Right where I belong

This is right where she belongs:

Which happens to be, right where I belong.

When I lay down with Quinn, and she nestles in beside me, head under my chin, belly to belly, legs tucked under right above the bend of my knees, I know I could be happy here forever.  I know thought this when Isabella and Declan were babies, and I lay with them.  Maybe it's more "real" because she's the one I'm doing this with right now. Maybe it's because I'm trying to be so much more aware this time. Because I now know, how easy it is to forget. And you wake up and your babies are toddlers, and your toddler is almost a big girl.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant with Quinn, I promised to be more aware. More "in the moment." Remembering every single movement, every feeling, every smell, every sound.  When I went into labor, I reminded myself to feel everything. To remember whether or not she was rolling around and kicking hours before she entered the world.  Throughout my six hours of long, intense, transitional labor, I reminded myself to feel her, be aware of her, and work with her.  She was kicking me the whole time I was in labor with her. I remember it.  Minutes before she was born, she was pushing on me. I could place my hand on my stomach, feel her push back. Then moments later, there she was. In my arms.  Curled into me, on the outside of where she was just living for ten months.  And she curled into me tonight, I remembered that feeling.  This one has some special kind of hold on me....

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On another note. A way less serious, emotional note.  Kelly had off from school today (Hooray for snow days when it's not even snowing...). So she, Eleanor, and Kate came over for a little playdate fun, pizza making, and just an iota of adult interaction. Keep in mind, the latter was close to non-existent.

 But that's okay. Because we were kinda distracted by this:

I'm not going to lie, when dough is involved, I usually try to not ever mention the word (dough). Because if I do, it's a gaurantee, that a certain someone's going to instigate a certain something, and if you read this blog, you know who and what I'm talking about. 
I guess I accidentally said "dough." And in milliseconds I hear feet scurry across the floor, a chair being pushed, pulled, and carried across the floor, throw in a few grunts and "wait, me mommy!" and there he is. Covered in flour before I can roll his sleeves up.
Oh but wait, second later, feet hit the floor, chair being pushed across the floor, and a wee one is right there beside him "me too, me too" and she's grabbing for the dough.
Not over yet, another pair of feet are on the run, and here's the third one hopping up onto the chair asking for "powder (flour) and a rolling pin, please."  I
t's so much fun for them. And such a mess for me.....But so much fun for them (repeat, repeat, repeat....).  So they rolled, and floured, and cut, and flattened.
And someone may have been just a tad interested in tasting...