You’ve probably noticed I’m posting a lot more pictures than I usually do. It’s not just because of our firstbabygirl and the dozensofadorableoutfits she has and her ridiculouslycuteface: I swear, I haven taken lots of baby pictures of pictures of all my kids. The only problem was that usually those pictures stunk. I always blamed myself…and then my husband got a second-hand Nikon D70 from a co-worker. Now suddenly, even my worst attempts at photography seem to turn out…pretty good. At least not embarrassingly bad, and that’s progress. So here are a few we’ve snapped of the kids recently:

Clara loves the bath.

The boys love Clara.

Owen loves being three.

Owen really, REALLY loves being three.

William loves Miley Cyrus, but finds talking about it rather embarrassing.

I love this.

Today was our first major holiday with five kids. We tend to go pretty low-key with Easter, and this year was no different, but I did buy a few more things for the baskets than I usually would. I think something about not spending much time in Target over the last few months caused me to snap a bit as I was walking through the aisles. So. Much. Fun. Crap. So. Cheap. The simple girl in me managed to put back 2/3 of the trinkets I picked up as I walked through the store, but the boys still got 5-6 things each: bubbles, toothbrushes, yo-yos, water guns, pencils, and mini-flashlights in addition to jelly beans, candy eggs and the coveted chocolate bunny.

Clara, alas, received no Easter basket. Not only was she completely unimpressed by the whole affair, but I could think of nothing to put in one. Stuffed animals? A scourge upon the family that already has children: those things have been collecting dust in our house for 11+ years. Rattles? She can’t even move her hands with purpose yet. The only thing she gets too excited about just yet is breastmilk, and I wasn’t about to put that in a hollow plastic egg.

As usual, the simplest things were the most appreciated. William hopped from room to room on his “hippety hop”, as I’ve always called them (you know, the ball with the handle that you sit and jump on?), a water gun fight commenced in the yard even though it was really too cold out for water guns, and we played quite a few games of War and Go Fish. Oh, and Owen went through about four bottles of bubble solution:

He may also have taken a few licks of the bubble solution…just to test it out.

Of course, we spent a good part of the day snapping photos of Clara in her Easter dress:

Really, how could I help but go in for a smooch?

at least, not on purpose. Those dreamy sleep smiles, sure. But a wide-eyed, deliberate smile? Not supposed to happen for another few weeks, right?

But then…what is THIS?

Especially considering she looked like this half a second later:

Seems pretty…smile-esque, don’t you think?

The first time I’d seen Maddie’s mom’s blog was two weeks ago, when a friend of hers sent me a link to her “NICU FAQ” post, all about how to help a friend whose child is in the NICU. It’s a great post, so I linked to it from my WEtv blog, then spent a few minutes reading her blog. I noted that Maddie had the longest, most well-defined eyelashes I’d ever seen on a child. Her smile was huge and infectious.

I immediately recalled that smile and those eyes when I learned today that the unthinkable happened: Maddie died from complications of a respiratory infection.

I don’t know Heather, Maddie’s mom. But she has been heavy on my heart today. When I’ve caught myself getting irritated with my kids (with five of them there is plenty of opportunity for irritation) I’ve wondered how Maddie’s mom is likely wishing she could have the opportunity to be exasperated by her little girl one more time. Every hug and kiss, every precious and even mundane moment I get with my kids seems unfair when Maddie’s mom has lost her child forever. Honestly, it’s hard to try to put myself in her shoes. I can’t imagine how I could ever get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other again.

One opportunity blogs give us is to peek into the world of people we would otherwise never meet. Over the last few years I’ve read many, many blogs written by people who have lost, could lose, or are certainly going to lose children. They’re heartbreaking and yet hopeful and amazing in that the parent going through such a horrible thing is not only able to keep living, but also keep writing and even, at some point, go back to enjoying life. I’m honestly not sure I would have the strength to even keep breathing.

But then, maybe that’s what Heather would have said just a few days ago. No matter how fragile Maddie’s health was at the beginning, would there really be any way to prepare for this?

The fact is, none of us have any guarantees, do we? Not with our spouses or siblings or parents, or even our children. Logically, it’s something we all know. But in reality, I’m not sure it’s something I’ll ever be able to come to terms with. How could anyone, unless they absolutely had to?

