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The Goose is 4 months old. She's lovely. She giggles and coos when she has our full attention and squeals when she doesn't. She still loves crowds and has appeared at a few happy hours, but isn't afraid to cry nice and loud for the folks if she's just not feeling up for it. She sports excellent rolls and this fantastic double chin. After months of swinging well below the 1% line for weight, she's climbed her way up to 5% and growing. Her doctor said she is the most improved baby she's worked with, and we really, really appreciate her community of tummy doctors (and the GOAT: goat's milk). I think about the things I wish I didn't worry so much about when I was growing up. I hope she knows she can keep those little chunky rolls forever. I hope she embraces every inch of who she is and who she becomes, not because of how she looks or how many people like her, but because she has character and the love of the good people. I hope she knows her value through doing whatever it is that makes her happy with whoever it is that makes her even happier. I hope she is independent but present for the people that value her time and talents and fine with letting go of the people that don't. I hope she finds someone like her daddy because he's absolutely obsessed with making us laugh and the way he loves her is present and loud. It's so much fun to watch. But really, when I reflect on parenthood in its most vulnerable, frustrating moments, I realize it all boils down to one universal question, one small thing that rapidly trickles into every spontaneous burst of crying or waving of the fist. I would like to know if the laundry will ever be done. Anywhom. Watching you blossom is the sweetest thing, Goose.

Goose is 3 months old tomorrow! We are coming to a close on the colic chapter and I never ever ever ever ever want to open that chapter again. Yes, she still spits up like Rosemary’s baby, but goats' milk formula (and time) has made a world of difference. Shout out to all the colic moms out there and the side conversations we’ve all had on this... yeah I'll say it... living hell. We're finally out of newborn clothes and she's outgrown her skinny Daddy long legs. She now rocks a few extra chins (where she tends to store her spit-up) and we see signs of her momma's thick thighs (TAKE THAT). She has these beautiful long lashes, strawberry hair, and her eyes get bluer each day. Her face lights up when she sees mom or dad and her wee fingers grip Daddy’s with the type of tenderness that ensures a pony by age 3. She’s expressive with this awesome smile and insane WTF face. She talks as much as her Daddy. Mayhaps even talks more than her Daddy? Either way, I sealed my fate by having his child. Despite my own gift for gab, I may never get another word in and that’s ok. And for the love of all things sleep, she finally sleeps in the SNOO, bringing our total investment of baby items marketing sleep to about a million dollars. Whatever. I’ll drive Uber and hustle ten MLM’s if it means two REM cycles a night. We had lots of fun this month with our village! Nicole and fam came to visit. We began plotting our life as mother-in-laws and forced the children to take photos we'll post at their wedding. (But which brother will she choose?) And there are finally small signs of me peeking out of her predominantly dad appearance, just in time for MarMar to visit and spoil her with TJ Maxx Runs and snoogles.

She is two months old! No, time does not fly yet, but I think it will soon... I wish I could say it was easier, but man the past couple months have just been hard folks. First of all, our basement and her nursery flooded, uncovering black mold then asbestos, so the three of us and her raging colic have been confined to just our bedroom (yay). She has her daddy's tummy (and yeah everything else, I know I know). It just isn't great and we're still under 8lbs so she's a little thing with skinny frog legs (something I've never had in my life). She loves to scream at us every couple hours for a feed we promptly give her. She then spits up all over us and screams again, then smiles so we forget all about it and love her more than life itself. In romantic relationships, we call this "toxic", but I think these mental gymnastics are considered regular ole parenting. That being said, she has a wonderful gastro and doctor, and we're slowly getting so much better. Still not in the clear at 1% weight, but there's a light. This month her personality has just blossomed, and when she isn't screaming her head off, she giggles and smiles and gives us sweet little coos. She is a little pensive, too, and stares at artwork on walls wherever we go so we think she's, like, super cultured. Her doctors and nurses love seeing us on their schedule and claim she's the prettiest little baby. If the pros say it, it must be true! And she has projectile spit-up or explosive pooped on all of them, so there little incentive to lie. Our basement is now under construction and we're actually doing some fun additions to her room, her meds are starting to work, and her giggles are just amazing. As all of my parent friends have proclaimed in the past, it's the hardest thing I've ever done (no really... I understand those who opt out of kiddos... my life is very, very different and yours is very, very nice). But we are obsessed and in love. Shout out to our village and to my work team for making it all so much better. I couldn't ask for a better friend group or job. I'm not sure where we would be without the hand-me-downs, the babysitting, the coverage, and the gifts of food and time. Donna, you are a dream business partner. Megan, for loving my nugget and babysitting so mom and dad could have a little time, and for showing us the adorable ways we can use baby as a prop for our bits. Jessica and Lindsay for being the first to hold her when we're with friends or just getting momma out of the house. Katelin, for ALLLLLL the mom support and clothes. My bestie, Kristen, for flying out here to give me some relief and love when it was really tough, and for providing Rainie with 70% of the things she owns (Mommaroo, clothes, baby Brezza, toys, etc.) And to my own mom for her button nose and pretty lips, and talking me through being a mom to a colic baby. I get it now and I don't know how you did all of it with me. Consider me a little more humbled. And of course my hubs and sidekick. I am so damn lucky to have a baby daddy that is involved and on it. I have graciously accepted that you will be the favorite parent and I can't wait to witness it as she grows up. I am more rested, fed, socialized, and loved than so many in this stage of parenting a tough nugget. You are ze best and I love you. And to my volcanic postpartum hormones, for flaring up nice and big so I write long, emotional Facebook posts that make me cry because my baby is growing and my people are great and omg when will I fit into my pants again and omg world hunger, etc. etc.

