New Favorites

I've already addressed the fact that my mother-in-law has an awesome camera and a serious eye for candid moments. Yesterday I downloaded (uploaded?) a CD she sent to me that had all of the pictures she had taken the weekend she was here for Cecily's birth. There were so many and they are so huge and high quality that it took almost a 1/2 an hour just having them sent to folders on my computer. But it was worth the wait because I found some new gems I would like to share that I haven't already posted. (although this one will always be my most favoritest).

On the 6th of December (the Saturday before Cecily's birth on the 8th), I'd been asked to put together a program for the Stake High Council Christmas Social. I had, of course, forced my husband into the thing to be a shepherd. This is him, while we wait in the Primary Room, thinking he's so clever as the Emperor from Star Wars.


And this is me, trying to make sure he's aware that I don't think he's clever at all... and I'm obviously GINORMOUS!!!


My beautiful little Cecily, only a few hours old, in an incubator in the nursery due to some cesarean-induced breathing problems.
She's so perfect!


I love this picture of my dad with his two granddaughters! He's always teasing Malia, just as he always teased me. This is also one of the only shots of my dad actually looking comfortable holding a newborn (even though he held us 5 kids and his 6 grandkids). LOL.


Contented Daddy.


Close-up of the pretty baby catching some must-needed Zs after being traumatized by being pulled from a warm, dark, quiet womb into the light, cold, chaotic, mortal world.


An Eskimo kiss from big sister.


First night home from the hospital. First complete family picture.

Erin go braugh!

Ok - so I'm so not Irish. I'm not even Scottish. The most "ish" I am is Dutch.... er, well, yeah. Dave's got 25% Italian in him, so St. Paddy's doesn't have much going for it in our house. I mean, we don' even drink, so...

BUT, having a 3-year-old has made every holiday important. Whenever we go to Target and she sees the decorations for the next holiday hanging from the ceiling, she fires a round of questions my way and then anticipates the holiday by asking about it every morning until it comes. So I dressed the girls up in green and will be making cupcakes with green frosting. I will NOT, however, be teaching Malia anything about pinching. That'll have to wait until grade school when someone else's brat informs her of such.

Here's a little movie of Cecily. Don't mind the puking at the end. It's not Cecily if she isn't puking... just sayin'.

Emptying My Phone

The other day, David finally figured out how to get pictures off of my phone without me having to e-mail them to myself (we have to pay extra for text messages, and that counts as text messaging). I have to share these. Basically, whenever Malia and I were out & about and I didn't have my camera, but felt that there was a "Kodak-worthy" moment, I'd pull out my cell and take a picture. So, they're obviously terrible quality, but I love them, just the same.

This is the first picture I ever took on my cell. She wasn't quite walking on her own, yet. We're lucky to get her to hold our hands now. This is also a rare sighting of Daddy on a shopping trip to Target with us. It does happen... it's rare... but it happens.

Malia has been hamming it up for the camera since the beginning. We were at Old Navy and she tried on about 10 different pairs of "seh-sehs a Mama" (glasses like Mommy).

First successful spoon attempt. Back when she actually used to eat veggies.

Taking a walk around the Disneyland Hotels. Isn't she the freaking cutest kid EVER?!!

St. Patty's Day 2007.

Her first ride on the teacups was an indisputable success.

Her first fireworks viewing ever. 4th of July 2007. Fullerton, CA.

Daddy/daughter footprints on the beach in San Diego. 2007.

If my genetics have anything to do with it, she will be too clumsy to be a "boarder." But she sure-as-heck looks adorable modeling the gear.


Riding an elephant by herself!


At Huntington Beach with a mermaid tail... too bad you can't really see the tail...


Playing the washboard at Disney's CA Adventure with a band while the others go on Grizzly Rapids (Malia was too little and Mommy was too pregnant to go).

And I have to throw this in, too (I don't even remembering taking this... in fact, I had forgotten my phone even takes videos)!

She is growing up far too fast! Looking at these reminds me that she is not even close to being a baby anymore... which is a good thing now that I have another. But it still makes the bitter of the bittersweet just a little more obvious once in a while.

Tomorrow she'll be borrowing the keys to the car and studying for the SATs!

"Behind the Smile"

That's the title of a book by Marie Osmond that I just finished reading. It was a good read and definitely enlightening. My mother gave it to me a couple of weeks ago because she thought it might help me. I've decided I need to write this post because a few people (*cough,cough* Liz *cough*) have recently been asking about my welfare.

