I have a group of amazing friends who get together several times a year to go camping. There are 8 adults and 10 children. The first time we went the oldest kids were about 5 years old and the youngest was Lorelei, who had just turned 1. Back then there were 8 adults and 7 kids.
There are a million reasons to hate Valentine’s day. Expectations run high, parenting energy runs low. Restaurants are overbooked and babysitters are hard to come by. It has become a Hallmark holiday. Single people have their face rubbed in their singleness. Etc, etc, and on and on. I never really cared much one way or another. Now that I’m a mom I have found it to be another exhausting holiday and one that happens to come right on the heels of the 100th day of school. It shows up just as we have recovered from the winter holidays. And we don’t even get a day off work.
Rowan slept through the night last night. This is not a drill. I repeat — Rowan slept through the night last night. This is the first time in many, many months that he has slept all the way through. On those occasions, my body was so used to waking up 29384029348 times in the night that I did not sleep well, anyhow.
Dear Lazy Mother in the Grocery Store,
I saw you.
I heard your kid whining for popsicles. I saw you reach into the freezer and ask which type.
Christmas was good. Our Puppy Surprise tree worked out wonderfully. I wanted to write a whole Christmas poem about it but I didn’t because, ya know, reasons.
I don’t trust birth.
There. I said it.
I feel like I’m supposed to be a good little half-hippie, trusting birth and bodies and earthmothergoddessblahblahblah.