I keep thinking I’ll write something really interesting or profound, but right now, everything looks the same. I’m Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day” listening to “I Got You Babe” every fucking morning. Except instead of Sonny and Cher, I have baby coos and cries and toddler squeals. I love my kids, of course, and I love to snuggle with them and take care of them — but I love other things, too. I love to be a person.
I stay up late to have some time to myself and watch whatever TV shows take me away from life for a little bit — make me laugh or cry. I feel like all my posts end up sounding the same, but that’s life.
Today’s excitement (other than my dermatologist appointment) was when my toddler returned from a trip to Legoland with my parents. He was really excited to be home, and I was glad to snuggle with him.
I keep thinking back to when my life was exciting. I used to wonder what the night would bring. My worries were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Now, I worry about every breath each of my kids takes. I worry about their development and progress. I worry about the potassium in everything, because my little Baby B’s kidneys can’t process it. When she’s able to really swallow food (something else to worry about) and eat table food, she can’t have anything with salt, spices, fat, butter, or sugar. Cake frosting has too much potassium for her to handle (not that I’d just feed her cake frosting, but it’s an example).
Maybe one of these days I’ll say something more exciting. Until then, I’ll keep snuggling my littles.