Parenting is Hard. Like, Really Hard.

I have this image in my head of what I used to imagine parenting would be like long before being a parent was a real thing for me. Here's the basic gist of that image:

Sunlight streaming in through my bedroom windows, me snuggled up in my fluffy white comforter listening to the birds chirping outside just as two little blond-headed girls climb up into my arms for a morning hug, their faces bright like miniature tow-headed angels.

What?

Here's what that image has been obliterated by:

Dark Thirty o'Clock. Slamming door across the hall as my four-year-old son exits his room and makes his way toward ours. Our bedroom door flings open and the hallway light blasts in. Small boy matter-of-factly announces his need for juice and proceeds to greet the baby who is still sleeping in our room (this is also the baby who has been waking up at three hour intervals throughout the night). And so the day begins with a bleary-eyed mama stumbling to the kitchen, baby in tow, to fetch juice and Cheerios whilst the boy skips ahead of her singing about robot dinosaurs at the top of his lungs. 

Hello, reality of parenthood.

Some days I find myself staring in the mirror wondering at the fact that I am, at long last, a parent. And while eyeing a recently acquired forehead wrinkle, I also wonder what happened to my life and my freedom and my ability to have complete thoughts. These days, rarely five minutes go by without someone needing an intervention of some sort. And those interventions usually involve Number Two (in case you're reading this while you're eating lunch, I figured I'd keep things euphamistic). This leaves very little time for introspection. Or showers.

At times I'm undone by the seemingly endless list of demands that are made on this sleep-deprived, emotionally-drained mama. It feels like a heavy load some days to be a caretaker of little people and their unbounded needs. Sometimes it's just all feels ridiculously hard.

This morning on the way home from dropping the Samster off at school, a song on the radio did what music is supposed to do. It evoked a memory and sent me back to the past to when a different version of me was doing very different things than I am right now. And for a moment, it was nice to let myself remember a life without diapers and 3 a.m. feedings, before Oxi-Clean was a daily part of my life and the lyrics of unusual Canadian cartoon theme songs haunted my dreams. I forget sometimes that I had a life before I became a mom.

Before you start questioning where I'm going with this and begin wondering if perhaps I'm being excessively nostalgic and maybe start to think I'm regretting stuff I gave up to become a mom, let me ease your mind with this:

These are my people. And they make up a life that I'm wordlessly thankful for. So, even as I ponder the past and my current need to eat all my meals standing up, I don't mean to even hint that I'm not utterly blessed by having these three to call family.



No need to worry that you'll hear about this mom running away from home on the evening news tonight. I'm just doing a little verbal (of sorts) processing with you right now because it's less expensive than counseling.

A friend posted a quote online recently that I keep coming back to, mulling it over in my mind and wondering at its poignancy in this season:

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is part of ourselves; we must die to one life before entering into another." - Anatole France

Some days being a parent feels a little bit like drowning in a sea of to-do's and what-not-to-do's and should-haves and shoudn't-haves. There's such a constancy to the mental refrain that "I am not measuring up" as I consider all the things I could be doing for my children (i.e. more flashcards, more organic snacks, less Jake and the Neverland Pirates, fewer Cheezits, more interactive play, less this, more that). The pressure is relentless at times. Add onto this list of do's and don'ts the black hole/vortex/quicksand that is Discipline. I stink at this basic tenet of parenthood. Somedays I just want to throw in the towel and buy a one-way ticket to wherever they're serving mai tais.

And so I find myself looking back from time to time at what life used to be like, most definitely glossing over the intense desire I felt then to be exactly where I am now. It's a curious thing attempting to live in the semi-organized chaos that is parenting and find joy here, even while fondly remembering the past and the parts of it that encompassed significant parts of myself.

Let's pause here and consider that it's also possible I'm having a mid-life crisis. Thirty-five is halfway to seventy after all.

But, I think perhaps I'm just living in a fallen world where time is an uncomfortable bondsman and the curious nature of living between seasons of my life, much less the already but not yet nature of the kingdom, is occasionally a bit much for this stay-at-home mama who doesn't have adults to talk to during the day.

