This is a picture of the place that I'm so scared of
It's 5:31 am. I've been up since about 3:40, when Oliver woke me by falling out of the new big kid bed and clunking his noggin on the floor. He was fine, a little hugging and a re-tuck-ining and he was back to sleep. I, on the other hand, do not go quite so easily into the good night. I like to lie in bed stressing out about our upcoming trip to Mexico, the one I do not want to go on. Woven into my exhausted visions of tragedy and discomfort (how am I supposed to bathe them? Where will they nap?) are weird calculations about how much fabric it will take to make closet curtains, and what a text block of 40 words looks like. It's like one of those horrible Scrabble dreams or crossword nightmares where all night long you dream fitfully of letters and tiles and points. Ugh.
Motherhood, it seems, has turned me into a total wuss. I have traveled all over Mexico by junked out bus, slept in trucker motels, eaten Guinea pig in Ecuador, slept on ant-infested dirt in Panama. But that was when it was just me. And that was back when I could sleep in if the ants kept me up.
Now I have two kids to think about and I have the havoc those two kids can wreak on my life when we lack sleep or comfort or diversion. Suddenly Mexico seems like way more trouble than it's worth and I totally get places like Disneyland and Club Med (songs for the kiddies and drinks in exchange for beads). I don't like that I've turned out this way. Honestly I thought there would be way more of the loosey-goosey mellow-yellow about me as a parent. Alas, here I am. Next stop: drip dry, elastic waist pants and a money belt.
What keeps you up at night? Tell me. I need company.
A thing I like