I'm just barely pregnant with Weston James here. We know, at this point, but nobody else does.
I look at this picture, and I just know. Jordan still wears those butterfly jams; she still loves the slide like a mother; she still doesn't have much hair to speak of. But she's a baby here, and she's not anymore. Much is the same, but more is different.
Ah. That disgusting patio pre-revamp. Still one of her favorite haunts though. And this face says - even if her vocabulary can't - "I know you asked me to get off of the filthy floor. But I'm just going to look at you like this instead."
Worth noting: I am looking at those EXACT socks at this EXACT moment on my EXACT fat son. Jordan is a year and a half here; Weston is four months. And they're still cutting off his cankles' circulation.
Hawaii for our babymoon. A tiny rental car, a huge pregnant woman, and a hot pink inflatable. Paradise nonetheless.
Beach season with beached whale.
Pretty much the perfect metaphor. Sean is Jordan's constant shadow.
Here's me taking a huge risk that Jordan doesn't pee herself over firework excitement/terror. She's 100% nakey, which the funky lighting masks rather artfully.
Jordan turned two, and I turned sad. Well not really, but you know. A mother's nostalgia. She certainly isn't 5 tiny pounds anymore, but she displays the same stubborn self sufficiency she did on Day One of Jordan.
Oh hey Bud.. You're fat and tardy. Still love ya.
New dynamic. On the left: leery. On the right: creeper.
Shamelessly employing 2013's word of the year.
At my family's huge Christmas gathering - the time of her LIFE. Bouncy houses abounding.
Oh! Bonus shot for 2013 in THIRTEEN photos:
Weston is blissfully unaware of the clenching and imminent threat on his life.
And that is a wrap, friends. Fare thee well 2013.