She is one month old. Her father and I swore we were going to get a peaceful introvert... because it would be hilarious. Maybe one who is a little modest and doesn't fuss over her outfits. One that speaks when spoken to and gladly abides to stranger danger. But you were all right when you said there wasn't a change in hell. This baby is a force and her parents will never sleep again (insert evil laugh from both my baby and my mom who prayed for karma). She laughs and smiles more than most babies her age, usually after she screams at the top of her lungs because she's pooping and it's scary(?). Or because it's 2am. She sleeps and smiles most during the day and in public, especially when people are ooing and ahhing over her and telling her she's pretty and adorable. She loves crowded bars and breweries so Alexa plays crowded bar sounds to help her sleep. She's clearly read the American Society of Pediatrics positions and items banned for babies and prefers all those things (anti-swaddle, pro-weighted sleep sack, and more things I shan't disclose, etc. etc.). She hates clothes and proudly lives in just a diaper. She has an awesome latch, but decided she's allergic to my milk and prefers formula that cost about as much as our mortgage and I suspect this is a foreshadow to her life as a sommelier. And when we take her bottle out to burp her, she screams or throws an awesome RBF. After she burps, she crosses her eyes and giggles. Her Paci is her most prized possession and she grips it tight and throws fighting fists up when it's in her mouth. She dares you to take it. And in all of it, we're obsessed with our smiley and feisty babe. Among the chaos, she's packed so much personality and wonder into her almost 7 pounds. She's finally growing and in the clear for her size and has been given a stamp of optimal health. We're pretty relieved month 1 is over, to be honest, but watching her personality emerge has us so excited for month 2. The three of us are really starting to jive and rock this little family thing.

A wee baby with dainty lady hands and her burly dada. She was born on 5.12.24, making the winner of the guess her due date her grandma and namesake. We'll call it a Grandma's intuition. We call her Goose to avoid putting her name out there. She has a full head of strawberry blonde hair, gets all the compliments on her cuteness, and looks more Dad than Mom. She loves to squeak and hiccup, and she loved latching and eating from minute one.* Before my last push, her Dad told a joke and I laughed so hard, she popped out. The doctors were impressed, but not at all shocked after spending 20 hours of labor cracking jokes with the me and the hubs (and a most excellent dose of all the drugs, thank you). Her Dad, it turns out, is a very silly man and we are preparing for a very silly baby. Our hospital has been amazing and we were lucky enough to have an almost uneventful delivery. When we first arrived, I was followed into the elevator by a guy not quite maternity ward material, shaking on something good 'n strong with a look of mischief on his face. He proclaimed a very strong "F*ck you" when I told him "I don't think you belong in the maternity ward my friend". I swiftly jumped off the elevator, as swiftly as one can jump 9 months pregnant, and a lil security guard team fiasco ensued. Apparently one of security guys got a promotion before the other security guy and the other was soooo bad at it and this was the catalyst behind our whole ordeal, letting someone from the streets into the maternity ward, an so on and so forth. They didn't find the guy, so we assume he's on the roof of the hospital somewhere, chillin. Anywhom. This baby is worth the drama and life is so sweet. *Note from the future - the latching and eating "from minute one" was bullshit. She developed an entire personality around severe food allergies and sour milk vomit, as you shall find out.

