Time is passing by and we are so busy that I am not writing anything down. You are laughing and rolling around and I am not keeping track of it. You have had a tiny bowl of oatmeal before bed for three nights now. I want to remember this. Every new development is amazing and wonderful for your father and I. When you rolled over on your own, we jumped up and down and hugged each other. The thing is that every new thing gives way to the next new thing. You are bigger and smarter and more aware every day. Someday, in the not to distant future, all of this is going to be a fuzzy memory. I'll remember things, but certainly not everything. That makes me a tiny bit sad. But your father and I are soo excited to be able to watch you grow and develop and turn into a tiny little person. We love you.
What Kind of Life Do You Want: A Midlife Crisis Exercise I want a comfortable life. I want air-conditioning when it's hot and I want hot water in my shower and I want soft pillows on my bed. I want a life of community. I want to volunteer at the food pantry and sing in the church choir and serve on a municipal parks board. I want a life of connection. I want to be a healthy, safe mother to my son and a support to my partner and I want strong relationships with my family of origin. I want a life of wellness. I want to get enough sleep and eat enough vegetables and drink enough water and move my body in ways that feel good. I want a life of growth. I want to learn new things and visit new places and learn new skills.
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