Now that my life has turned into servitude to an 8-month-old, I can’t quite remember what my life was like before the little GingerGuppy sprung forth into my life.
That’s not even a little true. I totally remember what my life was like. The word that comes to mind is FREE.
Free to come and go without an entourage of diapers, bottles, miniature clothes, loveys, pacifiers.
Free to to go to sleep when I want without the risk of waking to the howling in the next room.
Free to leave chocking hazards where ever they may land.
Free to spend all the money on me, me, me, my cat, and me.
Free to go to the movies, go to dinner, go get tipsy, without having to find a sitter or tote along an ornery passenger.
Free to live wherever and however I deemed wondrous.
There are moments where I miss my freedom—where I remember how easy life was a self-involved city girl who only had ME to worry about. More and more each day, though, I start to pity the younger, freer me and be happier with the little man who has the fattest, adorable-ist thighs that ever squirmed this earth and has seized my existence and made it his own.