Tomorrow is baby’s first birthday.
I’ve really been struck lately, meaning the last few months, how many amazing things are going on with my children. I keep wanting to record all the little changes, but the days keep getting away from me before I can save these mementos.
Like Cole is now speaking not only in sentences, but paragraphs. His favorite words are: actually, nope, and zoombah, as in: “I love you Mommy, zoombah.”
Genny is convinced I don’t love her, but I do like her. If I gave her chocolate every Wednesday though, then that would mean I love her.
And Thomas climbed up the entire flight of stairs before we realized it. He can walk holding on to the living room table.
And me? I’m trying to do too much as usual. Teach for two colleges, get my manuscript ready for publication, work on my other three or seven major writing projects, plan out the possibility of starting a small press.
And, oh yeah—get used to the fact that no matter what I seem to do, my stomach just wants to poof out like a mushroom. And remind myself that I shoudn’t care about something like that anymore.
