Busted! (With Photographic Evidence)

When my girls were born, they received an abundance of blankets and stuffed animals. We moved to a different state shortly after their first birthday, so many of the stuffed animals ended up in boxes. Over the years, I've pulled out those stuffed animals to give my daughters on their birthday or Christmas. It has been nice to give them these gifts when they're at an age to actually appreciate and use them. Unfortunately, yesterday my scheme began to unravel.
This past Christmas, Santa left a stuffed bear in each of my girls' beds as she slept. They thought it was great to wake up and immediately find a gift from Santa. They all still play with these bears (which most parents will agree is an accomplishment, since stuffed animals tend to get tossed aside fairly fast). Yesterday I was purging an area of the house that was long overdue for cleaning. (It's part of the purging I started in January. I said it was going to be a slow process). I found a cute photo book I made from birth to age one and knew my girls would enjoy looking at the pictures. Soon after looking at the book, R approached me and said "Aren't these the same bears Santa gave us for Christmas?" Busted! Um, why yes, the bears you are posing with at your first Christmas are indeed the same bears you just received! I took a deep breath, avoided eye contact with Hubby so I wouldn't laugh and said "Well, look at the picture. The bears are bigger than you! Santa realized you weren't ready for the bears, so he saved them and brought them back when you were older." She seemed to buy my story.
I don't mind that my daughters may have figured out my regifting error. What I'm not ready for is for them to figure out who Santa really is. The excitement leading up to Christmas morning is always so much fun. I'm not ready to give that up just yet. So I guess I'll need to go through my picture albums and see if they have any more secrets to tell!

The Trouble With Pictures Pt. 2

After looking at pictures over the weekend I realize I have been in denial for 3 1/2 years. You see, I have always believed I came through my pregnancy and my daughters' first year with flying colors. Then I looked at pictures from the week two of my girls came home from the hospital (they were approximately 60 days old) and I now know I have been fooling myself.
I cannot begin to tell you how scary it was to see myself in those pictures. I knew the pregnancy was rough. I knew the time spent traveling back and forth to the NICU was exhausting. I never knew just how much of a toll it took on me physically until just now. (What, you think I'm going to SHOW you those pictures? Yeah, right).
I spent 23 weeks on bed rest. During that time I lost 30 pounds because I could not keep anything done for several weeks. Nothing. Not even popsicles. By the time I delivered my daughters I gained back 28 pounds. I was exhausted. I had low muscle tone. I'm surprised I still knew how to walk once I was done with bed rest, although, truth be told, walking through the grocery store was quite an effort for several months.
Here's what I saw in those pictures: a gaunt face, dark circles under the eyes, clothes falling off of me. But here's what I realized from those pictures: my life will always be a sacrifice to do what I need to do to raise my children. That's not me being a martyr, that's me being realistic. Their needs come before mine... but I need to take care of myself to make sure I'm around to take care of them.