Nine Months In; Nine Months Out

Forty-one weeks ago, Miss P made her long-awaited debut- all 7 pounds, 1 ounce, and 20.5 inches of her.

photo 2

Introducing Little Miss P

She didn’t emerge with gusto, the way some babies do. Instead, she was limp and silent.

We were transferred from a free-standing birth center to the hospital in the final stages of labor. Before Miss P’s entrance, a nurse explained that there was meconium in the amniotic fluid. Though this didn’t necessarily signify a problem – it actually wasn’t too uncommon – a team from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit would be standing by incase of complications.

The moment Miss P was born, time was suspended like the lingering pause between a bolt of lightening slashing the night sky and an angry crack of thunder in the distance.

“Meconium. It’s the meconium,” I heard someone say.

The doctor rushed to cut the umbilical cord, swaddled a languid Miss P in a receiving blanket, and placed her in my arms for a fleeting moment – a moment in which someone snapped our first family photo. I barely had the chance to look down at her before she was taken from me, whisked away to the NICU.

Suddenly, there was so much going on around me: bright lights, loud voices, medical staff shuffling back and forth. I could hear the incessant chatter and laughter of nurses seated at a desk in the hallway and the bleeps from equipment in neighboring rooms. A nurse scolded me- something about bending the IV – an IV I wasn’t even supposed to have – as I gripped my cell phone and tried to focus on the 2″ by 3″ photo of my baby girl the student midwife from the birth center had sent me before she left the hospital.

The whole thing was so far from the peaceful private entrance I’d been fantasizing about since we switched to midwifery care and found a supportive doula.

Then for the first time in forty-one weeks, I was completely and utterly alone.

Miss P had what we like to call a rough start, but less than halfway through the day, she was breathing unassisted, alert, and nursing like a pro. Even so, the first 48 hours of her life were spent in the NICU under observation. During this time, Tim and I were allowed to stay with her. We were allowed to hold her and care for her, though not quite in the same ways we would have had the situation presented itself differently.

I find myself often wondering what it would’ve been like had my baby not been pulled from my arms moments after her birth- to have experienced the “Golden Hour” they often referred to in our childbirth classes in all its sanctity: no weighing and measuring, no bath to compromise the precious vernix, no generic blanket and cap to mimic the warmth of that initial skin-to-skin contact with the mother.

I wonder what it would’ve been like to hold my baby close without a tangle of cords hooked up to various monitors intruding between us, to know the sound of her breath without the drone of equipment – equipment that in our case was completely unnecessary. I also wonder how I would’ve felt had I not had to watch a nurse push the empty plastic bassinet from my room, its wheels squeaking across the tile floor.

I don’t often recount the first days of our lives as a family of three, but when I do, most of my listeners tell me to move on. After all, I was fine. Miss P was fine. It was just a rough start. We live under the guise that a healthy mom and a healthy baby are the only things that matter when they are not. And, by the way, the term healthy isn’t limited to outright physical vigor. We can’t know for certain the repercussions – regardless of how delayed or seemingly unrelated they may be – of separating a newborn baby from its mother. I’m not sure I’ll ever emotionally heal from Miss P being taken away from me, even if it was only for a few hours, even though we both ended up being outwardly “fine”.

As much as I daydream about it, I can’t go back in time and make Miss P’s entrance a peaceful one. I can’t change the fact that she spent her first hours in a stark bassinet  instead of in the arms of her mother and father. I can’t change that she spent her first two days adorned with tubes and wires. I can’t alter the past, but I can move forward consciously and with intention.

I think this is one of the reasons I’ve really resonated with many aspects of attachment parenting. I didn’t set out to be an attachment parent; I didn’t read books on the subject or watch documentaries, I just started doing what, to me, felt natural, and I’ll continue to do what feels natural- to utilize the mother’s instinct that was born with my daughter. I don’t want my sweet baby to succumb to fear or loneliness. I want her to know I’m here for her, now and always.

