I’m not kidding you when I say, for moms – bedtime is like the Holy Grail. We know it exists (or does it?), but we are constantly tormented by its elusiveness. Not only for ourselves, but for our babies too. Sure, there are published sleep experts promising to lull your baby into 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep by 6 weeks old. But, I guess I’ve just never been one for stringent routines. No, I prefer to set out like so many moms before me into the great unknown, searching for that Holy Grail formerly known as sleep.
Our sweet baby girl (who we can now call by her actual name, Charlotte Madeleine Murray), was born Friday July 21st at 3:47 am, at 7 lbs 14 oz and 20 in long. Garrett dubbed her with one last nickname – “Twinkle Toes” – when he met her in the hospital, and not gonna lie – it kinda stuck. He also couldn’t help but notice the “Italian trademark” of dark hair covering her ears, to which he inquired, “Why does baby sister have so much fur?” LOL. It’s hard to believe that just this past Tuesday was my original due date, but this little lady had other plans. She shocked us with what we’re now calling our “trial run” the Wednesday night before, which sent us to the hospital and then back with irregular contractions 3-6 min apart. So come Thursday night, I told the hubs that I was just going to ignore any weird contractions I was feeling. Easy enough, that is, until 1 am rolled around and I got up to go to the bathroom, after tossing and turning for lord knows how long, only to realize my contractions were 2 min apart and had me buckled over in pain. Yep, it was the real deal. So we called our sweet neighbor again to come stay at our house with Garrett until my MIL could make it over, and Grant literally flew down the freeway to the hospital 40 min away – with me white-knuckling the passenger door handle the whole time.
When my husband and I met, he was still working at NASA (he literally used to train astronauts at NASA’s NBL – soooo he’s kinda a big deal, but he’d never tell you that ;), and I never dreamt we’d have the chance to pass on his love of space to our son someday. But it’s like that passion was passed down in his genes, which has been so special since moving back home to Houston and living just five minutes from NASA. In fact, we were just talking the other day about the wonderful irony of us ending up buying our first home back in Clear Lake, after living in NYC, LA and traveling all around the world. Funny how life comes full circle sometimes.
“Three’s a charm,” “Good things come in threes,” and “The Holy Trinity” all symbolize something I am starting to put a lot of stock in. The number three may just be my lucky number. I mean, if last “leap year” alone isn’t proof, I don’t know what is. Grant started a new job, we closed on our first house, and found out we were expecting our second child – all literally within three weeks of each other. Then, in the just the past three months, my blog baby went from my little fledgling project to being inundated with brand collab opportunities that has me in a position I never thought would come. A place where I can finally turn something I’ve been so utterly passionate about into a real business where I’m in control of my own success or failure.
Last week I had started a draft for this blog post with a working title of “Happy Place.” Except a lot’s happened between now and then. As I laid awake after a much needed cry fest last night, the only thing I could think of was that it was time for me to “get real.” Too often we feel the pressures of putting on that happy face, even though we know well and good we are holding back tears or anxieties that eventually come to a head when we’re least expecting it. Last night was one of those times. I was preparing to give my son a bath just like any other night, but this night he insisted on having a “boo boo” that was going to hurt if he put his foot in the water. Oh dear. So for a solid five minutes (felt like 30) I tried every bribe in the book, until tears ensued and dad walked in asking buddy what’s wrong. To which I went off on a lightening speed explanation on why I’m so frustrated after trying to negotiate with a toddler for ten minutes, which results in said dad backing out of the bathroom slowly, very slowly.
I have a lot of mixed feelings on maternity wear. Not because there aren’t a ton of cool brands out there – see Fashion Mamas founder Natalie’s crowdsourced list in LAmag (I may or may not have contributed to the H&M & TopShop picks). I just have a hard time spending money on clothes that will be worn for maybe six months and then disappear in a box somewhere in the back of your closet/no-woman’s land. But on the other hand, shopping for your new-found bump is one of the short-lived perks to being pregnant. So, I made a compromise with myself: I will allow myself to shop for maternity clothes, if and only if they are affordable and fit in a way that makes me feel great about myself (cuz let’s face it – come 32 weeks in, we all need a little pick me up). Plus, there’s nothing like your best friend from college getting married to kick you into hyper-shopping mode.