the final pregnancy pact baby.

She's here.

Oops. Sorry. I got a little ahead of myself. Let me back it up like burp, burp.

As I'm sure you remember (because how could you not remember every detail of my life?), some of my friends and I ended up in a make shift pregnancy pact this year and in the last six months, we've popped out four babies. Obviously, there have been pregnancy pact allegation and obviously those rumors are totally true false.

I posted about the pregnancy pact here in what was basically an open love letter to my four best friends. Sue me. But never call me Sue.

Anywhoo. The fourth and final installment of Babypalooza 2013 is here. She's here! (now it makes a little more sense huh?)

Baby #4 (2013 edition) belongs to Emy.

For reference this is Emy. This is actually Emy and Me in 2002 - I think this is my first visit to her dorm room freshman year (I was a super cool sophomore in a short sleeved turtle neck who lived in an apartment off campus. I know. Hot stuff.).

Emy was due on a Tuesday but that sweetheart went into labor a few days early and super conveniently on a weekend. Jessica and I raced to the hospital to wait it out.

We are fabulous even at midnight, sans makeup and in "classy" pajamas since there would for sure be photo evidence of this day - I'm not kidding about this. Emy is in labor and we are texting about whether to wear sweats or leggings. It was a hotly debated topic and we settled on leggings. Naturally.

Baby Doll was born at 6:59 am (what a peach - the nurse got off at 7 so she either cut that one close or is super amazing already) and I got to VIP my butt into the room within minutes to take photos of her firsts, especially meeting her grandparents for the first time.

Emy said I could post some of the pictures from her morning, and then some of the newborn shoot we did a week later. I'm so blessed to have been a part of this incredible day in Emy's life and now to be a part of Camden's.

Camden Rose
September 15th, 2013
7 pounds, 12 ounces and 19 1/2 inches long

Emy and her Dad. I died.

And now some newborn pics with the most beautiful one week old around.

tbt: head control is overrated.

Remember when Sam didn't have good head control?

Ugh. I do.

It was a magical time of shouting "watch his head!!!" at everyone who touched him, cradling him gently, and exploiting him. Mostly the exploiting him is what I miss.


Good parenting is based on exploitation. I'm pretty sure that's one of Einstein's laws of relativity or relatives or something like that. I'm like 90% on that. Whatever. I'll just edit wikipedia to match my statement.

I wish we had a better video of Chuck hypnotizing Sam but now with the whole "I have head control" thing, Sam has ruined our fun and we can't even reshoot the video if we wanted to. Unless we actually hypnotized him!!! Ooooh. This sounds like fun AND a way to meet our local CPS.

Throwing it waaaaay back to June when Sam was even easier to play with being that he didn't fight back... And to when Chuck would say things like "You are getting very sleepy...." "When you wake up, you won't be able to speak or control your arm movements." "You will have an uncontrollable craving for milk."

We called it hypnobaby, for the record.

i won't be bouncing anytime soon.

Do you know what isn't as much fun when you are breastfeeding?

Bouncy houses. Yikes. That's pain, not happiness.

Not. Too. Fun. Dangerous. Scary. Hurtful. I'm not sure when the last time was you jumped with lead weights attached to your top, but I do. And I will not be doing that again NEtime soon. Nursing bras just do not lend the support needed to enjoy a nice bouncy house. Sorry Target. They just don't.

Oh and FYI, the bouncy house wasn't just for us. Though that does seem about like something we would rent for funsies. No, no, not this time. This time it was Sweet Paisley's 3rd birthday party.

Ugh. No idea how she is three and such a little lady.

She even threw an outfit change at us mid-party. You just can't teach fabulous. You're either born with it or not.

You also can't teach maturity.

This guy doesn't have it. Guess what the other husbands/Dads/grown men were drinking at the party? Not a JUICE BOX. That's what.

Or photo bombing a nice family picture. That face is on purpose. I can't take him anywhere.

Oooh but you know what we did play at Paisley's party? Baby swap. Sometimes it's easier to deal with someone else's fussy baby than your own so we did a trade.

Don't we make nice swapped families? These boys are going to have a lot of questions as they grow up. Pictures like this won't help.

Or pictures clearly showing that I gel my four month old baby's hair.

What?! First of all. He likes it like that. Second, his hair grows in a faux hawk. How do I not gel that? And don't worry, I use a very mild, organic, meant-for-baby hair gel. Definitely not the $2.59 Queen Helene hair gel from Rite Aid that Chuck has been using since he was 16. Definitely not that stuff...

I promise I'm a good mom. Promise.

I just like this picture so I get to post it. I make the blog, I make the rules.

hiring the right kind of help

It is so important when nursing to have a premo lactation consultant. Most people wouldn't choose a hairy male, but I'm not most people.
Most people also wouldn't post a picture where their thighs look like they ate Kirstie Alley, but again. Not most people.

holiday mini sessions

how i'm getting through today.