So, here I sit, forty-one weeks later, with Miss P napping beside me. The room is dimly lit, piano music is playing softly in the background, and the scents of lemongrass and cedarwood tangle in the air as they escape the diffuser. This has become our evening ritual- a nightly Golden Hour of sorts, albeit delayed.

I can’t alter the past, but I can move forward consciously and with intention.

As I sit here this evening watching Miss P sleep, I’m trying to wrap my head around the significance of this extraordinary milestone we’ve just achieved as a family: nine months in; nine months out. Or, in our case, forty-one weeks in; forty-one weeks out.

It’s no secret that human infants are nearly helpless at the time of their birth. Though a full-term baby is born around the nine month mark, its gestation period most definitely continues outside the womb, and in many ways, the nine month milestone, with its bold determination and mobility, seems to bring this external gestation full-circle.

I think back to the night we brought Miss P home from the hospital. Those first few weeks were visceral. They were full of laughter, tears, ambivalence, joy, and utter mental and physical exhaustion.


Relaxing during our first week home

Everything was methodical, and there were so many calculations to keep track of: last nursing session, which side it took place on and for how many minutes, wet and soiled diaper output, frequency and duration of naps, and duration of nighttime sleep.

What was her temperature? Did she burp after she nursed? Did she burp twice? Was she too hot or too cold? There was also the uncertainty about how much milk she was actually consuming- a figure that I now know wasn’t something I needed to worry about, yet I spent our first month together agonizing over this lack of information and intermittently texting my midwife for reassurance.

And don’t even get me started on the fit of anxiety that stems from clipping those itty bitty fingernails, keeping her floppy slippery body upright during baths, and pulling her head and delicate limbs through the tiny openings of her sleepers and onesies.

Now Miss P tries to climb right out of her bathtub, and she pulls her shirts up over her head to undress herself. She creeps and crawls and cruises along the walls and furniture. She points when something catches her interest, bounces when she hears a song she likes, and she clears out the kitchen cabinets at least five times a day.

She calls for our cat, Oliver, with me- says, la la, pssst psssst – and wobbles with excitement as he trots over to us. She buzzes and hums and clicks her tongue, and she never tires of smiling at her reflection in the mirror or probing her finger along the owl wind chime that hangs in our living room if you hold her up beside it.

She’s full of spunk and a touch of sass, and she has so much energy that all of our latest pictures are blurry because I can never get her to stay still for more than a moment.

Our baby girl has now grown outside the womb for more or less the same amount of time she spent developing within, and although her exit was turbulent, every day thereafter has been filled with peace and love and a surprising amount of clarity.

Sure, there’s clutter, and chaos, and exhaustion sprinkled in as well. There are often dirty dishes piled in the sink, and baskets of clean laundry that take far too long to get put away, and there are days here and there that end before I’ve even had a chance to shower, but there’s a certain element of beauty in imperfection, and I wouldn’t trade a moment of it.

I’m constantly astounded by this little person who now consumes me. I don’t know how I existed before her, and then I remember I didn’t exist; I was born alongside of her forty-one weeks ago. And oh, how we’ve both grown!

9 months Chalkboard

Happy 4th of July. Miss P is 9 months old!

41 In 41 Out


8 Months

8 Months Chalkboard

Tomorrow marks nine months for Miss P.

NINE MONTHS. I can’t get over it.

But, first, here are some eight month updates. (Better late than never.) 8 Months 1

8 Months 2

8 Months 3

June – Miss P’s eighth month – was a month of ups and downs around here: Miss P’s first airplane ride, adventures in Upstate New York, visiting family in the breathtaking rolling mountains of Pennsylvania, and let’s not forget the latest developmental milestone P’s been tackling- STANDING up and FALLING down, a new trick that leaves me rife with anxiety and hovering over her at all times. {Hello, porcelain tile floor!}

Miss P’s newly acquired mobility coupled with several projects I’ve been juggling over the past two months have kept me from this space. Gone are the days of spending hours at the computer while occasionally glancing up from the keyboard to admire my peacefully sleeping little one. Oh yes, long gone.