The truth is that each season has its joys and pains and while this season seems unusually hard at the moment, it will be the source of limitless nostalgic memories when I'm seventy and telling harried mamas in the grocery store to "Enjoy this time. It passes so fast." I should probably start listening to those little old ladies when they tell me that. I think they're probably right.

The days are long, but the years are short.

Lord, help me.

Why My iPhone Is Also Like Crack Cocaine

I started college in 1996. I know, I know, you're all like "Girl. What?!? You look so young and fabulous to be that incredibly old." I hear that all the time. OK, no I don't. But, regardless, I was a freshman in college seventeen years ago (that's an 11th grader's lifespan, if you needed a reference for how old that is). And, that is also about the time that The Internet was gaining popularity. I think. We didn't have a computer at home, so I might have been a little behind the times. Anyhoo, I distinctly remember sitting down at a computer as an innocent little freshman and staring at the screen knowing I could type in anything I wanted and supposedly it would magically appear, conjured up by something birthed by Al Gore's genius. I remember having no idea what to look up.

Back in those days, we liked to call it "The World Wide Web."

OK, fast forward to the present where I have a small, hot pink, mini computer in my hand called the iPhone. People stand in line for days, nay weeks, to be the first ones to own these magical little machines that connect us to everything in a hot second. I got my first iPhone a year ago and the thought of not having one now feels like trying to imagine life without air conditioning or running water or the Pythagorean Theorum.

Now, that I've given you a timeline of sorts of my relationship with technology and the difference seventeen years makes in the way we get information, I need to talk about my need for an intervention.

I watched a two-minute video my friend's husband posted recently showing people doing normal everyday things in their normal, everyday lives and how their phone figured prominently in every single life experience: people getting engaged while the man down on one knee simultaneously films the whole thing with his phone, friends at a table talking until everyone slowly disengages from the conversation as they get sucked into the black hole of their handheld devices, people at a birthday party missing significant moments because they're too busy taking pictures of themselves that are then instantly uploaded into cyberspace with hashtags like #partylikeits1999, #birthdaycrunk and #gettinmypartyon.

After that video, I put my phone in time-out and went on to experience actual things that were not virtual or streaming or sidebarred by ads. That lasted a few hours, maybe the rest of the day. And, then I was drawn back to my shiny pandora's box,* where little bits of information like Kanye's quote of the day or Martha Stewart's quiche of the month waited for me to be drawn in by their fascinating taglines despite their total irrelevance to my life.

Maybe I should take a moment here to note that I love the fact that I can access information quicker than I could in 1994 when the answer to a research question for a paper required a visit to an actual library, microfiche, card catalogs, and possible librarians who smelled faintly of mothballs. I like being able to find out who invented spandex in 23 seconds, and I like finding an answer to my current cooking dilemma (i.e. Can I still make cookies if I don't have an egg or flour or butter? Yes.) faster than I can call my mother.

We're working on budgeting Dave Ramsey style this year and while I'm totally in it to win it, it does give me heartburn trying to figure out how to fit my Chic fil a addiction into the "grocery" budget. In light of said budgeting, Matt mentioned our phone bill and queried how we could lower that monthly expense. I felt my heartbeat speed up as he casually brought my attention to the fact that my need for 24/7 internet access on my phone was a significant line item in our budget. Something primal inside of me felt threatened and I responded a bit more passionately than even I expected. I think the words, "But, I love my iPhone," came out of my mouth. And the husband who purposely bought a flip phone not that long ago smiled (somewhat) nervously.

So, I'm just pondering this lately and wondering what the deal is with iPhones. I didn't expect to get so emotionally attached. And I'm not so sure I like how it's become an appendage of my person or how it dictates my time and interrupts my life. All of which I am allowing it to do, mind you.

Eight weeks into my second baby's life, I put my phone down and realized she was already smiling and cooing and trying to talk to me and I'd been totally missing it.

On a long-ish trip to somewhere recently, I was busily looking up the weather and emailing a friend and looking up a place for us to eat and maybe even watching a short video on cats dancing, when Matt managed to break through my iPhone make-out session and asked for a teensy bit of my attention. I put it away but it was back out a little later, more discreetly this time, of course.

