I can breathe again. And this morning I talked to someone who didn't say "god, you sound awful," as we conversed.
Tomorrow is my youngest baboo's birthday and he'll be a teenager. He's been one in body and mind for a while, of course. And he's been taller than me way too long. But. A teenager.
He didn't even NOTICE that tomorrow's his birthday. I had to point it out. I wonder if I hadn't how much time would have passed before he'd say, "heeyyyyy wait a second.. . . What date is it again?"
Then the next boy birthday is in about a week. Busy times. But not nearly as busy as it was almost 13 years ago.
Thirteen years. God. I remember sitting on the hospital bed. Leslie was there. I was thinking I couldn't make the two mile trip from the hospital to home without dying. And back at home there was a toddler and preschooler waiting for me. And my husband had 1.5 jobs at the time, both about an hour from our house, and so he was gone from 5 am until 10 pm. Oh, and I had to write an issue of the motherfucking Kids News in one week or get in big trouble. God.
How do you people with babies do it? I've forgotten.