As the fog of being a new Mama lifts, I realize there are many things I’ve surrendered since Miss P’s arrival (some temporarily, some for good) such as: sitting down to a hot meal (actually, make that sitting down at all), the vast majority of my favorite tops and dresses as they don’t offer sufficient boob access, make-up (most days), the hair dryer and curling iron, running errands just because, doing anything – besides showering -quickly, napping because I’m tired or not feeling well, meeting a friend for an impromptu lunch or happy hour, etc.

Late nights out have been traded for late nights in, sky-high heels have been exchanged for flats, red wine replaced with tepid herbal tea, and reading time has dwindled from hours a day spent thoroughly engrossed in a quality novel to minutes here and there spent scanning poorly written articles – many of which condemn my parenting choices – shared over social media.

I scroll through said articles while standing at the kitchen counter and gently swaying from side to side as Miss P peacefully naps in our woven wrap or while nursing her to sleep at night in the glider or while patiently waiting for her to wake in the morning, pausing every couple of sentences to look over at her snuggled beside me in bed.

These articles often tackle controversial topics and cross into territories where the author, let’s call her Sally Sassypants, has no jurisdiction: Sleep training, anyone? No thanks, Sally. If my baby cries, I will pick her up, even if that means I’m “doomed” to comfort her throughout the night until she’s a teenager, which, by the way, is a major aspect of the whole parental role- you know, actually being there for your kids.

These articles often promote rigid schedules- schedules that don’t support the baby’s needs, and encourage incomprehensible ideas like letting your baby self-soothe, which we all know is just a euphemism for cry himself/herself to sleep, and I’m thinking, “Damn, we’re a little off,” because I’m not even out of bed yet, and I’ve already broken seven of Sally’s rules.

{Hey, Sally, how about you parent your way, and I’ll parent mine, mmmmkay? And here’s a tidbit for you, compliments of a breastfeeding, co-sleeping, babywearing Mama: Do us a favor, and run a grammar check on your articles before you publish them, because there are always, always grammatical errors, and that really compromises your credibility; just my humble opinion, of course.}

I know, I know, I really need to just stop reading this rubbish. I’ve been watching Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar collect dust on my coffee table for months now, a fate that, for me, is right up there with preparing my favorite meal only to gaze longingly at it, thinking how wonderful it would be if I were to devour it. (Maybe I’ll move The Bell Jar from the coffee table to the nightstand so I can partake in some real reading time in the fleeting moments that allow for it.)

So the fog – that haze made up of bliss, hunger, exhaustion, and, at times, the harsh realization that nearly every aspect of your being has been altered – has lifted, and I’m starting to realize that being a Mama can get awfully political if you buy into that sort of thing. I’ve also realized it’s not advice or reassurance I want or need because, at the end of the day, there are only two people it concerns if I choose to nurse Miss P to sleep each night, and I don’t have it in me to let either of us down.

Ah yes, so I’ve traded some things in, but look what I got in return:





And really, I didn’t give any of these thing up. I’ve heard my share of moms boast that they’re “still the same person” after the arrival of their little ones. {Sally is one of those moms.}

I am not.

When I think of the former me, the “me” before P – and the place she has gone – the hauntingly beautiful description of visual memory Vladimir Nabokov provides in the opening pages of Lolita comes to mind. Nabokov asserts that, “there are two kinds of visual memory…” The me before P is best described as the second of these two: “(the kind) you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors.”

It’s actually the former version of myself that I’ve traded in; the me before P now exists only in photographs and on the dark innerside of my eyelids. She’s ethereal.

And as for the new me? I’m living more consciously than I ever have before because there’s a tiny person who depends on me, and my heart is so full of love and gratitude for her. As an added bonus, my floor is so clean you could eat off of it, and, I suppose, I can temporarily succumb to shoddy reading material and tepid tea.

