I'm getting pressure from my husband that she should be done. She can gnaw on my Boob (yes, it deserves a capital letter) and she can also say, "I need nurse!" Which is really awesome when we are out in public.
The older I get the less I care, about a lot of things.
My gut is kind of big and I need to get to the gym. Do you ever notice that even when you are at your ideal weight, your quality of life isn't really any better? Damn weight watchers.
I have been purging lots of baby things from our house. Tonight scott said, "You'd better keep some of these things if we take another baby."
He's probably right. In a moment of weakness I will take a newborn and need a swing, high chair and double stroller.
I think I've found my calling. I am going to be one of those people who matches up foster children with adoptive parents. Today I heard that a little girl we did respite for (remember Bravelet?) is going to be adopted by some cool friends of ours. That makes two kiddos! If you'll remember, our first placement, a baby boy, went to his forever parents at age 9 months.
Anyway, Bravelet is one lucky gal.
This is a picture of my grandparents, my mom's parents, with their first child, in 1944.
My grandma looks so young and now she is 101 and eating creamed corn and watching her friends die again and again and again and probably wondering where all those years went.
That's the thing about years, you know? They slide like angry turds out of the rectum of experience into the toilet of infinity.
When they're gone, they're gone.
Sometimes I feel a panic: I want these moments, these amazing and crazy and SCOTTBRONGHOMESOMEBEER moments to stop going so quickly.
I want to remember my toddler's scarecrow hair and the way my son spells my name: Rasool.
I want to remember the beginning of sassiness that is my eight year old daughter and I want to stick it all in a beautiful little time capsule that never tarnishes.
She's leading the Bratty Brigade and I get front row seats.
Soon my son's number one lady will be some mean girl named Emma and not Rasool and I'll wonder why our computer doesn't work any more after he's been on it. (Teenage boys = terrifying)
Soon my husband will grow bald and impotent and need Viagra and we will wonder how the years became so vapid in our wrinkled hands.
Does that ever scare you, the passage of time?
Most people fill their lives with busyness and noise so they don't have time to think about these things.
They're probably smart.
Our little foster daughter is doing amazingly well. I think about how fostering came into our lives and how grateful I am for that. Looking outside myself into these children's hurts has been so healing for me I can't quite put it into words.
The other day was a former foster daughter's 14th birthday. I wanted to tell her I love her and give her some iTunes money but I have no idea where she is.
People come into our lives and go just as quickly.
My unborn children, my grandmother, these 23 children who have taken up so much space here in our home but then leave empty beds and closets. At times I have watched the sun slide down the walls in that empty room after they've gone and wondered if their being here really even mattered.
I have to believe that all of this means something, that every positive we send out into the world will, one day, erase all of the hurts.
If this is not true, I will be, in the end, no worse off for believing a lie.
A beautiful lie.