Volume 1: The tantrum edition
Joining the ladies at Fine Linen and Purple for something kind of fun this week...
This is what our Mass looked like today. Cecilia wore a clearance rack Carter's outfit, which she insisted on accessorizing with a flower hat (not shown), Old Navy heart tights (below), and consignment store pink faux-Uggs (not shown). And she cried and misbehaved for most of Mass. Shocker. The twins did pretty well, as did John Paul (despite his constant whispering of, "She DOESN'T need to nurse!" directed at whichever twin was nursing at the moment. He actually said the priest's parts in a softer voice than usual this week, so I'll consider that a success).
And here's Cecilia tantruming on the couch. I wore a black tummy-sucking-in skirt from Target (I'm only 2 months post-partum, you better believe I still need help sucking it in!), brown boots that were my Christmas present last year, a Shade blouse and an Ann Taylor Loft cardigan. I would have belted it, but then I wouldn't have been able to pull up the blouse to nurse (for the entirety of Mass. This is my life.).
In the background you can see our potty, because we don't have a bathroom on the main floor. Worst. Floor plan. Ever. Also a twin nursing pillow in stylish denim, which hides spit up like nobody's business!
Don't you feel bad for her? She wanted to put on her sweater by herself and then it was inside out and backwards and she couldn't find the floor and Dad insisted on helping but only MOM was the one who SHOULD help and EVERYTHING IS SO BAD!!!
Then she found a booger.
And examined it while Andrew changed both babies.
Do you see that little bit of knee poking out? I actually SHAVED my knees in anticipation of wearing a skirt.
And I took it away from her.
Seriously, maybe the worst the kids have ever behaved during Mass. Mostly because of Cecilia, who insisted on yelling, "I WANT TO BE A BAD GIRL!" during the 2nd reading.
It gets better, right?
And now I'm writing this in (maternity) yoga pants and a nursing tank - I consider it a success if I don't get spat up on until *after* Mass, and it took 30 minutes after we got home for that to happen. Win!