On a lighter note, I leave you with some pictures from our recent trip to New York and Pennsylvania. {Oh, how I want to go back!}


Miss P’s first plane ride. (She handled it much better than Daddy.)


I was so happy to see a lilac bush, even if it was a tad past its prime.

Miss P does the zoo

Exploring the Safari Bus at the zoo.

Miss P in Oswego

Miss P “strolling” down Bridge Street in Oswego, New York.

car ride to PA

Miss P’s first road trip! En route to Pennsylvania.

Welcome to PA

Oh, the beauty. Welcome to Pennsylvania.

View from the hotel

A view from the top.




This place was seriously so gorgeous!

gorge landscape3

gorge landscape2
gorge landscape1

7 Months


7 Month Board

Happy 7 Months to Miss P! Seven. Months. How is that even possible? Seriously. 

Since her half-birthday, Miss P’s tasted her first solid foods. [Let’s hear it for avocados and sweet potatoes!] She’s become a pro sitter-upper, an exuberant hand-clapper and [wait for it, wait for it] a curious crawler; the last of which the cat and dog don’t seem overly impressed with. She’s also charmed our pants off – over and over again – with her well-placed declarations and whispers of Mama and Dada.

Yes, it’s certainly been a triumphant month for Miss P.

[Trumpets blare in the distance]

Miss P's First Itty-Bitty Pony-Tail

Miss P’s First Itty-Bitty Pony-Tail

One of the things Tim and I had been (apprehensively) looking forward to this month was dabbling in the introduction of solid foods. Although we were given the go-ahead to begin Miss P on rice cereal [gag] at four months, [Seriously, pediatricians, WHY are you STILL recommending this?] we knew from the beginning that we wouldn’t be offering her solids until she passed the six-month mark. And we certainly wouldn’t be beginning with rice cereal because you don’t have to do much digging to learn that, despite what that good ol’ ped tells you, rice cereal (or oatmeal or any other grain) is an extremely poor food choice for an infant.

First, rice cereal has little nutritional value. Second, in order to digest said grain(s), the body must utilize an enzyme called amylase. That sounds simple enough, I know, but the trouble is, babies don’t produce this enzyme in a large enough quantity to properly digest grains until sometime after the one-year mark. (Babies actually don’t produce amylase at all until sometime around 6 months.)

Armed with this information, Tim and I decided Miss P’s first foods would be two of Mama’s favorites: avocado (which is rich in healthy fats), followed by sweet potatoes (a decent source of iron). We also decided to skip the purées and begin with finger foods, a decision that initially left me all, wait, can you DO that? As it turns out, you can; It’s called baby led weaning (blw), and it’s something I recently learned about (and something I’ll speak much more about in a later entry). I do want to quickly clarify that in this instance, “weaning” is meant in the sense of beginning to incorporate solids, NOT terminating a nursing relationship.

At 6 1/2 months, we were ready to begin blw!

How did this seemingly zany method of introducing solids turn out? Was it a success? I suppose to answer, you’d have to decide on a personal definition for the word “success.” Our goal has always been for Miss P’s main source of calories and nutrition to come from breastmilk for the duration of her first year. That being said, we’re viewing these early encounters with solids purely as sensory experiences as opposed to meal replacements. We don’t always offer solids each day, and when we do, they quickly become squishy messy playthings.

Most of the food that reaches her mouth does so inadvertently, but that’s okay. She seems perplexed and amazed with these new textures and sensations, and we can’t get enough of her priceless responses to them.

Miss P’s verdict on the small amount of  food that’s actually been ingested: Avocados, NAY; Sweet potatoes, YAY!

7 Months Food Collage

Behold! Squishy things! I shall look confused for a moment, then proceed to mash these items up and transfer them to my lap!

As for this business with the crawling, I’m going to have to elect to skip over that and remain in denial for at least a few more weeks. I hope that’s okay.

