Six years ago, I was sitting in an office, doing Important Government Type Work. My days were filled with politicians and drama and my nights with drinks and dinner parties.
Then, one day, my husband and I had the startling realization that he was firmly in his thirties and I was officially months away from the same. A little more math and we had the equally startling realization that if we didn’t get crackin’, our kids were going to be living with us perilously close to retirement.
Being organized individuals, we got to work on making a family, convinced that a baby wouldn’t change our lives that much. I’d still work, I claimed. We’d still belong to wine clubs, my husband announced. We’ll still be the same people, we assured our friends.
And then, on a rainy April day, our whole world shifted with the birth of our son. Amazingly enough, in spite years of babysitting and three younger sisters, I didn’t know as much about motherhood as I thought. From difficulties nursing to the constant crying to the lack of sleep, we were zombies for the first few months. Little did I realize then that we were going to be zombies for the next five years and counting. And, in that zombie-like haze, we’d add a little girl to our family.
After all, as my husband said, two children won’t change our lives that much.
I never did go back to that more than full time job. And we ended up trading the wine club memberships for a CSA subscription. We’ve traded dinner parties for potty training and Sunday morning dance parties. As I write this, I have two naked children running around the house, screaming in…delight? I certainly hope so. If not, Daddy may need backup.
Our lives really have changed. That much.