Well, 16 months and 13 days. Whatever. How do I explain the big things breaking out of this tiny kid? She’s monstrous and loud. She’s so very happy and really, really pissed. She's magnetic most times and kind of annoying others. Ladies and gentlemen, I have a toddler. Her standout thing in a room of other toddlers is her insane agility paired with a complete lack of fear. Her current sports include skiing and swimming, and despite her inability to speak coherent words, she skis – yes, skis – better than some people I know. Bring on the #1 fan sweatshirts and cold weather folding chairs; she’ll be going for gold and Tim and I are really obnoxious now. More than usual, folks. We've peaked. We will probably tell you our 16-month-old skis more than in this post. Even in a business meeting. Even at your grandmother's funeral. Even when you're trying to tell us about your most horrific break-up. We will interrupt your panic and distress with a "that's too bad. Did you know Rainie is skiing?!". And I am so, so sorry. Anyways, in ski class she manages to perform the task without following instructions. Unfortunately, where skiing on a carpet hill in a kid's gym is safe to trial and error on your own, swim lessons require a little more... structure. For survival. She currently jumps into the pool whether we’re ready or not (we're not) and shoves herself out of the arms of people who are holding her, only to break free and realize oh sh*t... I can't swim . It’s been a great exercise for us as parents to enforce firm no's and boundaries with a fearless kid. She can climb out of the side of a pool really well. She can even pull herself onto a floating device. But she can't swim and doesn't want to calmly float on her back, which is sort of the whole point of swim lessons for babies. Shout out to her instructor, Ms. Lisa, who will break her in before it’s all said and done and she has our full support. In terms of other milestones, Rainie has simply put off learning full words. She's just really, really busy with playing outside and ski and swimming. She’ll get to it later. And you know what, in a world of kids with different skills and timelines – the words will come. She fills every minute she’s awake with explosive extroversion, rambling in long, loud, incoherent babbles even if she’s sitting by herself (though that is rare… the people need to hear her). I’d call her a drunk sailor if her balance and agility weren’t so impressive. It’s an optical illusion to witness loud babbles similar to 2am sorority girl as she sprints and moves with excellent balance. Speaking of sorority girls, and as a former sorority girl (IYKYK), she knows how to squat behind a bush and pee. I wish I were kidding, but also… impressive. She smooches us on the mouth. It came on one day, which is both adorable and mildly not okay? I think Tim tells himself that Tom Brady was accused of kid smooches and Tom Brady was a Patriot (you know that?) so maybe, like, it’s fiiiiiine. I watch him perform these mental gymnasts as I unapologetically smooch all members of my household. Stay tuned for next month, where we all succumb to the plague. We skipped the 15-month update, but in July we went to visit her Hoyman cousins in Atlanta. She and Eleanor, one year her senior, are made for one another and may get arrested in college for streaking. Til then, it's so cute to watch them get into little bouts of mischief and giggle their pretty little brains out. Plus, it's so much fun when you and your best friend watch your kids play. After Atlanta, we ditched Tim and headed to the Swampland to visit Mar Mar, Grandpa, and Uncle Clark (and Cooper). Rainie had so much fun scaling their furniture, finding small batteries in precarious corners of the house, pulling the dogs ears, and jumping into the hot tub. The rest of us focused on keeping her alive without sprouting more grays and losing hair. We were successful and it was so much fun watching my parents play with her and enjoy her company. She loved it. This past month we didn’t travel, and it was this long spell of staying put that we didn’t know we’d need. I love jet-setting, but squirmy, screaming carry-ons are statistically shown to be the #1 cause of anxiety and only children. Instead, we enjoyed a month of being home with friends and fighting the occasional cold. Actually, now that I think about it I had bronchitis that turned into walking pneumonia. This is that evolutionary postpartum joke (there are many) where you forget all the hard parts of parenting so you'll have more kids. I had a cough for two months and just sort of shrugged it off. Finally went in. Pneumonia. Haha. Lol . Funny. I leave you with this pinnacle little moment I've savored in the past two months. About once a week she has a nightmare. While it is hard to hear her struggle, there is nothing that fills my heart like a 3am soothing session, her nose nestled against my neck and her arms wrapped around it as we rock back and forth to my whispers of it's okay sweetheart and I love you . I wish I could bottle those moments and bring them out later. Happy 16 months and 12 days to our little fish <3 SHE SKIS!!

