I go to a mommy group at my church on Fridays. Last season I attended with Little G because there is childcare. This year, Little G is in daycare on Mondays and Fridays, so I go all by myself.
And weirdly, I am totally jealous of those mommies who are there with their little ones. Mostly because I have apparently completely lost any memory of how freaking hard the first year of Little G's life was.
Seriously. I mean, I can remember specific incidents, but as far as the day to day grime of it all...I seem to forget it the second I look at all those mommies with their cherubic little babies and my ovaries start kicking me.
Weirdly, I am proclaiming this love for the babies in my mommy group when I just today shared with them how scared I am to have another baby. I liken it to standing at the top of a double-black diamond. I know how to ski...but I am no expert. The first time I went down the double black-diamond I fell. A lot. And I eventually got to the bottom. And I had a blast doing it. But it all seemed to whiz by.
And now I'm standing at the top again...KNOWING how much it hurts to fall down and how awesome it will be when I get to the bottom and I am realizing that I am WAY more scared than I was the first time. Do I just jump forward and know that eventually I will make my way down the mountain, or should I try to make my way back to the chair lift?