The end goal of parenthood is a happy, well adjusted, self sufficient adult, right? We want our children to take risks and sometimes fail and learn and figure out who they are without too much intervention. And yet, why is it the hardest thing in the world to shut up as they leap from the cushion of the couch to the floor which is barely padded for a surprise dive?

I'm a firm believer in letting my children explore the world, but that doesn't mean it doesn't kill me on the inside to see them try something and fail, knowing that my intervention could've helped or given them extra support. 

How is it possible that two working adults can barely afford an early education for their children? Without a doubt, if I wasn't already in the profession of working in childcare, I would be a stay at home mom simply due to the fact that quality childcare is so damn expensive. I get a pretty sweet discount and still, barely make enough for groceries for the month. 

So, why do it?

The alternative is staying at home with both kids, maybe taking classes like music and gymnastics (probably virtually thanks to COVID), and doing things the enrich them at home. All manageable and doable, millions stay at home moms figure it out.

I hit a huge birthday milestone this week and while I'm excited to have hit a new decade, big thirty years old, and set some goals for myself and keep trekking on, I'm feeling a little weird about it. After all, I never really care much for numbers or big celebrations or the meaning of certain dates and birthdays. It's not that I don't care, I just don't see a singular day as defining or changing anything. 

But that's beside the point. 

I turned thirty and just felt weird, and different, and changed. I feel like a huge chunk of my life has passed and while I've accomplished a ton of things I really really wanted to, I don't feel done. And while I know I still have a long ways to go, I feel like time is running out for certain boxes I'd  like to tick. 

Quarantine was rough for us and a major factor was the fact that there was a newborn at home. With any newborn, there's a feeling of being stuck and not being able to go wherever you want. You're very much strapped down to a feeding and sleeping schedule, rinse and repeat. Despite the collic and endless wakings at night, I really found my footing in this mom of two being stuck at home life by getting outside. 

March in New England is still cold. It snows sometimes, is generally wet, and really not a great experience if you didn't have to go out. But once I made it a part of my daily routine to get outside in same way, shape, or form, my mood change and my mindset lifted.

Maybe it’s a mom of babies thing or a young mom thing, but this end-of-year feeling has me yearning for the tough days again and wanting to transport back to February 2020 when life was so much easier and seemingly less complicated. And yet as I sit here, reflecting on who I was back in February and what we were doing, was it much different then?
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On maternity leave with baby number two, a colic-ally little thing with red hair and a loud scream, I sat at home all day long, trying to “nap when the baby naps” as if that’s a real thing, and juggling a 15 month old clinger who wants to climb and run and gets injured every two seconds. I was perpetually exhausted from said newborn and really run down physically. Not from a tough labor or a slower bounce back—no, I felt fine in that way. The constant touching of baby life and toddler life and husband life was wearing on me. I remember being so touched out one day that laying in bed alone when my husband worked late in numbing silence was self-care.

Arguably the best part of having two littles super close together is the bond they share when they've grown up together. I won't lie to you: the first six months of having an infant with a young toddler were brutal. Of course, a long-winded still not ended pandemic definitely didn't add to my misery of dealing with double sleep troubles (4 month regression and nightmares), a busy toddler at home 24/7, and a cluster feeding newborn with colic. 

I breastfed my little girl for the last time last night. I remember it being such a bittersweet moment with Lincoln and this time was no different. She is so long that her body stretched across my entire lap, her fingers twirling her little piece of hair around her ear. She didn’t even really want to eat before bed, but I did it to get my one last time with her.

We all hear these horror stories of babies not wanting to stop breastfeeding until they’re 4 or drinking a bottle past the recommended time. I always heard it was such a tough process to cut feedings and stop night feedings or dream feedings or whatever you do with your baby. However, both of my kids just sort of figured it out on their own, without much intervention from me.