And then there were two. And then one was two.

Dear diary,

(This was written and saved in September of 2014)

I know you think I abandoned you. I know it feels like forever since I dusted off this corner of where I live on the internet, a space I pour myself into and then close up for a time. This space, this page, these words. This tiny little piece that is mine, a land I claim like a jumper in the old west... running to my little stake in the ground and then fighting to get the resources to build on it.

The nature of having little humans that depend on you and a business that needs you and a marriage that takes the kind of roll up your sleeves and put your fingers in the dirt hard work that mine does leaves very little time for the quiet self indulgence of writing: The space for reflection is small indeed, the light hard to shine in the corners to see the cobwebs.

(Case in point. It took two paragraphs of typing before Beatrice decided she didn't want to nap and watch the Muppets, and came crying right back out into my  arms, and then 10 minutes of crying before telling me she wants yogurt and play-doh.)

Diary, directly after (the day after) I sobbed and slumped and drank that beer and ate that dinner, I realized I was *late.* Not "running late for an appointment" but the kind of *late* that women know the world over and look on with yearning or fear or a mixture of all kinds of other feels. I took a test, which of course was positive, and then slept on it before telling John. We had been discussing having a second baby, but his responses were pretty much always "I don't think we can, let's keep talking." I was a little afraid of what his reaction would be. I took another test, and then another. The next day, I told him I had something to talk to him about. I handed him all three positive tests. "Well, that decides that. Looks like we're having another baby" he responded.

(Second case in point. Another paragraph down. Bea ran in with a handful of snap peas and demanded I eat some, which woke the baby up, who now needs to be fed and moved to do some floor time. And now it's time to pack up both babies and head back down to work.)

(Third case in point. It is now a quarter past midnight. We started putting the girls to bed at 8:30. They've both woken up twice and we've had less than an hour to be grown-ups who get to talk to each other about anything, at all.)

Diary, I know it will come as no surprise to you to know that my pregnancy was hard. I was sick all of the time. I had hyperemesis, which is a techy way to say I did nothing but puke and cry and puke some more and prayed for death for a solid 7 months of my pregnancy, and then for the last two and a half I was overjoyed to be only throwing up a couple times a day instead of the over a dozen of the previous months. During that time, I started writing to you three times, but each time the needs of my rapidly growing into a toddler tiny human or the needs of my business or the needs of my body drained all energy. As excited as we were about the pregnancy, we were also scared. How was I going to handle two kids when our existing one was such an all consuming, delightful and full force of personality human? How was I going to be able to balance the business with the loss of my business partner. (Again)? How was I going to still make time for my brain and hold space for myself and the "me" that I have painfully and with herculean effort carved out of my experiences?

My labor progressed much more easily than the first time.. From the time they induced me (at 42 weeks and 6 days) to the time she was in my arms was 14 hours. I once again got an epidural, because the contractions from the pitocin were causing me the worst pain I have ever experienced. Just like her big sister, her heart never faltered, her vitals never showed stress. Her tiny body just went along, expecting and trusting me to bring her into the world without complication, without difficulties.

at 10:03 pm on February 1st of this 2014, Edith Adelaide joined our family. And then there were two. Two tiny little girls that held my heart outside of my chest in their sweet little fingers. Two humans entrusted to our care, born out of love and our commitment to our family. We felt complete. The minute she arrived, I knew our family had the missing piece of our puzzle and we were well and truly finished.

Edie was huge! So huge! 9 lbs, 8 oz, 22 inches long! Already a glamazon, like her mother.

We stayed overnight in the hospital and asked Trish and Richard to bring Bea by first thing in the morning, as soon as she woke up. Predictably, that was full of adorable.

We left midmorning after getting the all clear. We wanted to be home as soon as we possibly could be. Then we were home, and dazed and sleep deprived and overwhelmed, we looked at each other and asked "Ok, now what?" 

Then started what might possibly be the most difficult period of our lives, thus far. Edie didn't like sleeping at night, only during the day. John basically went back to work three days after she was born. Bea adjusted as well as we could have hoped, which meant she loved her sister immediately but reacted much like you would expect a two year old who has had their entire world turned upside down to behave. The biggest and most important relationships in her life were changing and that is SO HARD for even GROWNUPS that I can't imagine what it would be like for a tiny human who can't regulate her emotions and who doesn't have the physiological capability for empathy. I had been home with Edie for less than a week when I got mastitis. Her latch was terrible and required several home visits from lactation consultants to help us correct the problem. My supply was all over the place. I developed a 103 degree (+) fever when Edie was 6 days old, concurrent with mastitis and food poisoning. Twice. Edie started developing colic and cried for hours and hours every day, purple and screaming, no matter what we did.....

Aforementioned tiny humans need us. Will write again when there is time.