What is going on? Why do I crave constant virtual connection and immediate updates about friend's thoughts on their trip to Wal-Mart and random information about celebrities I don't even care about?
What is the deal with my iPhone and my need to take it with me EVERYWHERE? Sam brings it to me if I leave a room without it. Apparently, he's aware of the fact that I can't be without it for more than twenty seconds and it's possible he thinks I'm not physically able to keep breathing if I don't have it on my person at all times.

This is a problem.

And so, dear readers, I find that the time has come for a small, but firm, intervention. I haven't decided yet what it will look like or how I will go about it, but I'm coming to the realization that I'm missing out on my life by being connected to the wrong thing. I don't want my little ones growing up remembering me with a phone in my hand.

I'm curious if any of you have discovered some practical, realistic ways to cut back on your iPhone time. I realize I could just flush it down the toilet, but I think there might be a better way to go about this.

Thoughts?



*According to the all-knowing Wikipedia, "Today the phrase 'to open Pandora's box' means to perform an action that may seem small or innocent, but that turns out to have severe and far-reaching consequences."

That Time I Got Engaged In A Castle In Sweden

On my way home from dropping my five-days-away-from-turning-four-year-old at preschool this morning, I had a flashback to the days of yore when I was a mere babe of 23. I was somewhat fresh out of college and living in Nashville where I had moved for a job that was the opposite of awesome. But, it all turned out and I was able to intern at a lovely church in the Country Music Mayberry, also known as Franklin, Tennessee.

One of those Nashville summers, a friend of mine from church started hosting supper clubs once a month at his home and I received a coveted invitation to one of said events. Dinner was good, the wine was nice, the company was friendly but then a question was posed to the group that did not bode well for little, ol' me.

"What is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to you?"

Uh oh. I held hands with a boy at Six Flags? Eh. I got lost on a hike with a boy I liked once? Nope. I got asked out at an airport? Ummm. No.

It was a bit of an awkward situation as each person shared increasingly romantic, and occasionally TMI, antidotes from their apparently VERY romantic dating lives. I had zilch. It was a teensy bit humiliating. And, obviously, twelve years later, it still haunts me. Ok, not really. But, maybe the memory still stings a little.

Anywaaaay, I got over it.

Fast forward a few boyfriends later to the summer I met Matt in a series of random run-ins, which turned into emails and then phone calls and finally a real live date in Knoxville, Tennessee that ended with Matt leaving early to go to a family member's birthday party. Blergh. He also cancelled on me the next day, which drove me to O'Charley's where I drowned my sorrows in sweet tea, yeast rolls and caramel pie. Luckily, this was not the high point of our relationship. It got better.

The next three weeks were a tornado of dates, hikes, movies, dinners, family visits and finally an official declaration of intention (of sorts).

And then Matt moved to Sweden. To be a missionary. It was not awesome.

Ok, the missionary part was nice. But, the transatlantic boyfriend thing was not. Skype was my best friend that year.

I'll spare you the drama of dating someone overseas for a year and skip ahead to the fun part.

I went to Sweden in the spring of 2007 on what was called a "Vision Trip" with some other Campus Crusade for Christ staffers. We were supposed to get a feel for the ministry that was happening at the university there to give us a better idea of what we were talking about when we got back to Knoxville and encouraged students to go share the gospel with Swedish college students.

It was snowy and cold and beautiful and there were H&Ms on every block. Everyone was tall and thin and stone-cold attractive. I felt like I had stumbled into the GAP's winter catalog with a few five-hundred-year-old buildings tossed in. In a word, it was MAGICAL.

Matt and I had been officially dating since August, so this was around month eight of our romance. We'd had a minor breakup in the fall and then he'd come home at Christmas, surprised me by showing up at a conference I was working and then there was a Smoky Mountain night hike that convinced me he was the one. All in all, things were going well, but I had no illusions about getting engaged anytime soon.

A couple days after we arrived in Swede-ville, we all took the train to Stockholm, Sweden's capital, and explored the city, which was incredible. Matt had planned a date night for us that evening, so we took the train back early afternoon to make our dinner reservations. I was completely unsuspecting, otherwise known as clueless.

