Mrs. Maverick

Summer baby: Louisa's birth story

Although it is only the page listening right now, I still feel compelled to explain why I haven't written in over a year. The shorthand is that I was preoccupied in the present with two small children, a big belly (for much of the time) and then (for the rest of the time) a newborn. The most wonderful part of this past year was raising my kids and taking things a day at a time. That was also the hardest part. Writing is comparable to life in general in that, while there are bursts of inspiration and flowing creativity, the majority of it is a discipline, requiring time and brain space---commodities which are in high demand these days. 

Also, I am becoming very respectful of the seasons of life. There will be a day when I have much more time to write, but I will not have sweet babies to dress, feed, play with, help sleep. These are long days but short years, they say. Louisa was born over six months ago, but I swear it was six weeks. Swear it. I spent the first month staring at her newborn face before making the mistake of looking up and around for a second too long. I looked back down and she was a person. 

Thankfully, Louisa is still round, pink, gummy and baldy. If she had a full head of hair I might just burst into tears. I remember waiting with baited breath for signs of maturity in Eleanor. Flash forward and I'm trying to squish six-month old Louisa into three-month footies because she can't possibly be growing up. 

...

Logic says that a third labor in three years will likely be better understood, anticipated and planned for. Truth is, I still felt like a rookie for much of the experience. This time I had a bit of pre-labor a full 24 hours before going to the hospital. From 4pm-8pm on June 30th, my due date, I had some strong, steady contractions that were 5-10 minutes a part and 30-60 seconds long. Then I laid down and they just stopped. The same thing happened, at the same time, on July 1st. My labor started for real at 5am on July 2nd. Shawn and I began shuffling around the house in the early morning darkness, placing our bags by the door and stopping to time contractions. 

A pattern that has repeated itself each time I've been in labor is my inability to admit that I really do need to go to the hospital. An irrational trepidation that I have is that I will get to the hospital too early and be turned away. And snickered at for being a pansy. As Shawn was stealthily guiding me toward the front door, I would pause along the way, breathe through a contraction and then say something like, "That wasn't too bad. Should we really go now?" Thank God for rational husbands who remind us that the worst that could happen is that we get turned away and have to come back home. "No one will think you're a pansy." Oh really? 

We left sleeping Eleanor and Charles in the care of my parents just before 7:45am and drove 10 minutes to St. Vincent's. One of our midwives, Paula, met us at the door and sat and chatted with me while Shawn parked the car. While we were shooting the breeze in the foyer, I had a contraction. Paula said, "Oh, is that a contraction? Take a minute." and I thought about how odd it felt to have a minute to take. No babies or toddlers to watch. No need to rush right upstairs and deliver a baby. No other pressing matters. Just me and my midwife, waiting for my baby. 

Shawn and I settled into one of the birthing rooms and just stared at each other. What do we do now? Oh! A contraction. Shawn timed. I breathed. We talked. Contraction, time, breathe, talk from 8am to 2pm. Sometimes the contractions were 4 minutes apart and sometimes they were 12 minutes apart. That was the weird thing about this labor. The contractions were productive, I was dilating, but at one point during active labor I had a full 15 minutes between contractions. Paula had switched out with Sarah, the midwife who delivered Eleanor and Charles, at 10am or so and popped her head into the room now and again to check on us. I kept asking if this was normal, to have such sporadic contractions. She shrugged and said that third babies do their own thing. "So...normal?" I asked. "Sure," Sarah responded.

Contraction, time, breathe, talk. Shawn and I settled into what felt like an alternate universe. Usually we are busy with Eleanor and Charles, consumed with their needs and their small yet big personalities. Our daily conversation hovers around the day-to-day, drifting into deeper, weightier things only moments before we both realize how tired we are and fall asleep. It's a season of life where frivolity of any kind takes a back seat. In contrast, the conversation that took place during Louisa's labor was light-hearted. We covered topics that couples typically talk about in the early days of dating like favorite foods, travel experiences and peripheral discussions about family members. I remember at one point staring at Shawn as if I'd never spent more than an hour in his presence. Who was this person? He's pretty neat. I mean great and, really, he's very good looking. Husband material for sure. Oh! Contraction.

