Nostalgia

I think as moms we sometimes try to punish ourselves for no good reason. Megan is my grand finale baby. I am at peace with that decision, but on my last day of maternity leave with her, I constantly and tearfully reminded myself all day about the finality of it all. From the moment I woke up I tried to mentally document every second of the day. I cried when I rocked her. I cried when I fed her. I cried when I changed her little diaper. I did not realize I might need therapy until I found myself crying as I changed her at bedtime as I considered this last outfit on my last baby on my last day of my last maternity leave. Why do we do that to ourselves?

I love tradition. Simple things like carved pumpkins and cut out cookies and fireworks and Easter egg hunts. So I love that all three of my children wore the same costume for their first Halloween. It is warm and cozy and one small, fuzzy bundle of adorable. I found myself slipping back down that nostalgic slope when I heard myself telling people, "This is my last little froggie." And then I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with me. I had not yet come to any concrete decisions relative to my emotional stability when I met a coworker in the hallway going to lunch today. She told me she was going to her last parent teacher conference for her last high school senior after work. So I shared with her that I was going to be taking my last little froggie trick-or-treating this weekend. And I decided maybe I am going to be just fine.