Husbands are like fires. They go out when unattended.

Zsa Zsa Gabor

What kind of attention are we (or is Zsa Zsa) talking about here? Sexual? Spiritual? Emotional? Existential? Does this mean asking about his day, his dreams, his doubts? Does this mean cooking dinner?

What really does this mean? Can a flame almost out truly be revived? Is there something a wee bit sexist about this quote? Are we wives fires too? What kind of attention and tending do we need to stay put, and stay satisfied, in the context of a marriage?

{I just read Husband the above quote and he thinks it might about men falling asleep when you don’t want them to. I don’t know why but this interpretation makes me smile. Particularly because I’m always the one who falls asleep without fail eleven minutes into a rented movie. Speaking of which, we are planning to watch Moneyball (and make a fire in our fireplace!) tonight. Was it good? And, in particular, how were the first eleven minutes?}

Thoughts on the quote? What does it mean? Is it sexist, or just kind of funny? Are you good keeping the fire in your life going? Any other movie recs for our mellow Friday night in? Anyone else nod off during movies?

I admit it: Yesterday’s post was a bit heavy. And that makes sense. Its words fell from a heavy place. I didn’t mean to be overly dramatic, or cryptic, or alarming. I just meant to say that I went through something big, and hard. That I stepped out of my own mind and acted. That I helped someone who needed it, and badly. I didn’t write about it to toot my own horn, to garner commentary, or applause. No. I wrote about it because I know that there are a lot of you who come here every day. And I know that some of you probably know someone who is struggling, more subtly or more severely. And I know that it is so hard to tell what is going on behind closed doors and closed minds and pretty smiles, but I implore you to think about it, what might be going on. Trust your instinct.

Enough of that.

I’m craving lightness today. Something sweet and airy and pretty and fun. And so. Here I am. Sharing with you pictures (edited to keep things appropriately anonymous) from The First Annual Rowley Girl Holiday Photo Shoot. Now said shoot? It was a total disaster involving screaming and splattered baby food and two very lovely and patient photographers. I’m not sure what possessed me to take all three girls alone with four outfits? Anyway, I left the cute little studio on Columbus thinking there was no way any good pictures would result from such chaos. But I was wrong. Boy was I wrong.

I brought the girls to the shoot in jeans and polos. Before we even got started, Little Girl’s purple pony was drenched in sweet potatoes. Alas. Thank goodness for photo-editing. I decided to get bold, to have my big girls hold Little Girl’s hands for a standing shot. All was well for a few seconds.

In case you missed it, check out my baby’s smile. Well, it didn’t last too long. Because she fell. She fell because she was only nine months at the time and doesn’t really stand yet and also because her big sisters are not schooled in the art of holding their sister up and they kind of just let go. Anyway, there was a minor splat. But some serious tears.

The big girls did their best to cheer their weepy sis.

This might be my favorite of the whole batch. I just adore the way my tiniest creature is looking up at her big sisters. I love the swirl of skin and hair and messy clothes. I love the toes.

As I tried my best to calm Little Girl, the big girls had a little love fest/ dance party in their frilly little tutu-things.

There were even kisses involved.

And lots of twirling. Lots.

I stood back, by the window of the studio, bopping my babe, whispering to her, begging her to calm down, and watching my girls dance. It was all very concocted, yes, this display. But there was something also very spontaneous, very free, about it. They are mine, I thought. This right here? The tears and the twirls, the smiles and the sobs, the cartoon band aids and yellow and pink nails? This what it is all about.

We got a few individual shots, too. Because they are not just sisters. They are people.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to cut this hair.

We were able to get a few happy shots of the three girls in their pastel numbers.

And then at least one in their woolly Christmas dresses. Those little white reindeer sleigh me.

And then one in their holiday PJs on a yummy Flokati rug. This one would have gone on our holiday card if I’d gotten my act together to make one and send one this season.

Alas.

A big thank you to Vanessa and crew at PhotoOp (named Best Children’s Family Photo Studio in New York by New York Magazine in their “Best of New York” issue) for somehow making that nutty hour turn into these priceless shots!

I named my fourth daughter. No, I’m not pregnant.

