Beach Baby

It took us 12 hours to get there, stopping 4 times and spending the last half hour driving with a very, very unhappy Baby Boy.

We waited in the outdoor hallway of the condo for an hour in the rain with all our luggage while the realtor found keys that would actually open our door.

We made it inside only to find the carpet still wet from the carpet cleaners.

Baby Boy ran a low-grade fever for the first 3 days there.

I sat on the beach, ignoring logic on an overcast day, and ended up with a sunburn so bad I took motrin for days after for the pain.

Most of all:

It was seeing dolphins, watching Pelicans dive into the surf, eating crab legs, walking the boardwalk, playing mini-golf, reading good books, finding shells, swimming in the water and spending time with family.

I love Ocean City.

Thanks for the trip, Mom and Dad. We all had a great time.

11 Months

Dear Baby Boy

For your 11 Month Birthday we decided to throw in a few extras.
Father's Day (I should have a whole post about how much I love Dr. Dad and what an awesome Father he is. But we are on vacation. See next point).
Your first trip to the beach (more on this later...like I said, we are on vacation).
A lovely Mexican dinner.
Time with my whole family.

I am sorry to say, don't expect this kind of fanfare when you actually turn a year old, in, yee gads, less than 4 weeks now.

I don't know what happened. When your sister turned one, I went a little crazy. We invited, like, 40 people. We brought in food from our favorite BBQ place. We took her on a trip to the NICU to celebrate with the nurses and doctors, we went to the zoo, we bought her a special dress with her name on it that I ordered from a boutique and spent more money that I even care to remember.

I haven't even picked out invitations for your party. The one that is happening in, oh holy cow, 23 days.

Please, please don't think it's because we love you any less. You are one amazing little guy. In just this past month you have been working on all kinds of toddler like activities. You stood on your own for a brief moment. You cruise all over our house, holding onto whatever is convenient (the couch, the fridge, the dog). You started waving just this week! We think you call me "Mim" and you like to eat sand and you can scream at a decibel that will probably attract dogs to our house.

I am starting to wonder if I am procrastinating because I am in denial. You are almost not a baby anymore. And you are our last baby. So that's that. I promise you will have a lovely party. I just need to catch my breath.

Dance!

So we survived another recital. For all the complaining I do about the money and time and semi-dictator-type rules I am quickly realizing why we come back year after year.

Not only does Baby Girl love to dance, I love to WATCH her dance.

Probably a part of me fondly remembering my own dance recital days...I loved the performing and costumes and make-up and getting flowers.

Through the whole week of rehearsals that went until 8:30 at night and recitals that lasted 3 hours and spending most of that recital time "back stage" in the high school cafeteria, Baby Girl never complained. Never said she didn't want to do it. Most of the time was spent prancing around and admiring herself and having a good time.

When she steps on that stage you can see the joy in her face. She smiles from ear to ear. She is never nervous. It makes me happy just to see her do something she so obviously likes to do.

I sometimes get to know the other mothers during the year while we sit in the lobby of the studio. Many of them won't be back next year. They list all the reasons I have already complained about (money, costumes, crazy time commitments) and I don't blame them at all. But most of the time they also admit their daughter just didn't like it. Didn't like the dancing and the practicing and the performing. But I have a daughter who loves all that. So I will bring her back in the fall. I already registered her for Pre-Cecchetti II (do I sound pretentious yet?).

So I continue with my love-hate relationship with the studio. Maybe it's my thing. I complain endlessly about it and then sign her up for another year.

So I can see more of my daughter, happy like this.

End of the Year

I didn't realize this until just recently, but I measure my year September to June.

I guess it's a result of growing up in a house where my parents worked in education.

Or maybe I am eternally wanting a summer off.

But here it is. June.

Today was the last day of school.

My Baby Girl has "graduated" from Kindergarten.

I was not at all sad to watch her go to Kindergarten. I knew she was ready. She was nearly 6, has been to Preschool and PreK and could already read. Plus, I had a newborn and I thought...yippee! a break!

Today I surprised myself by crying after I put her on the bus this morning. It's over. That first year when school is still awesome and full of rest time and crafts and games and innocence.

I am more proud of her than I can even put into words.

And I am even more proud of us. We made it through this year. A year of adapting to being a family of four. A year of learning how to get everyone to bed on time and get up on time and pack a lunch and get out the door and only miss the bus once.

A year where I decided it would be a good idea to have a baby, be Head Room Mother, President of our Newcomers club and start a blog.

Maybe we all graduated from Kindergarten.

Now, let's take a break!