The Waiting Game

Stink didn't like the swing. No matter how much I tried to get him used to it, he was consistently confused, shocked and ready to vomit. Like asking Rosie O'Donell to kiss a guy, it simply wasn't going to happen.

I'm that way with change. Like right now. I'm trying to pretend I'm fine and healthy, but truth be told, I have a cold that's lodged further in my chest than Hugh Grant in a hooker's knockers. I should be sleeping. And yet...

Here I am.

Ever have those weeks where you just feel out of sorts? That's me.

I'm not depressed. I'm not anxious. I'm just....

Waiting.

For what? I'm not sure. But it's something big. An acceptance of sorts? A surprise trip to Boston? A fifty cent double coupon off Yuban hidden inside a bag of Mother's Animal Cookies? A baby kitten wrapped in a shoebox on my front step with the sign, "Call me Paxil"?

I suppose part of it is that Pip starts preschool in the fall. I can count down the days until both kids will be out of my hair for fifteen hours a week. And sure, I'm thrilled to be able to breathe in the quiet. But I'll miss those buggers. More than I care to admit. They are my soul, my laughter, my worry, my freedom, my everything. I am astounded at how much they love me, too. (I mean, what's not to love, but still...) I smile every time I hear, "Mommy! We missed you!" (When I've only come in from the garage) or their "You got me a surpriseeeeee???!" every time I go to the market without them. (Even more astounding than how much they love me is how much they love their impromptu surprises - often things I randomly pick out of my purse. McDonald's ketchup bags are "Finger paint! WOW! Let's go ruin some of Mommy's walls!")

I can type and type and Ebay and write and clean and cook and organize my way through this entire evening - waking with bags under my eyes - but the truth is, my babies are no longer babies.

Wah wah wah. Now it's my turn to cry. If this continues, late night be damned, I'm hitting the bottle.