It all happened in a dream. A particularly vivid dream. In this dream, I was pregnant again. And we learned that we were having another girl. A fourth. In this dream, we pondered baby names and, get this, I came up with one. A name I’ve never thought of before, or heard of even.

A name I love. A name I will not share here. Just in case.

I woke up in the morning thinking of this name and smiling. Immediately, I shared the name with Husband. The name of our fourth daughter. He was not amused. There will be no fourth daughter, he reminded me. And I think I made some joke about how it could be a boy after all, but said joke didn’t fly either.

You see: Husband is done. No more kiddos as far as he’s concerned. And he has made his own jokes on this topic. He says that I will only have a fourth if I find a new husband. I do not like this joke. Because I love the husband I have. I also do not like this joke because, yup, I think I’m open to having a fourth.

Little Girl is getting big. She will be one in March. And I swear there is something biological about a woman starting to crave another baby once her current baby is one. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve even been asking the girls about it, whether they’d want another little sis. (Don’t you love how I assume it would obviously be a girl?) Met with this question, their eyes, their beautiful blue eyes, grow wide and they express their opinions because, yes, they have them. I think they are on Daddy’s side on this one. They say as much. But then Big Girl, my sensitive soul, my thoughtful tot, always punts to me. What do you think, Mom?

What I think is that I am not even convinced I want another. I certainly don’t want one now, or soon. If anything, I’d want to wait a bunch of years, enjoy my trio and man and write some good books, and then go back to the land of sleeplessness and diapers. Only then.

What I think is that this is about so much more. I think this is about the idea that I might never be pregnant again, that I might never stay up at night rocking a little bald bundle, that I might never utter these sentences again: She got her first tooth! She said her first word! She had her first bite of food! I think this is about the idea that a part of my life might be over, a door might be closing. I think this about moving on, to admittedly wonderful new things, but still, moving on.

This is hard. For me. I know that I am infinitely blessed. These little girls of mine are my world. Their eyes remind me of goodness, of love, of life. They are happy and healthy little creatures and they are mine, ours. This family? It’s my everything.

But is this family complete? Maybe. Probably. I imagine so.

And if that’s the case, I will come to be okay with it. Really, I will. I imagine that it’s probably a bit hard for all women to admit that their childbearing years are over even if they don’t actively want more kids?

And if by some miracle or odd twist of events Husband changes his good mind and we go for it, for a fourth, it’s good to know she has a name. A really beautiful one.

A dreamy one.

What do you make of my dream? Do you think that it makes sense that I am saddened at the prospect of not having more kids? Do you feel like your family is complete? Do you think this has anything to do with the fact that Sister C is due with her second babe (a girl!) on Little Girl’s birthday in March?

The course of a river is almost always disapproved of by its source.

Jean Cocteau, 1889-1963

Be honest. How much do you care about approval? The approval of your family, in particular. The family that created you. The family you have created. When you think about your life, and make decisions about how to live it, do you stop and ask, What will they think? Will they understand me? Will they applaud me? Or are these questions quiet, barely-there whispers in the background, as you plunge forward proudly, precariously making your course?

(I care. I do. I suspect I always will. Is this a good thing?)

Do you seek approval in your days and ways? Do you think this is a good thing or no? How do you cope when people you love disapprove of something you do or decide?

Double digits, kid. Ten months. How is this possible? Just yesterday, you were curled into the nook of my arm, eyelids fluttering, a beautiful little bobble-head. And now. Now you are scooting and standing and doing that sniffy smile. Now you are opening and closing your tiny fist, waving hello, and goodbye. Now you are clapping, usually in threes, precise little pats. Now you are chasing your sisters and hugging your kitties. Now you are saying words. Da-da-da. That-that-that. And my very favorite of course: Mem-mem-mem. Now you are eating real food: the lone soggy fry, the disc of bologna, the constellation of Cheerios across the sky that is your crusty tray.

Here’s the deal: You are likely my last. And so I apologize if I hold you a little too tight and a little too close. I apologize if I stare a bit, and swoon a lot. I apologize if I am forever putting a camera in your face, your beautiful face. It’s only because I am in awe, and in love. It’s only because sometimes I am foolish enough to think if I stop, and click, pressing pause on the mad machine that is life, time might stop too.

I love you, tiny thing. And those blue eyes? Really? Really?