[Emotional breakdown averted]

Now, on to our photo shoot, which proves more eventful each month:

7 months chair 3

7 months chair 2

7 months chair 1

7 months chair 4

She’s been checking out the books on the shelf behind her chair for months now, but this is the first time she’s ever plucked one from the ledge and pulled it into her lap mouth. [Note: It occurs to me now that we’re a bit backwards here with the whole food in the lap and book in the mouth bit.] We took a break from our photo shoot to read a book about Eeyore the Donkey. Alright, I had to take one picture of our story-time; it was just too sweet not to.

When she grew tired of the book and the chair, this happened:

7 months chair 5

Slow down, Miss P! Mama is not ready for this just yet. This is also one of the few pictures where I see some of myself in her; she’s usually all Daddy.

And sometimes in the midst of all this hustle and bustle, I’m able to capture a moment of serenity; these moments feel as if the whole world is taking a deep breath.


Black and White Garden

Miss P communing with nature.

Pensive playtime

Pensive playtime


An after-lunch nap for Miss P

Black and White Sleeping

Sweet dreams our Dearest Miss P. Mommy and Daddy love you.


6 Months

6 Month Chalkboard

…and what 6-month-photo would be complete without a face full of drool?

Dearest Poet Victoria, Our Little Miss P:

You’ve made it halfway around the sun, our sweet child. In your time here, you’ve learned to use your voice when you want to be heard- even if it’s only to babble to your blanket or razz at Raffy the Giraffe- you’ve also learned to tug at our hearts without making a sound.

You can move your body across a room, sit up and even “stand”. You’ve outgrown clothes, socks and hats and transitioned from peering up at the world from a cradle to gazing out at the world from a high chair.

You’ve filled our lives with so much peace and light and laughter.

Rock n' Play:High Chair

You’ve become so perceptive and observant; it’s like each day you’re seeing the world for the first time, and, in a sense, I suppose, you are, because this world is vast and ever-changing.

In spite of the uncertainty that often travels at the heels of new discoveries, you can take comfort in knowing we are beside you, and our love for you will remain steadfast and fierce.

The next 6 months of your journey will bring you full circle for the very first time; you’ll see spring gently fold into summer, taste your first solid foods and crawl. You’ll also likely say your first word, blow your first kiss, wave goodbye and take your first step, though we know you won’t yet wander too far.

Each day with you, our Little Poet, is an excellent adventure, and we can’t wait to see where this magnificent journey takes the three of us next.

Love, Mommy and Daddy

6 Month Collage Landscape

Ahhh, the deliciousness of being 6-months-young:

6 Month Hallway16 Month Hallway56 Month Hallway46 Month Hallway2

“There’s a flame of magic inside every stone and every flower, every bird that sings and every frog that croaks. There’s magic in the trees and the hills and the river and the rocks, in the sea and the stars and the wind, a deep, wild magic that’s as old as the world itself. It’s in you too, my darling girl, and in me, and in every living creature, be it ever so small. Even the dirt I’m sweeping up now is stardust. In fact, all of us are made from the stuff of stars.”

-from The Puzzle Ring, by Kate Forsyth

Five Months

5 month chalkboard

This week marks five full months since Miss P joined us. She’s grown and changed so much since the October night we brought her home. Throughout these months, we’ve watched her transform from a squishy slumberous newborn to a curious and spunky little lady who rolls over, pushes herself up, reaches for her toys, blows raspberries and babbles, sometimes incessantly.

In fact, this has been another month of firsts, starting with the discovery of:

[Drum roll, please]

her feet, also known in these parts as, da pigs.

da pigs

She can’t get enough of them; she pulls them into her mouth while she’s riding in the car, playing on the floor, sitting on my lap- even while she’s nursing. If she’s wearing socks, she tugs at the toe, lifting her leg into the air. Sometimes she sticks her tongue out while she does this. She loves to stick her tongue out.

