But really, I don't.
I like talking about my kids. I like talking about your kids. My life, like that of so many other mamas, revolves around my children. I know it's nice to remember your sense of self sometimes, to still feel like you, and I still get those snippets now and then; but realistically, when things come down to it, these tiny humans of mine are what my world spin 'round. And are often pretty much all I have to talk about.
Yes I go to a football game now and then. Yes there is a running list of projects I'd like to get done once we're back home at our cabin. But really, the vast majority of my days are spent watching Will like a hawk, trying to determine whether or not he needs to get put on the potty, and smiling at Sam as he sits on the floor blowing spit bubbles and dancing with his rolly little arms. Many days are spent with cheers for successful toilet trips, baby giggles, clapping to the guitar, big toddler hugs, squishy baby hugs, and peaceful naps. There are also plenty of days where I try to hide in the dining room, searching my bible and my coffee cup for patience and grace, days where I cry at the foot of our bed, days of screaming and crying and teething and cleaning poopy underwear. Days where bedtime just can't come fast enough. Days where I vent my frustrations on my husband. Days where when all is said and done I just really want a glass of wine, but oh look, I'm pregnant again, so I pull out a bucket of ice cream instead.
These babies of mine are beautiful and perfect and healthy and strong and silly and tempermental and dramatic and everything else that small children should be. And my life is consumed by them, and I'm blessed to be able to say that. So when I look at it in all honesty, the majority of the time there isn't much else I can contribute to conversation right now.
And that's alright.
