Once upon a time…
Sleeping in meant wondering if we’d still make brunch, not 7 am.
We’d have that brunch and linger way too long, lounging with the Sunday paper and getting coffee refills.
We could go out to dinner whenever we wanted. At whatever time we wanted. Just because.
Going to see a movie didn’t involve logistical gymnastics and a home equity loan just to cover the sitter.
I could wear a two-piece and not be arrested.
I never touched a diaper. Ever.
I ate slowly and enjoyed it, instead of gulping down bites since it’s meltdown o’clock.
Waiters and waitresses didn’t get palpitations with just the sight of us.
But now I…
Get to be the recipient of wet shapeless face plants kisses from the baby.
Melt every time said baby says “Mama” – a brand new and best thing in the world development.
Hold the hand of a 4-year-old boy who loves holding my hand more than anyone on this planet.
Have smile-inducing insightful discussions with a 7-year old, surprised at how much she now gets it.
Am diaper master. Bow to my greatness!
Have sculpted biceps from hoisting heavy children and related items.
Really savor moments when it’s just the two of us – our time alone is that much more special.
Multi-task like it’s nobody’s business.
Am the recipient of so much love and joy from these kiddos and our family.
Once upon a time, my younger self had no idea how hard it would be, or how utterly fulfilling it could be either.
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