He dropped me off at the place I was staying so I could get all gussied up and then he ran home to get ready, whilst also placing a quick call to my dad back in the good ol' U.S. of A. to ask for my hand.

When he picked me up, it was in a black Mercedes taxi. Fancy. He said we had to make a quick stop to drop something off for another member of his team who was meeting with a student in the city. Sure, I thought, just make it quick so that I can have a date with my boyfriend who lives across the ocean so I never get to see him.

The taxi dropped us off at the city's local governor's mansion, which is actually a very old, very large, pink castle. Yes, pink. Still, no suspicions on my part. I was a teensy bit concerned though that the taxi had left us because I had on heels and the streets were cobblestone.

Our friend let us in the side door of the castle where the student she was meeting with, also known as the governor's daughter, lived. Interesting.

We climbed some stairs up to the governor's family's living quarters and we were offered a tour. No thanks, I'm on a date with my transatlantic boyfriend so let's get this little errand out of the way so I can hang out with him, mkay? No dice. A tour was happening.

But, after only a few minutes, the girls had disappeared and Matt and I were walking down a hallway where every window was lit with candles. I think I even mentioned how they probably had a butler do that for them every evening. What? At the end of the hallway was a turret room, large and round and fancy. There was also music playing in the background. And there were roses in every window that looked out over the city.

I was still oblivious, people.

I kept thinking that if we actually ever did get engaged, how was he going to top THIS date?

We walked to each window and looked out over the lovely, snowy city. When we got to the last window, we turned toward the table in the center of the room where a few books were stacked up. A Bible, a book of poetry, and I think A Severe Mercy (a favorite of ours). I started to get a weird feeling about things.

Matt had me sit down at the table and before I knew it he was reading something biblical about a bride. Um, what is happening here? I glanced at his hand to see if it was shaking because that was supposed to give me some clue as to whether or not I had misjudged the serious nature of this current situation. It wasn't shaking. OK, must not be getting engaged.

Then a poem was being read. And then there was some shuffling around as Matt got down on one knee. AUGHHHHHHHH!

A ring, a yes, a kiss, a hug, a dance, a picture and then we had to leave because the governor needed to use the room for some state business later. Ha.

We walked down the cobblestone castle driveway to a little restaurant where we celebrated with champagne and reindeer steak (surprisingly, yum) and some kind of chocolate. It was perfection.

And, so, dear readers, I finally had my romantic story. And, it happened in the land of Ikea, H&M and Abba.

The End.

Stitch Fix: That Time I Got Fun Clothes in the Mail

I don't have time to shop anymore unless that shopping trip involves tomato paste and cereal. It's ok. I mean, I've got fourteen pairs of stretchy yoga pants to choose from each morning, so there's really no need to shop for clothes. However, I do occasionally find myself daydreaming about wearing something that isn't spandex. Or "athletic" wear. Or stay-at-home mom uniform-ish.

So, I did what every girl does when her closet starts to make her feel sad. I went online. And, lo and behold, I discovered that there are people out there who will shop for you when you can't seem to exit your house. (Unless that exit includes a carseat, three jackets, one lunchbox, a juice cup, four diapers, one backpack, and small people that you have created.)

Because I have limited time before I go pick up the larger of my two small people from preschool, I'll just cut to the chase. I filled out a bunch of basic info about my size, shape, and style preferences on a website called Stitch Fix. I linked my Pinterest board with all my pins of outfits I wish I was wearing and then sent Stitch Fix $20 (for shipping and styling) via my credit card. And then I sat back and let the magic begin.

I'll just let the photos I took speak for themselves. Ok, not really. I've included captions to delight and inform:

This is what a box full of fun clothes delivered to your doorstep looks like.

Even the inside of the box is fun. Plus, there's a nice note from your stylist. Mine was Jennifer.

Aaaaaaand, it's dress up time!

 

Here's the other info they include such as, how to wear clothes.

The jacket. It's knit. It's comfy. Sadly, it's $128.

I'm rethinking this pose right now.

