Katrina, Read This in Three-ish Weeks

When the new little one is fussing and wailing and fussing and wailing in the wee hours of the night, I'll remember that Ryan used to do still does that (albeit occasionally).

When the baby must be held precisely at dinner-making time, I'll remember that Ryan outgrew still adamantly fits on that perch of a (former) hip (and now belly).
Dinner making chez Harrington circa tonight.

When the newborn doesn't give me a moment of privacy, I'll remember that Ryan gives that freely in exchange for a mess somewhere and everywhere.

Okay, okay.

When all of that and more happens, I'll remember that I look back and dearly miss those nights of tired pacing, dinner making with a Ryan-peanut on the side and one-handed Olympics even though they may still be happening, toddler-size. 

Motherhood. It is a mystery.