Diane is a mom of three ADORABLE kids from Boston, raising her “princess, superhero, and little terror” and writing about it at Dollops of Diane. She is just the sweetest (I would’ve sworn she was southern if I didn’t know better). Check out her blog and you’ll see that we have the same style sense: PINK! And it appears as though that style sense spills into her real life as well (how fabulous is that room??). And yeah, I am jealous of her pretty red hair and freckles.

Check out her About Me page to see just how real (and adorable) she is, and then browse the rest of her blog for all the little “dollops”.

Follow Diane on her blog, Facebook, Twitter, And Pinterest.

Thanks for being here, Diane!

Five years ago, I became a mom for the first time. I was blessed to have an amazing, well behaved happy daughter that we named Isabelle. She was like the kind of baby that dreams are made of. She was so wonderful that we decided to have another baby right away. Fourteen months later we welcomed our first son, Henry. Everyone thought we were crazy for having them so close together and they warned us that not all babies were like our daughter. They were right. Henry was an even better baby than Isabelle.

Now don’t get me wrong, they each had their moments. They were babies after all. Overall though, they were really great babies, then great toddlers, and now preschoolers. Blinded by great babies of the past, nineteen months after Henry was born we welcomed our third child, Daniel. The first six weeks were perfect and we thought we had hit another homerun. We hadn’t.

He developed a milk intolerance and would scream all the time. If you weren’t holding him (or often even if you were) he was crying. He projectile spit up everywhere all the time. We didn’t use burp clothes, we used modified catcher’s mitts. He eventually outgrew his crying spells and spitting up and replaced them with attitude and naughtiness. He is now two and a half and is the epitome of terrible twos (something we never had with our “great” babies).

That mom who is hurriedly making her way through the through the store while her son throws the food out of the cart? Oh, that’s me.

That mom who’s got one knee up on her kid trying to buckle his arched back in to the car seat? That’s me.

That mom who is dragging her kid kicking and screaming from the post office, the library, the store, and everywhere else around town? That’s me, too.

That mom who is trying to get her son’s shoes back on after gymnastics class while he screams, “NO MAMMA!!!!” in her face? That’s me.

He challenges me in ways I never dreamed of. He makes me question if I’m doing things right. He makes me wonder if I have enough patience (I don’t think I do). He makes me dread doing day to day tasks. He makes me long for bedtime. Each night though, I try to remind myself that this phase too will pass and remember the positive.

That little boy whose dimples and chubby cheeks can melt your heart? That’s my son.

That little boy who just wants to snuggle with you each morning while watching Sesame Street? That’s my son.

That little boy who loves to tell knock knock jokes and make you smile? That’s my son.

That little boy who runs over and gives you a hug when he knows you’re REALLY mad? That’s my son.

That mom and that little boy who are struggling to find boundaries and hoping to make each day better than the last? That’s us.