By 2pm I was ready to meet this baby. Our third. A little person that I had not considered nearly as much as the first and second. Baby's kicks would often catch me by surprise during the day as would the simultaneous thought that another person was within me. Now, he or she was all I was thinking about. Come on, Baby. Come on. After checking, Sarah said that I was eight centimeters dilated and nonchalantly added that she could break my water any time and the baby would be born in 10 minutes. A decision lay before me: go on with this pokey labor indefinitely or have my water broken and meet my baby now. I went through one more teeth-gritting contraction that made me want to cry and decided, yes, break my water, please. 

I laid down in the bed and Sarah broke my water. As soon as she did, fear ran straight to my heart. I am told that during a natural childbirth mothers fall into two camps: those who hate labor but don't mind pushing and those who don't mind labor but hate pushing. I am firmly in the latter camp. I can ride the wave of a contraction because I know the shape of it---I can see it in my minds' eye, starting slow, rising, building speed and intensity, cresting and quickly dissolving. I can breath and moan my way through it. Matching it, meeting it, beating it and reaping the reward of blissful relief when it fizzles out. Pushing, on the other hand, is a relatively short but constant pain that I just cannot manage. It's a bully pain that doesn't budge and stands firmly in the way of me meeting my baby. When the first pushing contraction began I flashed Shawn a look of desperation before I started yelling. I had to get this done. Several body-splitting pushes and out came our baby, a girl, Louisa. Exactly 13 minutes after Sarah broke my water. I sobbed with relief as I brought her close to me, all the while thanking Shawn again and again for being there the whole time. We both rambled breathlessly about how cute she was and how happy we were. I continued to thank Shawn and he whispered to me that her middle name could be Wren, as I had so desperately wanted. I held Louisa Wren, my birdy girl, close, breathed her in, praising God for her life. 

Shawn is the reason I am able to labor naturally at all. He holds my hand, lets me pound on his chest, stands beside me, does whatever I ask him to do, tells me that I am doing such a good job, that he loves me, and kisses my sweaty forehead. It is a privilege to bring babies into the world with this man. 

 

Having a summer baby meant getting a little extra help from Mother Nature in those first weeks. Eleanor was born two days before Hurricane Sandy took our power for a week. When we left the hospital after Charles was born it was 8 degrees outside.  Getting to take Louisa outside without bundling her up was a treat.

Louisa is nearly seven months old now and has folded seamlessly into the social dynamic of our family. Her sister and brother keep tabs on her--is she napping? nursing? crying?--and cozy up to her whenever they stop moving for a second. The physical nature of raising three small children knocked me on my behind for a while, but, by God's grace, we're getting there. Plus Louisa slept through the night a few times this week! So, I'll either start training for a marathon in those spare wee hours...or I'll sleep. 

 

 

 

This Very Millisecond

They are each so different. What an obvious remark, right? I mean...girl and boy: there's an elemental difference for you. But aside from that, I cannot even see where their personalities and isms cross. Charles and Eleanor are completely separate entities and why should I expect it to be any other way? We are, after all, created in is His image and likeness and He is so vast as to not be comprehended fully by my little mind. He creates the innumerable snowflakes that fall afresh each and every winter and He has done this since the beginning of time. Zooming back in now...my view of my loves and what I love about them right now: 

I pulled an earth mama and crawled in Eleanor's crib before her nap. She kept patting her blankets and stuffed animals as if to say, "Welcome to my space, Mom." We sat across from each other in a moment of mommy-daughter discovery. It was the first time that Eleanor had the opportunity to show me something of her very own and I was just as thrilled as she. 

Charles is still very, very squishy for a nearly six month old. His preferred position is a faux seated posture in the crook of any available arm. He is a little lump of pizza dough and delights in being rolled from arm to arm, back to tummy to back, squeezed in close then held out far. The whole time he wears a ridiculous, gurgly grin and seems to be having just the best time. 

I am also taking full advantage of staring into their eyes as much as I can. I always ask the same question as I do this: "Who are these little people?" A simple yet profound exercise and one that I will never tire of.  And then we come back to unplumbed depths, for if we are like this, how much more is our God? 

The daily soundtrack

circa March 2014

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong sing "Summertime" while we sit on the cold floor, surrounded by piles of clean unfolded laundry, listening to blustery March howl at our door. The irony is so welcome. 

While I watch Charles's eyes half-moon with infant glee, Sinatra croons, "You make me feel so young...you and I are just like a couple of tots..." Then giggly Eleanor piles into my lap alongside her brother. 

