Hope.

I’ve been having these moments of zen the last few days where I feel like an adult. I have actually, legally been an adult for quite a few years but didn’t really feel like one until recently. Sometimes I feel middle aged actually. And then there are other times where I feel like I’m due a senior discount at Perkins.

Like tonight. I was getting ready to sit down to supper with the girls (courtesy of Marie Callender Crock Pot Frozen Dinner) and a friend called and wanted to stop by for a visit. I haven’t seen her since early November. I looked around at my house and the toy bomb on the floor and thought…sure. Come on over. It took me 2 minutes to clean up and my house looked show ready. And I had a meal ready and brownies in the oven. It doesn’t always happen that way but I have those friends that seem to make look like it does. Now I know it’s personally possible.

And then there’s the sound of the dishwasher after the children are in bed, toys picked up, floor swept, counter wiped, Yankee Candle burning (Farmhouse Apple, currently). I sat on the couch and folded the 3 loads of clean laundry (pressing my face in the downy fresh sheets…I’m a dork like that) while I drank a cup of tea and had the dessert du jour: warm brownies with peppermint stick ice cream and chocolate syrup on top. Is it any wonder that I have sleeping problems?

But I wake up in the morning and we start the day with a clean slate. That *never* happened in our old house. There was always something, somewhere that needed attention and part of it was that it was in need of replacement (carpet, counters) so that no matter how much you cleaned it never looked good.

I am becoming my mother.

I’m still not obsessive about the bathroom. That’s hard to do because I don’t do so well handling the strong chemicals it takes to properly clean and sanitize a bathroom frequently used by a scuzzy preschooler and her “I can wipe my own butt” nastiness. She can’t by the way. Arms can’t reach. But she tries. It’s still better than changing a diaper.

The cube? May have to abandoned. It’s making me mad. There’s no wine in the house. Only tequila and Port. And my seam ripper is missing along with both pairs of my good ghinger shears. POed I tell you. Can’t find them anywhere. That, and my Ooga Booga PUL. Missing. Not with the rest of the PUL. They are all together wherever they are.

I can honestly say that the last 5 days have been like no other. We have a routine figured out, for the most part. The girls are back to normal after the holidays and the moving and traveling and all that. We are sleeping good and eating well. We don’t get out enough but that’s mostly because of the weather and my penchant for losing baby hats. It’s practically a felony if you don’t have a hat on your kids head even if they have a hooded coat. We, the girls and I, are getting it together. They are a touch less clingy. But we all pretty much know that the day is going to bring. “Motivated Moms” sums that up for me. I’m guilty of getting it for the second year in a row. I did really great last year until, ummm, April. And then it was abandonded but I like the concept so I’m trying it again this year. Especially the Bible readings. I need that.

So today was a better day, for real. It didn’t start that way. But it ended well. And I get to tuck in listening to the dishwasher and the dryer, just like I did every night of my life as a child and, even now as an adult, when my mother goes through her “night” routine. Now I have my own routine. And it only took 3 months to get there.

Apparently, there’s a 2 year milestone. Don’t know much about that but I’ve been told that by many people. At this point, I can’t imagine what 2 years will feel like. Amelia will be 2 in August and that’s almost unbelieveable. She’s still so little. Like, not little in comparison to Ella but little for her age, little. She’s 17 months old, 29″ tall and 21 pounds. Ella was the same weight at 8 months and the same height at 12 months. Amelia is tiny. And that’s okay because that’s her and it fits her personality so I don’t mind. She’s not blowing through clothing sizes too quickly so that rocks. 2 years seems oddly long but, at the same time, not so much.

2 years ago this week I had my first midwife appointment for Amelia. I was 9 weeks. If I hadn’t peed on the stick I never would have known I was PG. We weren’t planning. We weren’t preventing. And yet I could blink and see Ella in the bathtub, watching me pee on the stick and turning around to look at the stick on the counter and seeing the faint second line when i wasn’t expecting to see it. And there’s that warm glow with the BFP that doesn’t happen often enough. And the giddiness that comes just knowing that there is life in there somewhere and the hope starts all over again.

Hope.

Now there’s a word. Haven’t had a good experience with hope. Maybe hope and I have reached a turning point in our relationship.

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