This past week, I reached an age I’ve been dreading. No, it’s not 50. But I’ve spent months avoiding thinking about this birthday, so there was quite a bit of angst in the days leading up. I made good use of my pensive reflectiveness and […]
I remember reading the list in the What to Expect Book carefully and following every detail. Like I was making a lemon meringue pie. Or replacing the water pump in a car. I had never washed a newborn before! I needed detailed instructions.
If anyone anywhere very desperately needed to take her own advice, it would be me.
One day, my memory will be even worse. And I will be the lady with the cats and the books and the unruly garden, living on spinach dip and tortilla chips and feeding Dave TV dinners.
because you can only stay up way past your bedtime so many nights in a row before it all catches up with you.
Sometimes, I think that’s the thing. It’s a base instinct: If I don’t fight for my space, if I don’t yell loud enough and long enough, someone else is going to get what’s mine.
Sometimes, my “better than” comes from wounds. Maybe yours does, too.