But I can't.
Or won't.
Either way, this is what it's come to.
...
Anna was born just under three months ago. She's the second. She came quickly and painfully, naturally. Loudly. Well, that was me. I was ready for her. She's a gorgeous one. Calm. Smiley. Interested. But she screams like a slaughtered animal in the car. There you have it.
...
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Alon's fifth birthday will be at the beginning of August. A summer child. Free spirit. Stubborn. Has known exactly what he wants from the very first moment, and you just try telling him different. Passionate. He had a hard time of it for a while there, now he's making up for it with energy reserves that threaten to defeat me. Has been known to go to sleep with an orange picked from grandpa Y.'s tree. I am hoping that year five meets us with a bit more calm and readiness to sit still.
...We celebrated ten years (we think) together this last March. An entire decade. He was 32. I was 22. Back then. He's really handsome. And argumentative. And sharp and super creative. The youngest of four boys. The son of a doctor. And a working mom who dreamed of becoming a doctor but whose parents refused to let it be. Ours are the tenth and eleventh grandchildren, respectively. He builds things. Really beautiful, crafted, eloquent things.
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I have to write two seminars in order to fulfill the requirements of my psych degree. Just a plain old bachelor's. I'm having a hard time. I don't like writing about things I have no interest in. I have trouble with long-terms goals. I struggle with commitment and laziness and internal motivation. And then the baby wakes up. And then dishes have to be washed and dinner made and kids need baths and bedtime stories and oh, how is it 11 pm already and I'm so exhausted I'm just gonna pass out without brushing my teeth.
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I have opinions about things. I speak most of them quietly to myself in my head. I've decided perhaps it's time to stop that.
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