Postpartum depression is REAL.

When Cecily was 5 weeks old, about a month and a 1/2 ago, I felt like I was losing my mind. Even the smallest of her cries sent me into an anxious tailspin. I couldn't understand it, considering I had lived through the worst colic a first-time mother could imagine. There were times I felt nuts when Malia was small and screaming, but Cecily's innocent little baby cries, typical for the average newborn, would cause my blood pressure to rise instantly and I would get sick to my stomach. I knew it wasn't just the baby blues. I'd had those in the hospital when Cecily was 3 days old. This was very different. I felt like Eeyore with a constant raincloud over my heart. It was very heavy and felt incredibly dark & lonely.

I'm not going to go into too much detail here, because it's really personal and is a time in my life that feels almost like I wasn't a part of it - like an out-of-body experience - as I watched the woman I was fade into nothing but anxiety, anger, and constant crying.

The turn-around was when I realized that I had severe emotional breakdowns in front of my sweet, susceptible 3-year-old, at minimum, 3 or 4 times a day. Now, I admit. I am emotional by nature. But, by that, I mean that I cry really easily at Disney cartoons. However, this was different. These were body-wracking sobs, and my poor little 3-year-old was bearing the brunt of these and having to put her arms around her mother on a daily basis... our roles were reversing, and I knew that wasn't right to do to her. Unhealthy, even.

I had to get help.

I spoke with my OB and also went to see an LDS therapist.

I have been diagnosed, officially, with PPD. It shouldn't've surprised me. After all, depression, in general, runs on both sides of my family. But I guess there are a few reasons I was initially very afraid to say it was true. The main one being that, no matter what anyone says, we all know there are stigmas to "mental disease."

Someone breaks their arm? We expect them to get a cast. Someone gets a bad cold? We encourage them to take medicine or get a flu shot. Someone is diagnosed with cancer? We accept that chemo is often necessary. Someone is diagnosed with depression? They are weak, need to pray more, or are just down-right nuts.

Let me tell you, as someone who is officially "nuts"... IT. IS. REAL.

And it is scary. And it is debilitating. And it is lonely. And it is very, very dark. And sometimes? The more you pray, the worse it seems to get. No joke. And no matter how perfect someone's life may seem, that doesn't make their depression any less valid. If you have it you have it.

For someone like me to admit I had PPD, it was difficult. By "someone like me," I mean that I have a certain persona I try to upkeep. I'm not fake, by any means. However, I have always prided myself on being strong and sure and stable. No matter what comes my way, I overcome it... and often, I do it on my own. When I lost all sight of that person, I knew something was wrong. And not being able to have any control over that was only heightening the case.

I can talk about this now because I have been on anti-depressants for just over a month now. I don't even like to take a mild Tylenol for a pounding headache, so I cried like a nutjob (HA! I was nuts after all) for about 10 minutes before I took the first one. I was afraid that it meant I was finally "giving in."

The irony? I wasn't giving in. I was actually fighting it by taking this step and I had to think above the stigmas and the "weakness." It's not a weakness. It's an illness. And for the most part? It's gone for me now. And I'm me again. And I can be the loving, funny, happy, nurturing mommy that my girls deserve, and the witty, sexy, sarcastic best friend & wife my husband desperately wanted back.

One thing's for sure, being ok with hearing Cecily cry for a little bit in order to get her sleep-trained, so that she would have longer naps and so that I could give more attention to Malia, definitely helped (shout-out to David's awesome cousin Zoie & her encouraging words)! And talking to a therapist who has opened my eyes to the possibility that I may also be suffering a little from PTSD because of Malia's extreme case of colic also brings me peace of mind. Knowing you're going crazy for a "reason" often helps us feel a little more validated.

So that's it, folks! I'm good these days. Don't worry. And as soon as I start getting 5 hours of consolidated sleep for myself, I'll be allowed to get off of the "happy pills." I don't know that they're necessary even now, because things really are going good (knock on wood). But why risk it, eh? Why would I choose to go down that path again?

I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

Big Sister

Malia wanted to hold Cecily "all. by. my. self!" So, she did... sort of. Don't worry, I was watching the situation and not just taking pictures and allowing injury to ensue for the sake of comedy.

I think I should seriously make an action flipbook out of these.











She eventually got the hang of it, though. And I think these pictures will be cherished by these girls for the rest of their lives. Don't you love how we force best friendships on people when we give them sisters?




*proud*