I feel like I should write. I have the urge to write. But I don’t know what to write about.
Life is settled right now. We mostly have this whole me working outside the house thing figured out. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never have a quiet night again. Like, ever. If it’s not baseball, it’s therapy. If it’s not therapy, it’s swim lessons. If it’s not swim lessons, it’s some random dinner/meeting/function. And it’s ok, we’re making it work. My laundry pile is taller then my children and my house isn’t getting quite as clean as I’d like it, but there are meals on the table every night and I haven’t dropped anything major yet.
I feel like I should share funny stories about my kids. But they are getting older. So the stories of mischief and amusing misunderstandings have given way to two kids who are smart and funny and sweet and independent. Kids who will happily play outside for hours every day or let us sleep into 8:30 on a Sunday because they can basically get anything they need without our help. And they are amazing- that is amazing. I adore everything about the people they are slowly morphing in to. But it’s not great blog fodder.
I have a rash of friends and family having babies this month. Sweet, smooshy, yummy smelling babies. And I wonder and I think and I agonize over if we want to add just one more to this crazy brood. I love being a mom to babies. But babies turn into toddler and toddler are so damn exhausting. Do I want to give up all the independence we have for a baby? We’re 12 years away from having an empty nest. Do I want change that up and all of a sudden be 18 year away from that? I’ll be 55 and the Hubs would be 57 when this hypothetical baby goes to college. Is that even appealing? I don’t know. I love feeling pregnant lady’s bellies and newborns. Not sure if those are good enough reasons.
All I do know is that I love my family. I love my new job. And that spring is slowly, slowly coming. All those are amazing things and right now, they are more than enough.