friends over for dinner who during the course of the evening shared the news that they were expecting their second child. The joy and excitement they felt was palpable and contagious. That night in bed I said to Jake in a very quiet voice just before falling asleep that I wanted to have a baby with him. I wanted to feel what our friends were feeling. I wanted to plan a pregnancy and with someone I truly loved, and who loved me (I was 12 years divorced and a single mom to Cait when I met him). We were not married and had not talked much about this, but we'd bought a house together and were making a life together none-the-less. Jake in a casual voice said 'sure' and I figured he was just appeasing me and that it would be a topic saved for another day. To my surprise as I was heading off to work the next morning, he took me in his arms and in the most serious voice I had ever heard him use said 'I want to have a baby with you too'. As I drove to work I pondered this with a grin that I am sure could be seen from miles away. So we were going to plan to have a baby...but when?

As we discussed the logistics of all of this, we did some research. I was on Depo Provera and had been for a number of years. All the reading we did indicated that it could be difficult to conceive after stopping the injections. I was gutted, but if we wanted to have children we needed to start this process sooner rather than later. We decided I would have a final injection in October and that would be finished in January after which we would begin the process of trying to conceive.

We got engaged that Christmas and when January was here, I got out a new calendar and noted everything on it...you know what I mean by everything...Jake was mortified, but I wanted to keep track so I could determine when my cycle returned to normal and when it was most advantages to try. I needn't have worried. I had a normal cycle in February and conceived in early March...wow. We thought it would be hard, but we were wrong.

Another uneventful pregnancy ensued and we enjoyed every moment of it. At the time we lived a hour north of my parents whom we visited almost every weekend. Towards the end of the pregnancy we decided it might be best not to be too far from home in case things started to happen, but one Friday after having been off work for a week or so, I was terribly bored and wanted to do something...anything. So we decided to go to my parents just for the night. We arranged to meet them for dinner and then went back to their place. We went to bed as usual, and everything seemed quite normal...until I woke up a little wet at about 5:30am.  As anyone who has been at the end of a pregnancy knows, a little wetness is not immediate cause for concern. I quietly went to the washroom to confirm my suspicions, and yes my waters had ruptured...not all the way I was sure, but this was indeed the start of everything. Of course we were an hour away from home and our hospital, but I knew there was no need to panic. I laid back down without waking Jake for another half hour when the contractions started to come. At that point I thought it prudent to make him aware and there was quick moment of slight panic for him before I assured him things were fine, but we'd best collect our things and head home. We woke Caitlin who could not at first figure out why we were waking her when she'd only just gone to sleep, but tell a dreary teen you are in labour and man can you get them to move fast.

driving home in labour

On our way home Cait timed the contractions from the back seat and they were coming fairly regular at 5 mins apart.

Once home we called the hospital and were told to come in as soon as we felt comfortable but not to wait too long. We only lived a block away so we organised ourselves, packed some time wasting things and walked to the hospital. A 5 min walk took a bit longer in between contractions, but was good for labour.

We wrote out a birth plan so that there was not a repeat of my first experience. In that plan we noted that it was imperative that I did not want any drugs...none. I wanted to be fully aware and feel everything throughout this process. The doctor did not understand why and kept telling me that I was not going to win a medal for doing this without drugs, but that is how I wanted it. One of the other stipulations I made was that I wanted a quiet birthing experience. I did not want cheerleaders shouting at me telling me to push or breathe, or anything else...I wanted it as quiet as could be...of course I was making lots of noise and at one point the nurse told me it was okay if I swore and that unleashed a torrent of curse words that my mother kept apologizing for in the waiting room.

We stayed around the 4 to 5 minute mark in between contractions for quite some time, and then my waters broke fully and things started to progress a little more. Everything went well until I stalled at 9cm...everything just slowed and the contractions were one on top of another and quite intense but no change in dilation. Our hospital is quite progressive in it's approach to childbirth and the doctor and nurses had me in every position imaginable to get things moving and to get the baby to drop and thin the cervix to it's 10cm. the final position was the squatting bar. The doctor told me that if this didn't work, we would have to do a c-section as the whole thing was getting hard on the baby. So squat I did with Jake by my side for every breath. Finally I remember crying 'I can't do this anymore' to which the nurses cheered...it seems that when a woman reaches that point it is time to go...to push. And this would be the case for me. The squatting bar worked, and I was now 10cm and fully effaced and ready to push. I remember the doctor slowly getting ready and me being consumed by the need to push but being told to wait. Caitlin who had been present for most of the labour had exited the room a little while previous as it got to be a bit much for her, but the doctor would have none of it...he ushered her in told her where to stand. Three good pushes and Isobel Grace was born weighing 6lbs 11oz 14 hours after my labour began. Jake would be offered the cord to cut, but he could not handle that, so Cait was pulled in and cut the cord and to this day she will tickle Izzy's tummy and touch her belly button saying 'I made that'. It makes my heart melt every time.

And so it is that almost 4 years ago I gave birth the another most beautiful, funny, smart little girl. She makes me laugh daily, and astounds me with her understanding of the world. It will be interesting to see the person she grows into...too bad I can't keep her little for a bit longer.