I wish I could be more articulate, but right now, sad and overwhelmed is all I’ve got.

Maddie’s parents have requested donations to the March of Dimes in Maddie’s name in lieu of flowers. Over $15,000 has been raised already.

If spitting in a tube doesn’t sound like your idea of fun, well…okay, it doesn’t sound like my idea of fun, either. I admit that after my kit from 23andMe arrived at the house, I took my sweet time getting around to the spitting part. First of all, the sleek green box the kit came in kept disappearing, because my three-year-old was enamored with it and kept running off with it…

To read the rest of my post, visit 23andMe’s Pregnancy Community. (And remember, you can contribute to research, take surveys and share your own pregnancy stories there, too.)

Coincidentally, I was stuck under a nursing baby (who seems to be going through some sort of 3-week growth spurt), when I found myself clicking links until I wound up at this article by Judith Warner about how she hopes that one day breastpumps will cease to exist.

Such a declaration is just silly, no matter how sound and logical Warner may have duped herself into thinking her reasoning is. For one thing, it’s not just working moms who want or need access to pumps. What about moms of sick or premature babies who want desperately to feed them human milk (and aren’t worried that their nipples might be flattened or that their husbands might be repulsed by them forever because they pump–huh?)

I can tell you right now, if I hadn’t had access to that awesome hospital pump when Clara was in the hospital, we’d have gotten off to a mighty rough start with nursing…if it had happened at all. I’m very grateful that the option was available to me, “degrading” as it may be. (For the record, I think pumping is kind of funny looking, and it’s definitely not my favorite activity, but I don’t feel at all like I’ve given up my dignity for having done it).

Why did I care? Because beside the fact that breastfeeding fits more easily into my life than formula-feeding ever could, I do believe the abundant science indicating that breastmilk (no matter how it’s delivered) is better than man-made formula is for babies, and that breastfeeding is good for mothers as well. It’s one thing that comes relatively easily to me that I can do for my children and myself. There are plenty of other places where I miss the mark. Breastfeeding doesn’t make me a better mother than any other. It’s just. one. thing.

I can accept that Warner’s declaration that we should “ban the breastpump” was likely hyperbole, said to incite thought and get people paying attention to her larger point: that the drive to feel babies breastmilk is overly-ambitious for today’s reality of family life, and that the pump is causing more harm than good via the guilt, judgment and pressure it facilitates.

Sorry, Warner. I just don’t buy it.

Cecily linked to an excellent analysis of the article, which I couldn’t even begin to rival at the moment. But I did want to point out my favorite comment to Warner’s article:

“Mothers try this. Grow up. People will always judge you for you parenting style. You’re too indulgent. You’re too harsh. If a mother doesn’t want to breastfeed, then don’t. If a mother wants to breastfeed do. There are plenty of things that you’ll do along the way that will mess us your kids much more than giving your baby a bottle. But don’t write articles based on whimsey rather than science in major media outlets.”

AMEN. Mothers, grow up, indeed. Here’s the thing: we’re all going to experience judgment, or perhaps just our perception of judgment, from time to time. The pressure any of us might feel to breastfeed is one small piece of the whole pie, which also includes pressure to provide kids with cute (expensive) clothing, a certain level of material wealth, organic food, focused quality time, enriching activities, top-notch schooling, and a fully-funded college savings plan. Really, when you look at the whole picture, breastfeeding is a small and relatively easy thing to pull off no matter what your economic or social reality.

But we moms sure do like to hyper-focus on breastfeeding and our perceived experience of being judged for not doing it/doing it/not doing it right/not doing it long enough/doing it too long, probably because it’s so black-or-white: you either are, or you aren’t. You either did it, or you didn’t. Whereas the more subjective of today’s “good parenting” deeds, like “amount of time spent introducing child to classical music” or “number of high-quality culinary experiences child experiences by age 5″ are a lot harder to quantify.

But make no mistake, the pressure is there for all those things too…and guess what? It’s coming right from us, the moms. We judge ourselves for no doing the things we perceive as important and then complain that others are judging us. I’m not saying the judgment doesn’t sometimes come from other mothers, as well. What I’m saying is, the more time we spent fixating on, thinking about, and complaining about the way others view our parenting, the more power we give their opinions. Really, who cares?

