This weekend we took Molly for her 6-month pictures at the Giant Baby Emporium.

Oh wait. I am ALREADY going to go on a giant tangent: does anyone else do 3-month, 6-month and 9-month pictures like I do? And which I started doing only because my mother would say things like, "Well, have you scheduled her 3-month pictures yet?" And, note to my mother, I would be taking pictures ANYWAY, I just wouldn't be so on top of it. Okay, so, anyone? Just as I wrote that first sentence it occurred to me that I don't see many department store portrait-type pictures in my friends' houses. The kid pictures are usually candid snapshots blown up on a home computer, or very natural un-posed artistic photos, in black and white, mounted, framed, set atop an altar and lit candles all around it.

For Jack's 6-month pictures we went to a Real Photographer in a Real Studio and had ourselves an hour of family picture taking. These photos are my favorite of all his baby pictures and I have one giant open-mouthed smile framed pretty prominently in my living room. I love it. I knew I wanted to have an equivalent Molly picture, but I also knew we didn't have the time, energy or funds to go back to the Real Photographer. A department store portrait studio would have to do, except for the fact that I HATE THE DEPARTMENT STORE PORTRAIT STUDIOS.

Jack hit an important toddler milestone this week: he started saying "no."

HELP ME.

Sometimes my husband calls to say he'll be late, and I brush it off with a "No problem! I'll just cover this fabulous meal with foil and use the extra time to sweep the floors!" But usually, I'm just grumpy.

Before Molly was born I made sure to do some research on how, exactly, one transports two children (under the age of two!) by herself. I scoped out double strollers at the playground. I spent hours online reading about slings and wraps and pouches. I studied car seats and infant carriers and for goodness' sake, people, WE BOUGHT A NEW CAR. A bigger car, with more storage and more seats. But now I wonder why I bothered, because leaving the house with two children (under the age of two!) is practically impossible.

Sure, we've been out and about plenty of times, but always when my husband is around to do the heavy lifting.

We're two hours into the putting-Jack-to-bed process, and it's still not over, as evidenced Phillip's grim expression and the angry flashing lights on the baby monitor. But I am the Picture of Nonchalance, Internet. I am cool. I am calm. And over the past two hours I've had plenty of time to think about how NOT calm I was only a few months ago.

I'll just say it: months eight through twelve kicked my butt. Those were the hardest most frustrating months of my fifteenish months of parenting. Now that I have a bit of perspective, I can see that getting surprise-pregnant had a lot to do with my attitude, what with the nausea and barfing and first trimester exhaustion. It was also wintertime, which, in Seattle, is when your light box starts to break down from overuse.