Someone told me I’d hear Miss P’s first laugh when I least expected it, and it would likely be in response to something that wasn’t even funny. Well, one day I sneezed while I was changing her clothes, and she let out the sweetest little giggle. It was so sweet, that I spent the next week gently poking at her belly during playtime and saying, ahhhhh ahhhh ahhhh chooo in hopes of getting another one. Instead of more giggles, these attempts were mostly met with a smirk. Miss P knew I was faking it.

Lately we’ve been getting lots of giggles – even a few belly laughs – and I don’t have to go to such desperate measures to get them. Even so, I enjoy working to make her laugh. Some of the things she currently finds funny are: clapping hands, snapping fingers, pictures of babies, the word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, sneezes and when I pretend to eat her toes while exclaiming, da pigs! She also giggles when Tim rubs his scruffy face on her cheek.

I’ve conducted an informal photo shoot each month since Miss P was a newborn. In the beginning, these sessions were effortless, but they’re becoming progressively more challenging as she develops new skills.

It feels like just yesterday that I had to prop her against the arm of her chair and quickly snap a couple pictures before her wobbly body slumped. This month, she was able to sit erect with confidence. She kicked her feet in excitement and looked around her room as if she was seeing it for the first time. She was enamored with the bookshelves her Daddy built her and kept twisting around, grabbing onto the bottom ledge and looking up at, what must have seemed to her, a myriad of colorful books marching to the ceiling.

I was able to get a few pictures of her facing forward by waving a board book, with Eeyore the donkey on the cover, beside the camera while exclaiming, Look Miss P! It’s Eeyore! Eeyooooore! Eeyooooore! I’m learning that I will do and say the silliest things to win her attention. It’s a prize that never gets old.

5 month1

5 month 3

5 month 2

Miss P’s starting to take in everything around her. She’s fascinated by shapes, sounds, colors and movement. I love the way she greets these new sights and sensations with a wide-eyed expression of wonderment.

I used to do a project in my classroom each year on The Last Lecture, a presentation on achieving your childhood dreams given by, the now late, Carnegie Melon professor, Randy Pausch after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. During his lecture, Pausch urges listeners to “never lose the childlike wonder.” Each time Miss P makes a new discovery, I can’t help but be reminded of this prudent advice- for this is the very thing Pausch was speaking of, in one of its purest forms.

5 month 4

In addition to the firsts that have been taking place at home, last week Miss P dipped her toes in the Atlantic Ocean for the first time.

ocean1 ocean2 ocean3

It was a windy day, and the water was rough, so I waited for a wave to crash onto the sand then I dipped her toes in the swirling foam as the water receded. We did this a few times, then we strolled down the boardwalk with Grandma and Grandpa.

When I was very young, my mom took me to visit my grandfather in Tampa, Florida, a couple times a year, and some of my earliest memories are of the beach – Clearwater Beach, to be exact. That being said, I’m grateful I was able to spend this first with Miss P and my parents. I’m also very grateful that she didn’t plop onto a jellyfish like I did on a trip to the beach when I was a baby.

In other news, we’ve been doing some serious Spring Cleaning around our house in preparation for Miss P becoming mobile – a milestone that’s surely not far off. I was organizing the Tupperware cabinet and thought Miss P might enjoy playing with one of the containers from my Bento Box. I read somewhere that providing household objects (supervised, of course) such as containers, a wooden spoon, pots and pans, etc. is a great way to promote creative thinking from the beginning since these items encourage babies and small children to use their imagination during play.

She really enjoyed the container and has been playing with it for the past week. Now I’m on the lookout for other safe objects she might have fun with.

tupperwareWhile it’s exciting to see her grow and change – as if before our eyes – it also brings with it an ache. As we enter Miss P’s fifth month, those squishy drowsy newborn days are a foggy memory, but I’m looking forward to making many more. I also hope as the weeks, months and years pass by, that Miss P will be able to experience the world around her with the same unwavering sense of wonder she does today.


Four Months

4 Month Chalkboard

It’s been four months since our little Miss P sluggishly joined us. This time has passed swiftly, yet it feels like she’s been with us forever; I suppose, in a way, she has.

