Bring on the smiles!

Elliot's first 10 weeks were marked by tears. Mostly his and sometimes mine.

He wasn't growing well or sleeping well. He cried so much.

At the beginning of June, though, things began to change bit by bit. He started growing. He started sleeping on his own, in his bed. He began laughing more and smiling all the time.

And now, at almost 4 months?

Oh this baby! He is a joy! He naps twice everyday for lengthy periods of time. When he's not asleep, he generally rolls around on the floor or plays with the toys in the swing or laughs at his siblings or watches movies (!), and he lights up whenever I walk into the room (which melts my heart every time).

He is such a funny looking little man: big ears, big eyes, bald head. He has the brightest grin, the softest skin, the wrinkliest scowl. I love the quirkiness of him so much it makes my insides hurt.

I remember often thinking during hours of pacing the floor as he wept and I wanted to weep from the exhaustion and stress of it all, "Just hang in there. This will not last forever. One day, you'll miss these days, Brietta."

I knew from experience that not all babies slip into this world as contentedly and seamlessly as some, and I also knew that while those days and nights with a heartbroken baby can seem to last forever, they actually go by in the blink of an eye.

Here we are already: those newborn days are behind us.

Sure, I wish those first 2+ months had been marked by something other than tears. They weren't exactly fun for me and they certainly made cherishing each moment more of a struggle. But motherhood isn't about what makes my life picture-perfect or easy, after all. Each moment of swaying while he fussed, of setting aside the personal agenda to hold him another hour, was a gift I could give to him. Love I could pour out on him. Joy in the sacrifice that I could invest into him.

It wasn't so much. Not really.

Certainly not compared to the richness of our lives with Elliot around!

 

Rain, Recovery, and Repainting

It's raining.

Which may not seem like a big deal, except that it's been an exceptionally dry summer and rain has been scarce these past months. The grass, normally a vibrant green and soft to the touch here in the northernmost parts of New York, is brown and crunchy. My perennial flower garden is sad: withered leaves, stunted height, sparse and short-lived blooms. My vegetable garden's success is largely due to the sprinkler that has been set up nearby and used almost daily since mid-June.

Today I am reminded in the most tangible of ways that whether my portion be sunny skies or dreary rain, for ultimate growth and prosperity, we need both.

I need both.

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It's been almost 3 weeks now since our family first came down with hand, foot, mouth disease. This virus, of course, couldn't just hit everyone all at once and be over with. Oh no, we prefer to take it one at a time in order to maximize its length. I assumed that Daniel and I would make it through unscathed since this is typically an illness associated with children; however, when I became its last victim, Daniel was officially the lone survivor.

(I have no doubt that my exhaustion from caring for my little patients for over a week at that point played a huge part in me getting sick. That and the fact that Elliot was drooling and crying all over me for 3 days while he suffered from the fever, sore throat, and then rash.)

The good news is that we are now immune to this virus. As much as I don't love having my kids get sick, if it's an illness that is fairly common, I'd rather just get it over with!

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Since I was stuck at home due to being a walking germ-factory, taking on a house project seemed like the thing to do. Although I am not an extrovert and I need little (like... very little) human interaction in any given week, after a good stretch of being isolated, missing church repeatedly, and not going anywhere, even I start to feel lonely and stir-crazy. Getting a good project rolling helps ease the pain of solitude a bit.

Giving the kitchen a facelift in preparation for a new school year was just the ticket.

I spent many hours with paintbrush in hand. Many. There are 6 windows, 3 doors, lots of old beams, kitchen cabinets, and a vaulted ceiling in this space. While the baby napped, I painted. When the children went to bed at night, I painted. I snuck in an hour here and an hour there. And then another and another and still another.

Daniel dealt with the tricky parts of the mini makeover whenever he was home: painting the ceiling, making new light fixtures out of mason jars, rebuilding the base of the new-to-me cabinet, and more.

It's done now and we are already loving the changes. It's bright. It's simple. It's much more functional than the dining room for morning puzzles or afternoon art due to its not being in the very middle of the house. I've a feeling it will be the perfect space for our upcoming school year.