A guy just rang our doorbell.  He had the world's cutest baby strapped to his chest.  I didn't hear a word he said because she was smiling at me.  The scene I lived through just now is essentially  porn for peri-menopausal women.  I lose myself and no longer feel obligated to follow societal rules of politeness when I see their chubby thighs.  The conversation of their parents no longer holds any interest for me.  It's all I can to refrain from very disconcertingly pressing my nose into the soft folds of their necks.  I love them.  But, for the first time I realize with certainty that I'm no longer for that world.   

I love to sleep in now on weekend mornings while my kids either sleep in themselves or play quietly in their rooms.  I love to spontaneously zip out the front door on some hairbrained scheme or other involving fun sans carefully packed diaper bag, stroller, and full complement of age-appropriate car seats.   I love that my husband can now come home from work and suggest that we go out to dinner while the two eldest co-babysit.  I love that I'm not living in a state of near-constant pregnancy induced nausea.  I love that I'm no longer diabetic, anemic or toxic.  I love that I no longer live for naps or nap to live.  I love having a 13 year old in my life.  I love the journey of living with progressively older kids.  I think that these must be the salad days.  No one pees themselves still and no one yet desires to leave the home.
 





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