Just after breakfast, bellies are full and we all go our separate, cerebral ways for a short while. Chopin helps us focus on our high-brow tasks, namely reading board books and trolling Pinterest. 

I try to get dinner started as early in the day as I can given that the hours of 3-6pm are monopolized by the pre-bedtime crazies. Strunz and Farah transport me to a small Spanish kitchen (a la Like Water for Chocolate). My blood pressure lowers and I cannot help but do lazy twirls from sink to stove to refrigerator, wooden spoon in hand and a dish towel slung over my shoulder. 

A post nap pep rally is not complete without a visit to 24hoursofhappy.com. The whole house pulses with the energy of this song. Eleanor shouts, "Das! Das!", swaying her little hips and clapping heartily. True dancing, uncontrived. Even Charles's bouncy seat seems to channel the beat. Paxton looks clueless...as usual. 

When I'm missing Shawn, I imagine that we are the two people in this song. And when we are reunited for dinner: Simon and Garfunkel. Makes total sense to me. 

"Is the label really necessary? I mean..."

Can you hear that? It's the sound of a constantly moving baby girl.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you give a toddler a rose...

...she'll be keen to snatch it. 

After snatching it, she will put it directly into her mouth. Naturally. 

After tasting it, she will squeal with delight because chlorophyll tastes gooood. 

Following the official taste test she will continue to nibble on the stem...

...and she'll demostrate her multitasking skills by smiling and noshing. 

Then it is time to make a mess.

Inevitably, when she realizes just how fun this is, she'll want another rose. 

A belated Happy Valentine's Day, all... :) 

Workaday

When I was a teacher, cold, dark 5am seemed like such a noble time. Leaving my warm bed, putting on semi casual business attire, driving the bleak streets of the inner city in the navy blue dawn--all of these things were justified by my work, my cause. It was good work and very hard. Perhaps the hardest job I will ever have in my life. Aside from the teaching bit (lesson plans, grading), there were the children of Bridgeport. Children who had a tremendously uphill climb to a brighter academic future. On many days I felt like I was playing the parts of social worker and special education teacher in addition to fifth grade math teacher. It was an occasionally brutal but always very satisfying job. I worked alongside some of the most dedicated people I have ever met and the big picture was crystal clear: Education = Freedom. 

Sweeping reform. Grand goals. Obtained through measurable, attainable actions steps. Those are buzz words from my former life. Sweeping reform and actions steps are not as easy to define when one is at home surrounded by alphabet blocks and blankies. "Eleanor--what is our goal for today? How are we going to get there? Charles--what are your thoughts? How does this day fit into the overall picture?" (Cue quizzical silence from both parties). "No one?" So the collegial synergy is a little lacking...

...

I miss that shoulder-to-the-wheel feeling of going to work every day. Amongst my collegeagues the obvious yet unstated sentiment was that while teaching can drain the life out of a person, it is good, necessary work that the world admires. As I learn to stay home with my children, I am learning how to translate that sense of importance and necessity to my role as a mom/wife/homemaker. Right now, for me, for my kids, this is the most essential job. Keeping up with the laundry, intentionally putting aside the laundry in order to read with Eleanor, baking bread, Craigslisting unneeded housestuffs, meal planning, rocking Charles, Googling "turnip recipes" in an effort to completely use our garden share... These small things, seen by no one but us three and the dog during the day, are good and necessary and worthy of my time because it is what I am presently called to do. 

the task

Now before I get caught rambling (too late, you say?), I want to point out the act of surrendering as the key ingredient to my embracing this time at home with little people. God has this way of calling us into roles at one point or another in our lives that don't seem to fit. "This isn't me, " we think, "I would be much more comfortable/equipped/satisfied if I did this other thing." His response is always to ask us to surrender and enter fully in to what He has laid before us. I am learning this daily. I am also learning that the reward for such surrender is complete contentment. Never before have I been so happily present-minded. Never before has accomplishing the small tasks been so important to me. I do have days of missing what was, but I am careful to remember that my joy will be sapped if I keeping on missing instead of moving forward. And, oh the joy. Simple and profound. Joy that manifests itself simultaneously as a lump in my throat and a compulsion to laugh out loud as I watch my babies grow, learn, eat and sleep. Especially sleep, for they are so, so sweet when they sleep. 