Sometimes I find myself thinking I can’t wait until Miss P crawls or walks or talks. I get so excited imagining her sitting up on her own or tasting her first solid foods. Then I have to stop myself, because every moment I spend in the future is a moment I’ve missed of today, and these moments are fleeting.

She has already grown and changed so much.


I often find myself staring at her while she sleeps. It’s like I’m still taking it all in. I’m in utter awe of this tiny human who now fills more space in my heart than I ever even knew existed.

I catch Tim doing it, too. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and he’s standing over her crib just watching her sleep.

“What did we do before Miss P?” One of us will randomly ask the next day.

And, although she’s been with us for such a short while, it seems too long ago to even remember. It’s a blurry past-life.


Once we passed the three-month mark, so many magical things began happening: rolling over, reaching for and holding onto toys and other objects, feeling the different textures of everything she gets her tiny hands on, splashing in the bathtub, squealing with delight, and making razzing sounds. We’ve even had a few giggles here and there.

Miss P’s been on a relatively consistent schedule these days, albeit her own schedule, but I don’t mind. To keep things interesting, there’s usually one night each week that she decides she isn’t going to go to bed. She’ll babble and razz, roll onto her belly and look around. She’s captivated by so many new sights and sensations.

Sometimes we lay together on the couch, enjoying each other’s company well into the night. If I’m too tired to stay awake any longer and she still isn’t asleep, I’ll put her in the Ergo and pace around the house. This always does the trick. If it happens to be a Friday or Saturday, and Tim doesn’t have to work in the morning, he’ll usually stay up with her while I get some rest.

These nights can be exhausting, but they’re always worth it for the sleepy baby cuddles I get the next day.

The first week of Poet’s fourth month has been a busy one around here. Tim’s been sick for the third time this winter. There’s been a nasty bug going around, so I’ve been taking preventative measures – running around the house sanitizing everything in sight, preparing nutrient-dense foods and drinking lots of apple cider vinegar and Emergen-C – to keep myself, and, in turn, Miss P, healthy.

I wanted to make something to help relieve Tim’s cold symptoms and aid his recovery, so Miss P and I went to work mincing ginger in the kitchen. Fresh ginger is one of my juicing staples, but today I decided to use it to make Tim ginger tea. I was very pleased with the results, so I’m sharing them:

Miss P’s Ginger “Tea”

  • hot water in your favorite mug
  • 1 teaspoon of fresh minced ginger per 8 oz. of hot water (or to taste)
  • 1 teaspoon of raw honey (or sweetener of your choice)
  • lemon wedge

Put the ginger in the hot water, and let steep for a minimum of five minutes. Add the honey and a squeeze of lemon. Stir. Enjoy! (Note: I let the minced ginger settle at the bottom of the mug, then discarded it after the liquid was gone, but if you’re feeling brave – it’s got quite a kick – go ahead and eat it.)

This “tea” is so simple to make, and it’s wonderful for colds and such. The hot water helps boost the immune system, ginger has anti-inflamitory properties, raw honey is anti-bacterial, anti-viral, and anti-fungal, and lemon juice helps cleanse the body.

I’ve also been working on Miss P’s Four Month Photo Shoot this week. She’s full of so much spunk and sass these days. Here are a few of my favorite pictures:

4 Months 1

Are you kidding me with those cheeks?

4 Months 3

And that smile?

4 Months 4

And those toes? I seriously can’t handle the cuteness of those little toes.

4 Months 2

I fall more and more in love with her Every. Single. Day.

This month’s photo shoot was a bit more, um, active than the first few. Miss P kept rolling over and trying to eat the props. (I swear she’ll put anything in her mouth besides a bottle.)

[Behind the scenes]

4 months 6

“You seriously expect me to lay still?”

4 month 8

“But, Mama, I can roll over now!”

4 months 7

“And this blanket tastes so good!” Nom Nom Nom.

I was so excited to show Tim all the pictures I took.

“She’s such a little woman,” he always says. And she is, she really is.