She also has no idea what it is like to have to rush to do something so that you don't miss the beginning of said favorite show. I still laugh to myself everytime Autumn asks one of us to "Pause" a show that is getting ready to start because she is in the middle of getting her bath.
And don't even get me started on sitting through commercials. What I would have given for a fast forward button when I was a kid.
Man, I sound old.
I guess that comes with the monumental birthday I just had. Truth be told, this one was hard for me and I knew it would be. I anticipate all future birthdays to pass me by as all of my past ones have. Uneventful, not affecting me much, but reminding me to be thankful that I am here to celebrate it. This birthday included a lot of self reflection which brought some tears. Thankfully, that crying took place at the beach with good friends, good food, and good liquor. These things are a must when having a mini-breakdown.
For four days I left all responsibilities behind. I laid in the sun, walked in the sand, heard the sound of dolphins in the ocean. I laughed, and laughed and laughed. The kind of laughing that leaves you doubled over trying to breathe. I spent time with friends talking about things that did not revolve around Disney Princesses or poop. I took a minute to catch my breathe and remember who I am outside of Autumn and Nate's Mama and Steve's Wife. To remember what it is like to sit in a room filled with women that I love and exchange stories and ideas. To get and give advice. To not worry about nap time or bed time, potty breaks, or having dinner on the table.
After four days of this care free life, I felt the twinge of wanting to get back. I wanted to hold my babies, to hug Steve and return to the normalcy we have worked hard to build. As I walked into my house and heard the familiar sounds of Autumn and Nate playing, the dogs barking, the TV on in the background, the oven cooking the dinner Steve had prepared, I took a deep breathe. I was refreshed and ready to return to my world. The place I belong.
Albeit, one year older.