the calling

 

 

 

Scenes from our kitchen: Bread and the basics

It's not pretty. At least not as pretty as the loaf that my friend, Jen, made for me a little over a year ago. It was part of a meal that Jen brought over in the wake of Eleanor's birth and one of the few things I had an appetite for in those sleep deprived, blurry, early days. I've tried my hand at this crusty dutch oven bread twice in the last month and have found that it turns out dependably moist and chewy on the inside (if not a bit dense, but I certainly don't mind) with a golden brown, crunchy outside. Honestly, it is too easy and delicious a recipe not to try and use on regular basis. Plus it gives an amateur cook like me bragging rights because I can make fresh homemade bread. 

Bread is a basic. So is taking a shower. To do both, not at the same time but within the same day, with a toddler and newborn is a feat in my book. Other elemental things that I am reincorporating into my routine are making dinner, vacuuming the house, going to Target, and reading.  

I just know that you are thinking that all of these things combine to tell the story of a thrilling life. I concur. My life is as thrilling as can be right now in the minutest sense. Among twenty or so words, Eleanor says "broccoli" and "apple". Well, "broccle" and "appy" --think Eliza Doolittle saying happy. Charles is making full on eye contact and charms me every minute with those elvish features of his. Shawn comes home and helps with the bedtime routine. The four of us and Paxton the Wonder Dog cram into the bathroom for Eleanor's bath and then caravan down the hall for storytime in the babies' room. On go the pajamas, the sleep sack. On goes the humidifier, down go the lights. Prayers are said. Amen is said. Ah, this is the life for me. 

The only picture of twenty in which Eleanor was not moving. Such a sweet little bundle of go-go-go!

 

 

Real Women with Great Ideas: Bibi Coyne

My good friend, Bibi, is one of the most interesting people I know. She is a dynamic combination of detail oriented and creative visionary--someone who would never be in danger of missing the trees for the forest or vice versa. An artist by nature and training, Bibi has taught me so much about the necessity of living what I like to call "the aesthetic life". The sensory make-up of one's living environment ought to look, feel and smell beautiful. A cadet blue wall. A chaise upholstered in chinoiserie. A big pot of ham and black eyed peas simmering on the stove. These things not only enhance our lives but tell a story of who we are.

 

 

 

Bibi's most recent (and very cool!) venture is S2dio Supplies, an art supply store which she runs out of a truck in Winston Salem, North Carolina. This brief interview that Bibi did with the local public radio station perfectly captures her inspiration for S2dio Supplies. Please have a listen before reading the interview below! My interview with Bibi was more about how she runs a business as a wife and mom of two. Thank you so much for sharing, Bibi. 

 

...

 

What is the hardest part about having the entrepreneurial spirit?

 

I am comfortable exploring or at least considering several paths simultaneously towards multiple goals. Sometimes, I receive amble encouragement, at least towards one. Other times, I am going it alone or am even discouraged. I am often facing risks. Throughout this, I must ask my family to trust me and accept some risk even when we all know it is little more than a dream or an experiment. I ask a lot of my family and I know it. Fortunately, my husband is supportive and understanding as are my children.

 

But definitely, the hardest part is when I doubt myself. Invariably, it happens. I get frustrated when my experiments fail. I change course and lose faith in many ideas. I have had to learn how to ask myself for the support I need; how to trust myself when doubt sets in and to salvage something from the times I haven't succeeded. That took time. And honestly, it took having children. My resolve to give to them encouraged me to demand more of myself and to stick to my goals.

 

In any given day, what are your top priorities as a mom/business owner?

1. Start my day with my personal healthy habits (Yoga/Exercise, tea, meditation) focusing 100% on my personal needs

2. From 6-8 a.m. (weekdays), I focus 100% on the needs of my children, doing my part to direct a healthy family routine.

3. I write a prioritized To Do list for every day and every month. I try hard to stick the the priorities I set for myself.

4. I define my goals and values monthly. I check in on myself and ask myself if my past months goals and my actions were in line with my values. I then write a new monthly list of goals and priorities.

 

How do you define quality of life for you and your family? 

 

Quality of life has much to do with how much time we can devote to each other and how easily or flexibly we are able to respond to each other's needs. It means the world to me that I am able to devote my energy to a professional pursuit but also devote myself to my family and be accessible to my children throughout the day. It is important to my children's health that they enjoy the security of a routine and the knowledge that I will be there whenever they need me. This can makemy day anything but routine and has meant that I accept more risk as I demand this quality of flexibility. 