This is an unfortunate angle, but it's hard to take a picture of yourself wearing a maxi skirt when the point of the picture is to include the maxi skirt. This one was gray, super soft and stretchy, but not really a winter item of clothing in my opinion. Also, take note of the regrettable way it accentuates the hips. Or don't take note. Maybe just disregard I mentioned that at all. Moving on...

Kensie skinny jeans. I kind of loved these. But, this body just recently gave birth to a human being, so skinny jeans aren't always the answer. Still, I'm considering them at the moment. $88.

 

Another weird angle. But, you get the point. FYI, I'm not really this disproportional in real life. I hope.

This shirt was super stretchy and had a nice little scalloped (maybe?) hem. I dig it. But, it fits a little snug in the tummy department which is where, I may have mentioned this before, I carried a small human recently. Not quite ready to draw attention here yet. But, this shirt was way cuter on than I expected. It was $42 I think.

  

Another shot of this great jacket.

Another shot of the skirt. Perfect for summer. Just not so much for cold weather. Atleast in my humble, non-stylist opinion. Oh, and this was $58.

The scarf! I really liked this thing and it'll probably be the one thing I keep this time around. It was $32 but, that makes it $12 after subtracting the initial $20 (shipping/sylist fee). Perfect.

Here's all the items that were in my box. Overall, I give this haul two thumbs up.

So, I'll sum things up for you if you're thinking about ordering from Stitch Fix. It's a fun way to shop that doesn't require you actually doing the shopping, which is nice if you don't have time to shop. Or take a shower. The stylist got my "style" pretty well and the sizes were all pretty dead on. My only complaint is that she didn't take into account the note I included (when I filled out all my info) about just having had a baby and not wanting any fitted shirts. But, everything else was on target.

The details for those of you about to do this:

-$20 bucks gets things started. It's non-refundable but does count toward your purchase.
-25% off everything if you buy it all. (My order equaled $380, but the discount and the $20 took it down to $250).
-Took about three weeks to get and then you have three days to try stuff on and mail back what you don't want.
-FYI: You get a chance to stipulate what your price point is at the initial sign up.

I think that's a pretty good overview. I'm thinking I might do this again next time we have an event coming up (i.e. wedding, party, etc.). Or maybe just to update my date night wardrobe. Or maybe just to have a fun box of clothes to try on sent to my house at random.

If you've got questions, let me know!

AND, if you're about to head over and start your Stitch Fix, here's a link that includes my getting referral credit, which is basically a win-win for both of us. But, no pressure. Really.

http://stitchfix.com/sign_up?referrer_id=3240392 

High fives to all of you wearing yoga pants right now.

An Open Letter to Friends I Never See

Dear Friend(s) Who Lives Far Away and Possibly Left Me A Voicemail A Few Months Ago That I Never Responded To:

Yesterday, one of my favorite friends called me whilst chauffering her little brood of three who had apparently all fallen asleep in their carseats. I was in the middle of nursing my fussy six-week old while also fending off my three-and-a-half year-old who wanted to hug and squeeze and kiss his newest, favorite-ist toy, also known as his nine-pound baby sister. It was not an easy situation for casual catching up on the phone, but, because I have a serious deficit of adult conversation with friends who know me well, I ill-advisedly answered the phone.

And subsequently, all hell broke loose.

I kid, but I did end up nearly face-planting into the carpet with the babe in my arms because my preschooler was underfoot in a major way and so I did the only thing I could think of, which was to impulsively close my bedroom door and lock it, with my preschooler on the other side. After a couple moments of muffled weeping and gnashing of teeth, I opened the door and found a very distraught little boy who informed me through crocodile tears that "when mamas lock their doors, people who are strange (a.k.a. strangers) can come and get little boys." Um, he will most likely need therapy at some point for this little incident. And I will probably remember "that time I locked my kid out of my room and destined him for abandonment issues" for the rest of time.

All this to say, it's hard for me to talk on the phone with friends these days. And this makes me sad.