Thanks all...and I would love to hear some of your pregnancy or birth stories. It is such an amazing experience no matter how it unfolds.

Bundle o joy...

It has been a very busy week since my last post and please accept my apologies for this. When I started writing this it was about 9pm and both my little girls (who share a room) were screeching and giggling with each other...I thought I could get away with not stepping in as they were not crying, or jumping around, but alas I had to step in and it is now two days later that I finish this post.

While I have not had time to post recently, I have been stealing away a few moments now and again to read blogs...what did I ever do before I found this world? Anyhoo...a few days ago A Cup of Jo was all about breast feeding and Jo asked her readers to share their stories. It was a wonderful post and it was so good to read all the comments from breastfeeding moms to bottle feeding moms. It was a good dialogue offering opinions and not judgements. It got me thinking about my experiences nursing my three girls and about my birth stories for each. So I thought I would share...if you don't mind.

My oldest daughter is Caitlin. She is a wonderful, smart, funny, beautiful, 21 year old woman now...which is just crazy, and although she thinks I remember nothing about her childhood, I remember all the important bits.

Caitlin  age 21 and Chester (her new puppy)

I was just 16 when I realized I was pregnant. It was a scary time, full of decisions, consequences and pain for me and for my family. When we found our way to the other side having decided that her father (who was 10 years older than me) and I would get married (our choice not my parents), we adjusted to the new life we were all embarking on. When I came to terms with the fact that this was happening, I fell in love with this baby and with being pregnant. The pregnancy was uneventful but for some major morning sickness for the first trimester. I cannot explain it, but in a time before you could find out the sex of your baby I just knew I was having a girl. It seemed to be innate, I only ever picked out a girls name and bought girls clothing without thinking about it. It just seemed that I knew it was a girl though I never really thought about it that much.

Cait age 12ish

One evening towards the end of the pregnancy we were sure we were in labour...we had called the hospital numerous times hoping to get clarification, and finally decided it was best to head over there in person. In we went excited that we would be leaving with our baby...or not. It seems I was not in labour and I was basically told I was stupid for coming in and wasting their time. Not in those words, but that was the basic tone of the night. It was awful walking out of the maternity ward hearing newborns cry and seeing moms and dads with their little bundles and not having one ourselves yet, but it would come, we were just impatient.

Cait age 17

About two weeks later the real show began late one night and it was clear that this was different. Not wanting a repeat of our previous trip to the hospital, I was adamant that I was not going to the hospital that evening. Finally early the next morning I was told we were going and it was no longer my choice...so off we went and after being admitted, checked and confirmed that I was in labour we were off and running. We arrived at the hospital at about 5:30am, around 11am they decided to break my water and then -boom- the contractions really hit hard and fast. One on top of another it was all I could do to catch my breath before the next one was upon me. At one point I levelled my then husband dislocating his thumb as I grabbed his hand during a contraction... However I felt I was doing okay, so when I was told to roll on my side and they injected me with something I was confused.

We had spoken with our OB about not wanting any drugs, and here they were sticking me with what I would later find out to be Demerol...which I would be allergic to. Needless to say this changed the dynamic of the whole affair and now I could not even keep my eyes open. Just before 2pm it was time to push and push I did. With not too much work, she arrived at 2:15pm on a beautiful early May day. Weighing 7lbs 5oz she was the image of her father people would say though now they say she is the image of me (lucky her). It wouldn't be until much later when I recovered from the Demerol and an infection that I would be upset that the doctors had not abided by my wishes. This very thing would be the center pin of my birth plans for the younger two girls. There was no discussion about my options, nor why they felt I needed the injection. From my perspective I was fine, the baby was fine and there was no need for intervention. My guess is they felt a 16 year old could not handle childbirth and felt it their place to step in without consent or consultation.

Regardless, everything turned out fine and though she was a little jaundiced, and I had the infection and the allergic reaction, we went home from the hospital after several days and recovered nicely.

Cheer Cait!

Over the next several days and weeks, I would make my best attempts to breast feed. I was immensely uncomfortable with the whole thing but knowing it was what was best for my baby I tried. It hurt, I had no support with it, as my own mother had never breast fed, and I cried every time I had to feed her...which as those of you who are mothers well know is often. After a few weeks, my family doctor finally encouraged me to bottle feed her telling me that my state of mind as I was nursing her was not good for her. The fact that I was so uncomfortable meant she was not getting the emotional connection that she needed. In hindsight I am sad that I did not soldier on, however I believe that at the time it was the best decision for us all.

Speaking of hindsight, fast forward two years and I am sitting in a surgeon's office discussing breast reduction surgery and being asked if I would want to nurse  again...being closer to my first experience and not even contemplating having more kids in the future I said no...big mistake...more on that when I share Izzy's birth story.

As an aside...there are not baby pics in this post...I am at the gallery without the aid of my photos and my scanner...so forgive me Caitlin...but everyone can trust me that she was adorable right from the word go! These photos were grabbed from our facebook pages.

And to my beautiful grown girl...never forget that your mother loves you with all her heart and is proud beyond measure...you were there first and have been by my side the longest...thank you and I love you.

Cait and I about 4 years ago