It rains, it pours... then it floods.

Laying down all day, is by far, the hardest thing I have ever done.

Really, this is for the birds (figuratively speaking, those lucky ducks get to fly).

Having someone cater to me all day long, three meals a day. Keeping my water glass filled because I'm supposed to double my intake. Not to mention, having someone chip away at the endless chores around the house and chase Jack, and not be able to help is hard.

And I know it may sound like a paradise to some moms, but I can't stand it. I want to be there. I want to pick up my baby and take him outside. I want to prepare for a new little bunny coming soon. Shoot, I want to go for a run.

So I relish in my pictures from this month that I have yet to blog. I may have to deliver over a few posts. I am quite behind. And that is okay, because the bright side to all this lounging is sifting through pictures of a great month in which I jumped, danced and held my boy.

Who needs toys? We need to feed our children imagination. Let them nurture and allow it to grow. Who are we to take away their innovation in favor of a clean house? Let them tear out the sheets and sofa cushions. Flip over buckets and tables and chairs and create a little haven for themselves. They need this. This is what feeds their creativity. And I love that Jose delivers a mouthful.

And if your baby has not yet ceased the opportunity to squish his little toes in finger paints, roll up those pants and dip in. We have a driveway of artwork created by our little Jack Picasso. And it's the best art.

Escape to Downtown Disney where water shoots out of the ground with no warning to tourists. And no warning to my curious toddler. The water would shoot out of one spigot before the next. Jack ran behind to peek into the hole after the water vanished. We sat by an audience that Jack had accumulated anticipating a splash in the face and a very upset little man. But he's quick. And lucky. Very lucky.

Still dry.

Sometimes I like to move far away and watch my favorite people from a distance. I catch candid love when they least expect it. My heart swells with appreciation. These lucky charms are mine.

Advice from my toddler: when you can't decide on a tie, wear them all.

You're never too old to call Dad when you get a flat.

When the world gets you down, try changing the way you look at it.

If anyone needs me, I can be found in bed. Sigh.

This Baby Wants Out.

My midwife wants me on strict bed rest. And I think I would have understood her better if she told me I had a red breast or to head west, because bed rest? Well, that's just impossible. I've been on official bed rest for 16 hours, half of which I was sleeping and consider this one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Jose was working last night. Jack needed to be fed, changed, played with, monitored, so I called Mom over to spend the night. It is so hard to ask for help. And of course she is wonderful.

The baby wants out. His head is -1 station and effacement is 50% in progress, not that anyone would want specifics. I may need to refer back to the dates one day.

Three weeks. I can do this.

As cute as you can be.

The highlight of my day today was making us cocoa. I took out the good chocolate and blended it with some hot organic milk, then topped it with homemade whipped cream. You always worry that it is going to be too hot. After four big burns, you are super cautious of hot things. It's not hot, it's perfect. And then you take a sip, pulling back with a whipped cream mustache.

Sold.

You insist on your own cup, or tup, as you call it. And of course you'll need a boom to stir the chocolate. And then you'll spill a little here and make a mesh. And say ohhhh noooo repeatedly until I hand you a nacken to clean it all up.

I love your little words. I especially love your terms of endearment toward the things you love. We nicknamed your pacifier shnoot, some distant derivative of the Icelandic translation. You call it a moot (rhymes with foot). And when it has been gone from you for too long, you put your hands out, palms up, look at me and say moot-E-moot? Moot-E?

I don't want to forget this. I want to engrave it in my heart. I want to lock it in a vault and pull it out again when you're a teenager, blaring insane futuristic music in your room and shouting who-knows-what-futuristic-slang.

I don't want to forget the little you. You are growing big every day. And sometimes I want to squash you like play-doh into the size you were yesterday. You will always be my baby. Forever my Jack Jack.

It's still Christmas.

I want to bag up the holidays and put them in my pocket. I want to be able to pull them out on a rainy day or a sad day and laugh all over again. My family is the most fun. They fill up my love tank so much that I don't need anything else. I'm stuffed with family. Not the overstuffed, uncomfortable, make-you-want-to-vomit kind.

No.

The kind that keeps you satisfied like a fine glass of wine.

And the wine this Christmas happened to be vintage. A pricey bottle that we pulled out for an extra special celebration. One that has been sitting on the top shelf collecting dust for years until the big day.

Our family is super close. We have complete open-door policy. And if there is a locked door, Jack knows it needs a key. He will find Pop Pop, demand a key and unlock the door. That's how tight we are.

I've never had any luck getting Jack to pose. Dad insists on an hour of family pictures before opening presents, an agonizing wait while growing up. Ten minutes in and Jack can strike a pose.

We have a new addition to our tradition. Her name is Daniella. She is classy, stylish and smart. And Jeffrey picked her. And we like her.

Jack is big enough to open up his own presents and joins in on all the excitement. He doesn't tear through gift after gift. Oh no. He treasures each and every one. We had to remind him that he had more.

Next Christmas, we'll be adding yet another addition. He will be little. It will be his first Christmas. He will be dressed in his best for the first time in a brand new Christmas outfit. We will be introducing him to family traditions that have been tweaked to perfection and continued forever. His big brother will peel open all his presents. And we will all stand around enjoying another fine bottle of vintage wine.

A Merry Christmas Morning

Merry Christmas Morning. Our families came over for homemade waffles and pancakes all set out and delish.