After that conversation with my friend, which was made possible by PBS Kids yet again, I hung up the phone feeling disappointed that I was so distracted and frazzled while we talked. And then a weird fear took hold. Was this the beginning of the end of friendships that have been years in the making, but still require maintenance and real connection which I am currently unable to give? Were all my friends who haven't heard from me in months or seen me in person since that last wedding or reunion going to begin to give up on me? Would our phone calls become even less frequent and when they did actually happen, would they feel stiff and formal and have none of the old familiarity that is so necessary for real friendships? Gah!

All these fears flashed through my mind as I cleaned up yet another diaper explosion and disciplined yet another of my preschooler's willful moments.

And so, here I am, friends, letting you know that I think about you a lot, even though I don't call or write or send you texts full of emojis. I have random memories of you that show up every time I watch "You've Got Mail" or hear REM's "Nightswimming" or write haikus (shout out to Alexis Ward). You are each a part of my story in specific ways that I am so intensely grateful for.

I daydream sometimes about the future which I imagine will include time to visit and call and write actual letters. And, yet, I wonder if there will ever be enough time to make up for all the catching up we need to do.

So, I just wanted you to know that you are still dear to me and that despite this crazy season of life that makes calling or writing or visiting or taking a shower (not relevant) so impossible sometimes, you are often on my mind.

And you are always in my heart.

I just made it awkward, didn't I. Well, I meant it. So, deal with it.

Sending you a virtual rib-crushing hug from my little part of the world.

Love,
DL

The Fourth Trimester: How to Survive a Newborn Invasion

Note: Despite the title, this post is not the first chapter of my new zombie/vampire/werewolf sci-fi novel. I'll save that for a later post. 

                                                                                            *       *       *       *     *

So, I had a baby. A beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed, pink-skinned babe with the sweetest little fingers and toes and eyebrows and well, you name it, it's cute. And this is a very, very good thing. Because the cuteness almost makes up for the middle of the night crying jags. I kid, and yet, whilst in the middle of the so-called 4th trimester, there are moments where I wonder why anyone has more than one child. I don't really mean that, except sometimes I do.

People, it's hard adding human beings to your family. Especially the kind that don't believe in sleeping at night or feel that not being constantly cradled is a form of torture.

In light of these things, I just stress-ate a whole bag of chocolate chips over the past few days.

The day we brought our newest babe home, I had this incredibly euphoric feeling of contentment with my shiny little brood of two. I commented on this to my husband who also had a bit of a new parent glow about him. It was a glorious twenty minutes of perfection.

Then, we actually got home. It wasn't long before I was crying those big, hormonal tears and my husband was once again mystified by the whole "I don't know why I'm crying" explanation. There was also the baby-crazed preschooler who wanted to kiss and hold and hug and squeeze the life out of his new, seven pound sibling. I didn't anticipate this extra bit of crazy. It's sweet, but also rather intense. And by intense I mean, insane.

In other post-partum related news, I made the mistake of putting on pre-pregnancy jeans within a couple weeks of having the babe and wore them triumphantly to the grocery store. It wasn't until later that evening, while bending over the tub for Sam's bathtime, that Matt informed me there was a three inch rip in the seat. Darn you, postpartum love handles. Matt suggested I sew on a patch. Bless his heart.

After 4.3 weeks of being in newborn survival mode, I've compiled a list for those of you who have just had a baby, are about to have a baby, are thinking about having a baby, or may possibly have a baby at some point in the future. You're welcome.

Keys to Surviving Your Newborn:

-Wear yoga pants at all times.

-Expect to have lots of awkward conversations with adults and possibly laugh at ill-timed places in said conversations. It's the sleep deprivation. Plus, you won't even remember you talked to those people by the next diaper change.

-Always have some form of chocolate close by.

-Don't feel guilty about all the PBS Kids your preschooler is watching while you retreat to the pantry to eat chocolate chips and regain an infinitesimal portion of your sanity.

-Go to Target.

-Drink a large pumpkin spice latte. Don't even think about the fact that it costs $4.

-Always have Oxyclean stain remover on hand. Possibly apply it to the clothing you're currently still wearing.

-Keep a post-it pad nearby because your short term memory has just been flushed down the proverbial commode.

