Three years ago, I found out I was going to be a mother.
Almost a year ago, I found out I was going to be a mother of two.
My daughter Elliott is a happy, bright, independent two-and-a-half year old. She likes being called “Princess” and wants to have a castle in every color of the rainbow. She likes to put her shoes on by herself and run in the front of the pack. She loves mac and cheese and fingerpainting. She looks just like her dad when she’s grumpy or breaking the rules. She likes to cook food in her play kitchen. She gives really tight hugs and big, happy kisses. She likes to help her toys go night night and loves to dance. She almost always shares her Goldfish crackers. Her grandpa Poppy is her favorite person in the entire world and her favorite color is blue.
My son Grayson is five weeks old. His favorite things are my boobs and the milk that comes from them. He was born a week early and came bursting into the world after only two pushes. The ultrasound tech said he was measuring at 7 pounds and 11 ounces onscreen, but he turned out to be 6 pounds and 4 ounces. He makes the best squishy faces and looks like a turtle when he sticks out the tip of his tongue. He has a lot more hair than his big sister did when she was born and his eyes are dark blue, for now at least. He wears cloth diapers. He makes really cute squeaky noises, has the sweetest smell, and looks just like his daddy.