"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." ~John Lennon
As I sit here and type, my twin boys lay in their car seats asleep. I saw one's head turn completely red as he grunted hard more than an hour ago when I strapped him into his car seat. I then heard what will inevitably turn out to be a mound of
baby shit explode into his diaper seconds later. I fully intended to change him when I returned from taking my daughter to school, but he and his brother both fell so soundly asleep. And for the moment, all I have is myself to worry about. Besides, it's not going anywhere. And any moment now he'll awaken to inform me of his shitty diaper with a shrill scream of discomfort. But, until then, I'll just worry about myself.
I love my babies. I don't even
resent them as I feared I would, having gotten
pregnant less than a week after I got married; as I feared I would because I was so happy that the daughter I bore at
sixteen years old was almost ten now - old enough to make her own food, clean her own room and tend to her own sanitary needs. But, I don't resent them. They're cool. They really, truly are amazing little men. Even with shit in their drawers.
But still, I enjoy these moments when I can do whatever I want. And I can't say that I don't wish there were more of them. There's a
garden that I never got to plant, a
husband that I never get to
hang out with and so many
projects that will never be completed. But, when I catch myself
pining away for all of the other things I could be doing, I catch one of my new babies staring at me. And when we make eye contact he smiles his big
toothless grin. And I realize that
it's okay. I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.