-Watch Kathi Lee and Hoda for grown-up company when you start forgetting how to use words with more than two syllables.

-Eat fiber like your life depends on it because it might.

-Call a friend. Let her tell you about the things she did in the outside world which you currently only dream about. Live vicariously through the dinner and a movie date she just went on with her husband, sans kids.

-Shield your eyes when you walk in front of the bathroom mirror after getting out of the shower. I know you're curious, but it's not worth it. I promise.

-Never go to Wal-Mart with your children. Ever. Wait at least one year before attempting said trip.

-Send your husband out for groceries.

-Send your husband out for wine.

-Send your husband out for chocolate.

The chocolate is key. Make sure you write that one down.

I'll write about all the sweet new baby stuff later when I'm less sleep-deprived/caffeinated/hormonal/brain-dead/socially awkward.

This face makes it all worth it.

                                                   

Everything Changes

I'm not sure why I'm even trying to blog right now, because I have a serious case of pregnancy brain and there is no telling what will come out of my mouth. Pregnancy brain is a real thing, for the record. If you're still a doubter, come visit me and let's try to have a conversation. I'll convince you after I've stopped in the middle of a sentence because I've forgotten what I was talking about at least four times during our convo. It'll be awesome. And the best part? I won't even remember you came by or what we talked about within the hour.

But, here I am, while the boy is having "nap" time (another name for "do something quietly in your room while Mama tries to retain her sanity" time), trying to put a little something down about what's going on around here lately.

For starters, the sun came out today and as soon as I noticed this welcome phenomenon (in the midst of a rain-soaked summer), I opened all the blinds to let every little bit in. (Seeing the sun is a little like having an Elvis sighting these days and I'm pretty sure the summer of 2013 will go down in the history books as the Summer of Zoloft.) I was reminded of how different one feels when the morning sky is blue and not full of heavy, gray clouds, threatening to rain on one's parade or ruin a potentially good hair day.

Feeling all sunshine-y, I walked Sam into school today and watched him hang up his robot backpack and tuck his folder and his lunchbag in his cubby. He didn't look back to see if I was still at the door and even though I almost wished he would, I'm glad that the prospect of friends and building blocks had his attention instead. It made it easier to walk back to my car without him.

And so began my last morning to myself before everything changes.

It's literally the very last day of these quite mornings alone because Sam won't be back in school until next week and the husband will be starting his "paternity" leave (also known as using up vacation days). And then next week...we have a baby. I just typed that and now I have to pause for a moment to marvel at that crazy reality.

Everything changes in a few days and the fulfillment of some deep hopes will come true, hopefully uneventfully. (I'm still shaking in my flip flops a teensy bit with this scheduled delivery thing.) And, I'm thinking that all this means I'm about to change a bit as well. Next week includes going from a mama of one to a mama of two. AND, I get to be one of two girls in my house, rather than the lone collector of purses and shoes.

I'm wondering how all this is going to feel. It's a strange thing to ponder the addition of another person into one's family. Especially one that's almost a total mystery to you at the current moment, other than having a serious penchant for the hiccups.

Somewhat selfishly, I'm hoping that she will love some of the things that I love. That she'll want to read books that I read when I was a girl. That she'll want to go on walks with me in the fall and feel giddy at the smell of a bonfire or the thought of a pumpkin farm with a hayride (or feel the need to drink a load of pumpkin spice lattes the minute Starbucks starts making them in September). I hope she'll want to wander through old bookstores and watch Gilmore Girl reruns and bake cookies with me on rainy days. I hope that one day, she and I will be friends. Like my mom and I are.

But, at this moment, all of that is a bit of a dream and the reality is that what's familiar right now has an expiration date. This little family of three that we've got going on has had a good run. And now after 3.5 years, everything is about to change. I wonder if we know what we're getting into. I'm pretty sure that we don't.

The nursery is ready. The hospital bag almost packed. The out of town family members are planning their visits. The baby presents have all been washed and folded and put away.

And, here I am, wondering what my little family is going to look and feel like after next week. Everything changes and I know that in this case, that's a really good thing. It just feels a little unnerving at the moment.