After church on Sunday I plopped Little Liv on my bed to take some pictures of her in her cute little dress. I'm definitely no girl baby dresser expert but I do have fun putting her in the dresses I do have. And taking pictures of her in them because she will probably not get to wear them that many times. And they're so cute and I want to remember them all.
She is a really good sport for me. She is actually a really good baby. I was pretty worried during that first couple of months when she was fussy a lot, but now that she can be entertained by things other than food and sleep she doesn't usually fuss unless she is really sleepy. She has been sleeping pretty good through the night, from her last bottle at like nine or nine thirty until about seven thirty in the morning. She even manages to sleep through the early morning disruptions by the boys who get up at six and are constantly in and out of my room yelling, crying, whining, begging, and making all other kinds of noise. I wish I could sleep through all of that.
The other two are giving me a run for my money, especially the precious middle child. I'm not sure if its a mixture of exhaustion from the wear and tear of just being a mom, or Brice being gone a lot, or maybe just hormonal changes, but I have been on a roller coaster ride these last couple of weeks. I've been pumping instead of nursing since Liv never really was able to latch right, but I think I'm ready to give that up. Which is a process in itself. But then maybe my body will get all the way back to normal and I'll only be crazy once a month, and I'll be able to know what's causing the craziness, when it's coming, and prepare accordingly. Sometimes I feel like I should be some sort of wild animal and a warning bell should be sounded when I'm on the loose and all the village people (like little rowdy boys) should run to their rooms for cover when I get in my "bad mood". I hope I'm not scarring them too bad.
Today I listened to a talk from Elder Holland that I saw a link to on Pinterest about motherhood. I locked myself in my bedroom, while Cameron pounded on the door nonstop, and listened to it and cried. But then I felt better.
Being a mom of little kids is just hard. I know it's hard for everyone. Right? Just some people make it look so easy. This morning as I looked around at the piles of laundry, and the dirty kitchen, and the boys room--where the floor couldn't even be seen-- to my room--where you have to step strategically like Jenga to keep it from coming down--and the bathroom that was spotless on Saturday and now a disaster again--I just felt so discouraged. I know I always feel better when the house is in order, but that rarely happens. And I try to reassemble it in the evenings but that's when I'm the most tired and once I sit down, getting back up to clean is like actual physical pain.
But I try to tell myself that it won't always be like this. And I'll miss the markings of little kids everywhere. I'll miss their stickers on the wall and dirty underwear under my pillow (yeah I don't know how that happened). Right now I don't see that I'll miss it. But I guess I probably will. In the meantime I suppose there is nothing to do but carry on and hope that I'm doing an okay job. And count my many blessings. Because I know I do have a lot of them.