the day my not yet two year old gave me a body image complex.

So for the official record, every morning I get up before the sun rises and work out. Then I do my hair and makeup and clean the house. Naturally, I proceed to make a hot breakfast for my husband before he goes to work all day, catch up on my correspondence, and take part in my various hobbies (flower arranging, crocheting, knitting, etc.) before the babies wake up. It's important to start off on the right foot.

However, I know you'll take my word on the fact that this story starts on a day that clearly isn't normal. I woke up and the littlest baby was already squawking at me on the monitor, so I got up and grabbed her. Tom was already gone for the day (whoops, have a good day honey!) and so Avie and I hit the ground running. She was particularly cranky that morning, so we ate and played and talked and she absolutely refused to let me put her down. Oh well, that's why this is my job. So we hung out and did our thing and listened for the humming and sighing that means Lyla is up for the day. I am kinda feeling a hot mess since I haven't had any time for myself this morning: going to be generous and use the words "messy bun" to describe my hair, still in pajamas, have not had a bathroom break since 10:15 last night, whatever.

Lyla's Room

Now there's one room in our house that I just love. Y'all. I love it. I love it so much. It could be because it's the only room that I actually planned from the beginning. It could be because I've spent so much time in there, or because one of my favorite small humans lives there, or because I'm really drawn to neutral tones with pops of color. I don't care what the reason is. I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it.