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.  

I often get judged or questioned for how I parent my children. It comes with the territory of living with my grandma and mom, who are from different generations and have very different parenting styles than me. I also feel the vibes of others who wonder why my kids go to bed early or don't eat out much or are always naked. I'm pretty damn confident in my parenting which is why I'm going to explain my hybrid style of parenting that sometimes leaves people rolling their eyes. 

Have you ever felt "touched out"? I've heard this term tossed around the mom world, but didn't really understand what it meant until I was around 6 months pregnant with Layla and dealing with a 1 year old, too. Have you ever realized how often your kids touch you? I challenge you to mentally keep track for an hour (yes, just an hour!) and see how often your kids do a physical check-in with you. 

I did this with my kids and here's a quick rundown of our hour... Just kidding! This entire post would be listing each time Lincoln poked me, asked for up, said "help me" while clinging to my leg, or each time Layla whined, got stuck crawling somewhere she wasn't supposed to, breastfeeding time, endless diapers, etc. It is simply endless and immeasurable the amount of times my kids touched me in some way.