Sam has had a banner morning.

Not really, but I'm trying to convince myself it's a banner day by saying that over and over and then maybe it will be true. Actually he's being a bit of a turd. The cutest turd you've ever seen, and by far my favorite turd around, but still. Kind of a stinker today.

If left to his own devices this morning, he's a fuss mess so I'm left doing the mommy distraction dance to get us through the day or until he decides to be himself again, act his age and man up. What? He's four months old now. He can take it.

I busted out the Johnny Jump Up which is new to us. New to Sam. Not new to me. I know what a Johnny Jump Up is. I'm not that lame.

I sent an SOS pic to Chuck to let him know this is where we are at for the morning.

Chuck wrote back that Sam looked like Big Foot and please could I photoshop the two side by side for comparrison. And that if I blogged this photo to ask you to forgive the mess of a closet behind him. That's a lie. Chuck didn't say that. I'm projecting.

Of course that's exactly what I did during nap time - photoshopped the pictures, not cleaned the closet. Got nothing better planned to do during nap time. Photoshop and blog are way more fun. You are welcome.

And Chuck was right.

This is what I've accomplished today. That and Sam is alive and fed. Win for Friday.

ok. so. he really, really hates it.

This is the face of someone who is so committed to their hatred of rice cereal they forced a vomit all over the first bib they've ever warn. You can see it all down his right side. First he spits it back and then to be really vindictive, he spends a few seconds gagging himself until all remnants of rice cereal that ever touched him come spewing back out. I wonder where he gets such bevior from...yikes.

And in the happiest voice: "No Mom! I mean I like really, really hate this stuff!"

At least, at the very least, he has a good attitude about this. Who smiles after vomiting? Oh that's right. Me. I love a good puke and rally. Don't take that the wrong way. This is puke and rally in the "I kind of have a tummy ache", "I don't think that meal sat well", etc. I'm a really good puker. Always makes me feel better. What? Too far. Not far enough? Want me to keep going? I can...

Apparently being a good puker is a gene. This guy has it. Who knew.

I should have known better than to try rice cereal again. Sunday he was indifferent. Yesterday he started crying during his faux meal - which is like the 4th time he's ever cried so that should have been my clue that we are not a rice cereal fan. Then today, he vomits it up.

Did I learn? Nah. I tried one more spoonful and got this face.

Hating it with gusto. That's more like it!

That judgy face. Talk about genes. You're welcome for that look, Sam.
Oh and thanks much for your applauds on my one hand feeding, one hand picture taking abilities. I know. I'm amazing.

Maybe the gene we should be talking about here is the one he got from his Dad: we call it RTC. That's resistant to change. Maybe he's just a little resistant to changing from his typical diet, and having a hard time dealing with the change. I know one former 27 year old who 'bout had a heart attack when his Mom got rid of the 28 year old microwave she'd had since his birth and he didn't get to say goodbye. I can't make this stuff up.

This is the gene pool Sam is working with. He gets puking from me and the inability to handle new things from his Dad. I have a feeling showers of green peas are in my future.

But in his defense, I tried the rice cereal and that judgy look would also be my face if asked to describe it. I imagine - though I have no basis for this - that rice cereal is probably what a butt tastes like. We will move on to other foods and leave the rice cereal for a while.

You know those last two pictures I took? I felt like I'd seen that look before somewhere.

Oh that's right. I saw this same look three years ago when I tried feeding Lucy tortellini. See. The whole thing is genetic.

sam's feelings on his first solid food.

"I think my face says it all. I'm in a Bumbo on a table and we all know a Bumbo is clearly labeled as a floor seat and, oh, what's that, I'm definitely not buckled in because, yep, this one doesn't even have buckles. What is going on here? I thought we were watching the Seahawks game together not tempting fate."

"Oh. Lord. What is that?"

"I don't think I like this. Why is this happening?"

"That's just not what usually goes in my mouth. FYI. First, you endanger my life in the Bumbo. Now, you insult my taste buds."

"Oh. We're doing this again. I didn't know this was a continuous thing."

"I'm Ok. I'm still alive and I'm not hating it as much as I did before. I wonder if it tastes better than my hands."

{nom, nom, nom, nom}

"You two are really pushing this aren't you? What am I missing here?"

"First of all, do I or do I not look like a little English gentleman here? Second of all, upon further review, I do not hate whatever you have mixed with Mom Juice."

"Be a friend, do I have anything on my face? Not so much here....or here...but"

"Oh, I do? Whoopsie daisy."

"Is that better? Do I look as cute as ever? Good. I'll try your food again tomorrow."
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