Things I meant to tell you
L had a birthday last Wednesday. He is now the age of Jesus. Although, I’ve been Jesus-aged for almost a year now, and do not feel any more holy, if that’s what’s supposed to happen in your 34th year. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. I think L already looks more sage-like, though, yes?
Operation Back To Work: Week Two was not as successful as Week One. I think because the first week was like the honeymoon, and now it kind of feels like, “Oh, so we just keep on doing all this preparing and schlepping and craziness all the days repeat repeat repeat?” There were some stumbles in week two. Of course it was great having L home with Max, but by Wednesday, I was already cooked. I think I’m just going to have to accept that all the things are not going to get done all of the days. I will forget my lunch sometimes. I will go to bed late some (most) nights. I will look ragged. I won’t have time for blogging. It’s gonna be a slog for a while, that’s just factual. I’m trying to be zen about it and just put my head down and push forward. And pack my lunch the night before.
Worth mentioning, though, are the Max-caretaker bonus points L received by sending me videos at work of Max baby-chatting with eager coos and wide eyes. Well played, Daddio. Well played.
Speaking of L (which we’re doing a lot of GET YOUR OWN BLOG L, GEEZ)—Saturday marked 11 years of matrimony. L got me flowers. We got takeout noodle dishes and ate them at the kitchen table after all the kids were in bed. Then L took on night Max duty, and I slept for seven straight hours without waking up one time. It was restoratively magical and maybe the best gift he could have given me.
Eleven years? Pssh. We’re just getting started.