 

Also key to our quality of life is our feeling of community. I have learned the value of this and so I make certain to devote some time or funds to our neighborhood, professional and church communities.

 

Which women have inspired you in the arenas of home and work?

 

It sounds corny, but Marie Curie. I did a report on her in 3rd grade or something and she was the first remarkable girl and woman I had studied. She remained an inspiration for a lifetime. I always think back on her.

 

There was a home I visited once in Illinois owned by a friend of a friend, a woman I didn't know. It was a care free, comfortable home. Beautiful in its understated simplicity. Every room, every corner, even a nook in the garden seemed to invite you, lure you to sit, stay and get comfortable, please "be comfortable, relax" here the surrounding seem to say. That unknown woman's home has inspired me ever since. 

 

My friend Reed Collyer owner of Collyer Catering & Market in Westport, CT is a personal inspiration. Her positive energy and determination to build her own business and still manage a family of 5 is an inspiration. I know her business has succeeded largely due to her sheer tenacity and likeability.

 

What do you love about raising a family (and/or owning a business) in Winston-Salem?  

 

I am just starting up a new retail business. In the process, I am being introduced to a warm, welcoming and supportive community. It has been wonderful. The City is home to some remarkably creative artists and artrepreneurs. Each one that I meet inspires me to do more, encourages me with my goals and offers to introduce me to someone new. 

 

Also of importance is the support we've enjoyed for our children's needs – because one of my 2 children has high needs. We have found, not only a supportive community with many services available, but also a supportive school system. The teachers and administration work with us to understand my children's needs. The are compassionate as they work to help him access his education. Success for my family depends upon such healthy cooperation —this has been huge. This support for and trusted assistance with my children has perhaps more than any other allowed me to relax, release my fight mode, open up to my community and truly start my own business.

Welcome to the world, Charlie Man.

Yes, we plan on calling him both Charles and Charlie. My daughter is Eleanor and Ellie. My sister is both Olivia and Livie.  My husband and me? No nicknames to speak of. Shawn--Shawnie, Shaw...? Laura--Laur, Lor...?

So, our children have options at least. 

...

Charles was due on Tuesday, January 7th, but I had this feeling my entire pregnancy that he would be a little bit early. It was more than just hoping that he would be early, I knew he would be early. But as with Eleanor, there was not much warning in the days leading up to Charles' birth. I did have Braxton-Hicks contractions this time around and on Sunday the 5th I remember telling Shawn that I felt kind of sick, like coldy and achy. And I was hobbling around at the speed of anti-light or molasses or a slug or the slowest thing you can think of. 

Shawn joined me in full-on nesting mode during the last weeks of this pregnancy. He kept trying to come up with tasks to do in preparation for the time when we would not have, well, time to do extra things. Organize the basement? Check. Organize beer brewing supplies? Check. etc. The increasing intensity of his organizing could have provided a clue that Charles would be coming soon. 

On Sunday evening, insomnia struck and I was up much of the night. I wrote Eleanor's birth story, I did a devotional, and I putzed around on the internet. I was extremely uncomfortable, but I had no reason to believe that at 5am on Monday morning I would go into labor. I had just settled back into bed at 4:30am and at 5am contractions started. They were pretty regular right off. Five to nine minutes apart and lasting anywhere from 20 to 50 seconds. And guess what I kept telling myself? I probably have a ways to go. I know, I know...I am insane. At 5:45am I asked Shawn to time the contractions just to be sure that I wouldn't be wasting anyone's time if I cried "uncle" after only having been in labor for an hour. Shawn timed and we decided that I should call my parents to come get Eleanor and then call the midwife to see if I should head in to the hospital. 

My conversation with the midwife went something like this:

"What do the contractions feel like?"

"Low, tight, a little painful. Well, maybe pretty painful."

"Laura, you have been through this before. Do you need to come in?"

"Yes?"

Needless to say, the midwife had to tell me to go in. 

The contractions continued--each one distinct from the next, but varying greatly in intensity. Some felt no more than a minor cramp while others required me to stop, hold on to the wall and breathe deeply. I kept asking Shawn if we really should go in. He was going on timing rather than feeling, so I went with his decision that, yes, we really should go in. The worst that could happen would be that we would spend longer than ten mintes laboring at the hospital. Gasp. 

