One and a half years down- are there really only 18.5 left?! Please sir, can we have some more???

It finally happened. Steve had his cute little butterbar ripped off on Friday and I delicately replaced it with a single black bar.

I was encouraged by the Battalion Commander as well as the Company Commander to "PUNCH IT!!" on there (the enthusiasm for that punch... like frat boys watching a keg stand...), but since this past year as a lowly Second Lieutenant consisted of multiple excursions to hell and back, the most I muster was to make a fist and tap it against his chest.

I am so incredibly proud of him for making it through this first year and a half. He's done SO MUCH WORK y'all. It's been ridiculous and unbelievable and chock-full of long days and late nights and I sure as hell hope that this coming year provides a bit of a slower pace for him. That tiny little black bar was hard-earned and I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I see it on his uniform.

It was also mentioned that we should throw a party for his company to "celebrate" his new pay grade. One soldier yelled out "CHUCK E. CHEESE!" I am thinking we will just ask them to send us the bill rather than eat gross pizza with a giant rat while my son attempts to lick every germ-infested surface available.

It just so happened that Molly's two-week check-up was immediately after the promotion ceremony and I had no time to pump beforehand. That is not to say that there was any shortage of milk (I freeze AT LEAST six ounces daily), but more so to alert you to the fact that I needed this appointment to go quickly so as to not be completely soaked by the time I got home. Did I mention that Molly's doctor is a chatty fellow? Any other day, I would appreciate that. But yesterday... not so much. Luckily we made it home before we drowned in the car.

Molly clocked in at 9lbs 4oz. I was guessing that she was at least 10lbs by now. I mean, the girl can put away some milk. Apparently all of that screaming helps burn it off though.

My mom was here this past week to help with the transition of Steve going back to work. LET ME TELL YOU HOW HELPFUL THAT WAS. I mean, Molly sleeps well for a newborn. At least in my book. My only other newborn experience was Sam, and he woke up every hour, on the hour, for four months straight. So anything more than an hour kinda feels like angels are sprinkling glitter down on us. But Molly has this habit of wanting to be awake from 3-5am every morning. Sometimes longer. And once we finally get her back to sleep, it seems that Sam is waking up. With my mom here, she would get up with Sam in the morning, allowing me to sleep in until Molly woke up. It seems that my new routine might involve drinking heinous amounts of coffee and starting each day at 3am. We shall see.
My mother also performed tasks usually reserved for martyrs when she dealt with Sam during the witching hour, leaving me on the couch with a glass of wine and a sleeping Molly on my chest. To add to her list of achievements: doing diaper laundry multiple times, washing our sheets and clothes, reading the same book to Sam 6,497 times in a row, changing too many poopy diapers (from both children), feeding The Whiny One meals, buckling The Whiny One into his carseat, and accompanying me on a shopping trip to Nashville. By-the-way? The shopping trip to Nashville? WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN SO LONG AS I SHALL LIVE. The only way it will happen is if I weigh as much as my military ID says I do (which, HAHAHAHAHAHA THAT COULD TAKE A VERY LONG TIME). I can buy my kids' clothes online for far cheaper than I can at any of the "factory stores" and trying on clothes for myself two weeks after popping out a kid is like requesting postpartum depression on a silver platter. So while it was definitely an adventure, and I'm glad we got out of the house, I am in no rush to do it again. Especially alone.

I must have cropped her halo out of this photo because it is DEFINITELY floating around up there.

My mom left to go home today (something about a husband and a job and friends and not enough Diet Coke here). There was lots of whining and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Mostly from me. I am hopeful that we can limp along without her here. But just in case we can't, I'd better go ahead and take that Reester bunny out tonight.