Sometimes, I'm amazed that I'm 28 and a mom.
Not that I'm 28 and a mother. But that I'm a MOM. You moms are going to know exactly what I mean.
The other night, as we were finishing up dinner, and Seth was smearing the remnants of his grape popsicle over our ivory dining room chairs, Jim asked me, "so, what did you and Seth do today?"
I looked at him, looked at my just-barely-survived-a-hurricane kitchen, looked at my diaper-clad one-year-old dragging a kiddie pool full of plastic balls into the living room, and sighed.
What didn't I do?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I love my life.
It just dawned on me, though, as I was rinsing pots and loading the dishwasher, hearing the sounds of bathtime coming through the floorboards, as I looked at the clock and wondered how it came to be 8:09 already, just how FULL my days as a mom are.
That day, I:
gave Seth a bath,
made fruit salad,
shaved my legs,
had a playdate,
supervised my blog redesign,
talked to (almost) all of our parents,
prepped chicken to marinate,
made veggie pasta salad,
changed 4 dipaers (two of them poopy),
added features to our Verizon plan,
figured out my new camera,
packed for a week away from home,
wrote two blog entries,
mopped my kitchen floor,
read Goodnight, Moon twice,
returned library books, and
changed the sheets.
If I'd actually taken time to put on my apron, instead of leaving it in a heap on the floor of the pantry, I'd have made a pretty convincing Donna Reed.