Day 826,382,654 and 1/2. We’ve all three been sick for years at this point with no end in site. Though the captain of this ship is only 7 months today, I can’t recall the faint smell of clean air through clear nostrils, the void of coughs in the wee hours, or the time we had a full cabinet of NyQuil before the supply drained. Eye, tis been a plague for the ages. But today, on her Marmar’s birthday, we still celebrate that she is 7 months old. This month Rainie took her father to dad boot camp, the same program he learned to daddy before she was born, to teach a room full of sweet, naive fathers-to-be what this whole have a baby thing is really about. They learned how a baby intricately smushes avocado up her nose for maximum discomfort, the strong scent of shart, the visual chaos as it seeps through a onesie, and how projectile spit up flies like a white blobby missile through the air and loudly splats on impact. They left better men because of my girl. She still loves daycare and gets giddy when we walk into her classroom. She scours the vicinity for the most action packed corner and points me to where I can drop her off to roll around and babbles with friends, whilst also successfully swapping a heft dose of germs in the transaction. But don't worry, if a friend isn't nearby to give them disease, these 11-20 pound nuggets find a mucus crusted surface to lick. After years of living in the heart of this room packed with baby bacteria and resisting the army of germs shot at them on the daily, I am convinced her teachers are radioactive. The demand for attention continues to grow and I suspect this will be one of my last times saying that as we can all just know she’d like you to look at her, okay? She’s adorable in her little holiday outfits, terribly spoiled by her grandma, and absorbing every inch of her father with those crabby claw fingies. We’ve been homebodies lately, outside of a nice Thanksgiving with friends and family in Winter Park. Know our extroversion is bursting at the seams and we hope to be a little more sociable soon. If only we could become radioactive ourselves. Rainie, we love you so much and know one day we will even miss your snotty, coughy giggles.

Goose is 14 months old. For those offended by the month measurement, she’s 1.17 years old. And yes, for those really, really paying attention I’m either a month(ish) late on the 13 months old post or two days early on 14 months. Whatever. What is time anymore? This is the holy giggle phase. She laughs at her reflection, my reflection, a spoon - it’s all hilarious. And boy I love that. She doesn’t walk really, but struts around the room and puffs her chest, arms outstretched, like a powerful gorilla. She falls if there’s a light breeze. In a room of bottles and sippy cups, she'll take the water bottle the size of her torso, thank you. And as I hear her screaming in the room next to me because I just put her to bed and she don’t wanna — I realize this is the dawn of her “OH NO I WON’T” era. Leh sigh. They grow up so fast. In an effort to be tres chic, my mom group book club read Bringing Up Bebe and I was moved. No, really. Her Daddy is tired of me insisting “but the French book said she does it like this”. It isn’t that I’m frequenting a wine bar or chic cafe with a calm and abiding child in tote, it’s that the book makes me think that one day, I will. And she’ll speak French words and very clearly understand the word no the first time it’s softly mumbled from my lips. It has me preparing her dishes of colorful varieties, to which her nanny has complimented her beautiful meals and I think “ah, oui oui. I am bringing up bebe”. She’ll be ripping café au lait on a Vespa in no time. Check out my full review on the book here. I listed the top recommendations we've popped into our parenting (and how) and the ones that I was all like hellllllll no . My favorite theme of the book: the French are hellbent on living their lives almost exactly as they did prior to kids. I know it’s controversial to some, but it was the one thing that had me go “ok, I think we’re doing this right”. I’m so grateful I’m with a partner who equally values having friends and social events outside of kids. I’m grateful for friends that are all for me bringing her along, but equally great at getting me out without her. They say you should find a partner who doesn’t complete your life, but compliments your life. That’s tough with her, because my goodness she completes us, but this girl also compliments my life without running it over. And we will raise her to proudly be her own person outside of us. It’s getting a lot easier and a little harder all at once. She had her first ear infection and just needed mommy as she melted into me night after night. I was so exhausted and sad for her, but so, so happy to be there. She's such a wonderful little girl. Even after her wildest tantrums - and they're wild and weird and spontaneous folks - she’ll melt into us and we get all gooey. We love you bebe.