After my parents picked Eleanor up, we made our way to St. Vincent's. Our goal was to be there by 8am and we arrived at just about that time. Sarah, my midwife, greeted us at the beautifully serene birth center. There was a jacuzzi tub (which I had a feeling I would not be using), a plush queen bed, a well-appointed bathroom and a kitchen (also something I knew I would not need. Women who can eat during labor are like mystical beings to me). 

Contractions became more intense and longer, but I still had a resting period between each one. Things seemed to be chugging, not barreling, along. With Eleanor I could hardly tell the end of one contraction and the beginning of the next, so this steady-as-she-goes thing was new to me. At about 9:40am, the contractions became a little more spaced out but they were definitely more like pushing contractions. I was shocked. Just like that? Was this baby ready now? 

A quick exam revealed that Charles was right there and that I needed to push. And it all came flooding back and I became really scared for a few seconds. The memory of the pain that is pushing a baby out came back full force and I panicked. It was the same feeling that you get when riding a roller coaster and you are click, click, clicking up to the highest point thinking, "Oh, please, please stop...let's just turn this thing back around...let's just back this ride up and get off. NOW." But Sarah was amazing, she instructed me to push and calmy told me that Charles was right there, ready. 

At that point there is no other choice. The baby must be born. Pain must be experienced. Four pushes later, Charles was placed on my chest and I was shaking and completely shocked. Shawn was standing over me, misty-eyed, saying, "I love you, I love you." I think he may have said that I had done a good job. I held Charlie close and took in the moment as best I could. Then--quiet. We just sat there letting the reality of this little life wash over us. I was very introspective for the next several hours and so, so relieved that pregancy and labor were over. Babies, in my opinion, are much better in the world that in the womb. 

Charles less than one hour old

...

Nearly three weeks later, Charlie is settling in very well. Eleanor showers him with kisses and when she hears him crying, she says, "Bebe? Bebe?" I think she loves him. Charles is a sweet boy and, at this point, is very easily pacified. He does not like his diaper to be wet or dirty (which Eleanor did not mind at all) and he is a sucker for a good swaddle and some bum tapping (both of which Eleanor had to be convinced that she needed). We are so happy and so blessed and so tired in the best possible way. 

Charles, 13 days old

 

 

Good kids

It is probably best that we think of babies as little people from the second they are born. This way we would save ourselves heartbreak when their helplessness starts fading and pure innocence dwindles bit by bit in the face of toddlerhood.

Charles at almost 2 weeks

The stark contrast between the very beginning of a baby's life and one year later is before me every moment. I hardly know Charles as I know Eleanor. He is sweet as a newborn ought to be. She is sweet as only my precious and increasingly precocious daughter is. That I love them both fiercely goes without saying. But I needed to say it anyway, of course. 

Eleanor at 1 year

Eleanor is testing boundaries. I am not surprised as much as I am fascinated by this. I watch her pull on the electric cord seconds after telling her not to do this. I discipline her several times in a row for pulling the blanket off of her brother, yet she persists in disobedience. The other day I found myself a little bit embarrassed by her (very mild) acts of defiance and I thought about eighteen plus more years of circumstances under which I might be embarrassed by my children's behavior. And I realized that I will just have to get over it. People make mistakes and poor decisions and little people-in-the-making are not excluded from this.

Enter a paradigm shift: my goal is not to raise "good kids" that behave well in public and always say please and thank you. My goal is to raise children that understand that they are flawed and fallen yet greatly loved and forgiven; my goal is that they know grace through Christ and love God and serve Him all of their days. I have written it so that I remember it in the moments when I think, "Wow. I love this child so much, but I don't like what they are doing"--moments that I am certain my parents had when they were raising me and moments I am certain that God still has with me each and every day. 

...

For accountability and because I want to write, here is what's ahead on the blog this week:

Charles' birth story

A Real Women with Great Ideas interview

Scenes From Our Kitchen

Worth Sharing: Postnatal Self Care

Firsts

First photo + camera strap photo bomb. Charles Gillan: 1 hour old

 

First sibling meeting.

 

 

 

First snuggles from Auntie Livie since October. Uncle Jordan is making Eleanor laugh.

 

First father-son photo