Preston Turns One, Part 1
How sad that it’s been four months since I last wrote to you, Internet. Very sad, indeed.
What can I say, life got in the way—and so did my job, my family, and oh yeah, let’s not forget my job. Not that I don’t love said job, but don’t you just hate how work gets in the way of all the 1,359 other things you’d rather be doing with your time? I guess the alternative—not having a job—would be way worse. The grass is always greener, right? Right!
So. About that kid of mine…
He’s turning one in a week and a half. I’m going to be the mom of a one-year-old! How screwed up is that!? On what planet do they allow people like me to be the mom of a one-year-old? It’s absolutely insane how quickly this year has flown by. We all know that time goes by faster the older you are—weeks turn into months, years into decades, and forget summers, they hardly exist the way they used to. The next thing you know it’s 2010 and you’re 36 years old telling the Internet how ferklempt you are over being a mom to a one-year-old boy. The cutest boy in the entire world, but still…you’re old and ferklempt and you can’t quite get your head around how happy you are. It’s like, suddenly you find yourself living the exact life you always dreamed you’d have. You’re not sure how it happened, or what you did to deserve this kind of happiness, but maybe—just maybe—you actually earned it.
There hasn’t been a single day in the last year that I haven’t taken a step back to appreciate how lucky I am. Not one single day.
I ask myself all the time, How did I get such a perfect, happy, well adjusted child? God knows I wasn’t perfect. Far from it. Granted we still have many years ahead of us to see just how perfect Preston will be, but if the first year is any indication—this motherhood thing ain’t all that hard. In fact, it’s a lot of fun, and most days very rewarding.
Jay and I have been talking about Baby G. No. 2 lately—I’ve written about it here and here—but now we’re really talking about it. The great thing is, we’re both talking this time—it’s not just me talking and him half-listening/half-tuning-me-out. I think he’s ready; and I know I am. I’ve been ready for months. I actually can’t wait to hold a newborn in my arms again. Thank god I still have it in me…
Of course, when I picture this newborn in my arms, I don’t also picture a toddler running amok in the house at the same time. Maybe because Preston has yet to crawl or walk yet…or maybe because it’s just not what I know. I am aware of the fact that it will be an entirely different experience the next time around, but I’m still naive enough to believe that we can handle the chaos, and I think it’s best I stay naive about these things, at least until it’s too late to turn back.
So if any of my friends with two kids are reading this: Please don’t spoil the fantasy for me. Thank you.