Site Overlay

the half-open door

The trouble with staying on top of clutter reduction is that occasionally I come across an item I don’t feel like getting rid of but know the usefulness has expired. Case in point:

The last few remnants of Pat the Bunny and the sticky, forgotten Hello Bee, Hello Me

These items are no longer needed. They aren’t used. Most days, except for recently when I was tidying, they aren’t even though about. But boy, start considering throwing them in the garbage, and bring on the w a t e r w o r k s.

Why am I crying?!?From pathetically boo-hooing on the floor while pondering this question to sitting in my work chair writing this post, I’ve come up with two possible scenarios. These are not mutually exclusive possibilities, mind you, so they can and most likely do co-exist. I’m also not ruling out other notions I haven’t yet considered. But I’ll get to the point before you wander off.Possibility #1: I want more kids.This concept isn’t a revelation. I ponder the idea occasionally, especially when Charlotte conquers a new milestone. Today the milestone is getting rid of the pacifier. {More on that later.}They are getting so big. Someday, they’ll be gone.I don’t so much go back and forth on whether I want another child as much as I just have taken on a “wait and see” attitude.  My feelings on the subject are at once both exciting and overwhelming. I love being pregnant, I love babies, and I still love the
idea of adoption–an idea I must say strengthened when, hehem, the other day I came across some old pregnancy bras and panties in the basement. Which was, shall we say, ERKWARD.


Hellooooo, mixed feelings!

Moooooving on.

Possibility #2: I don’t want to die.

This is the more embarrassing but no less likely option in which my kids growing older makes me feel old. Dudes, I’m wearing eye cream for cryssakes. I have an extra camel toe that mysteriously appeared one day in my arm pit area (that little bit of fatty nonsense between the boob and the arm. Am I the only one with this going on?). So, you know, problems.

Most days I am fine and none of this bothers me and la di da I stop and smell the roses. But lawdy be, y’all, am I ever crying more than I used to. Hmm. Not at all certain what that’s all about, but on the day that this train wreck occurred, I turned puffy-eyed to my life partner, who said “You’re going to be a mess when they go to college.”

Amen, mister.

Editor’s note: This post is part of Just Write