Can we all get over ourselves for five minutes, do the best we can with the information we have (real information, not science we cook up in order to make ourselves feel better about the shortcomings we’re judging ourselves for) and move on with our lives? I promise, we’d all be a lot happier if we did.

Confession time: I breastfeed my kids for an average of 2 years apiece, but I have yet to take most of them to a live musical performance (unless you count school concerts), I don’t spend enough time playing individually with each one, we eat too many refined carbohydrates and not enough vegetables, and I don’t feel any obligation to provide them with fully-funded college savings plans. I’m not about to try to change existing research to prove to you that any of those things wouldn’t be good for them: I’m sure they would. I’m just presenting myself as I really am: trying, but imperfect, and always falling short of some mystical parenting ideal. If anyone doesn’t like it, tough. Around here, I’m the mama.

And with that, I must get back to being a perfectly average mother, confused about why we make everything so much harder and more fraught with meaning than it really is or has to be.

Clara is such an easy baby that I can’t honestly say life is much harder with her than it was before she was here. Even though Jon’s now back in Chicago most of the week working, I don’t have that crazed feeling I thought I’d have, being left alone with a newborn in addition to four big kids. She eats, sleeps, and poops; the rest of the time she looks calmly around the room. She’s snuggly and rarely cries, and of course, the nice thing about those older kids is that they’re eager baby-holders. With an 11-year-old in the house who loves nothing more than to hold his baby sister while he watches the History Channel, I haven’t gone a day without a shower and my morning tea and toast. And when you’ve got a tiny baby, little things like your daily breakfast ritual and not smelling bad can really make the difference between relaxed and frazzled.

The boys themselves have been challenging lately. My initial thought was that it must be jealousy, but then I considered that these kids are used to grappling for their position in the family; Clara’s entrance hasn’t changed that much, especially since she’s so easy and portable. I’m still getting in ****plenty**** of games of Old Maid and Memory and I Spy. Plenty. But the hospital stay and all the upheaval that brought with it probably has something to do with it. And part of it is just the time of year–early spring in the Great Lakes region is never easy on a mother of young kids; this year has been particularly hard (I mean, come ON–snow in the final week of March?) There’s been too much TV-watching, too much fighting over the computer; too many nasty phrases (”Shut up!” “You stupid!” “I hate you!”) tossed around.

One problem with having kids in a wide variety of ages is that the younger kids always look up to the older kids. That’s great when the older kids are being model citizens, but not so great when they display more unpleasant habits. It’s fairly easy to get the older kids to stop throwing around insults once the threat of losing computer privileges is on the line, but not nearly as easy to get a three-year-old to drop it. Especially a stir-crazy three-year-old who hasn’t gotten outside nearly enough lately and is dying for something to do.

I’m trying to remember that things always get better as soon as we are able to get outside for a big chunk of each day, and that soon I’ll be feeling more up to carting Clara out of the house along with the two littler guys and heading to the park or beach.

For now, we’re enjoying our self-made cocoon as much as we can, and I’m going easy on myself about the too-much-TV, too-much-computer, and rather uninspired dinners. (No, kids, you will not actually turn into a spaghetti noodle if we eat pasta several times a week).

And though the boys are kind of a handful at the moment, I’m also realizing that it’s more true than I ever realized that the more kids you have, the easier this whole newborn thing seems to get. Besides being hungry or having a dirty diaper, Clara’s other major dislike is being lonely. I didn’t figure this out until we’d been home from the hospital almost a week–probably because up until then, she hadn’t experienced it! One day while the boys were at school and Owen was eating breakfast, I put her in the SweetPeace, which she usually loves, so I could sit at the table and check my email. She kept crying, and nothing–not changing the speed of the rocking, or the music, or anything–helped. I finally figured it out–since the dining-room table is behind the SweetPeace, she couldn’t see me. She was lonely! So I moved into her range of vision and she was perfectly happy again. With four big brothers all eager to love on her, it was the first time she’d been unable to see one or all of us since we brought her home. I have a feeling she’s not going to have to experience loneliness too much in her life…sounds like one lucky baby to me.