Fight Club

Stressed. Standard operating procedure of my current week. I've come to the conclusion H and I don't know how to fight.

There are very few things that we really disagree on, and the biggie reared its' ugly head this past week. Details, details... I won't say they're unimportant. I'm just too exhausted to hash them out here.

I wish I were a screamer, a thrower, a blow-my-stack tantrum-er. We might actually get a resolution to this issue... Instead we both withdraw to our separate corners and the tension is permeating, deafening. Can you learn to be a yeller?

I wish this was a drooly post over Brad Pitt, but... there you go.

Dear Daniel

Three years ago I had hauled my pregnant self out to the couch, unable to sleep in my bed for the aching of all my joints. I had just begun to doze off to the last dregs of a 2am MASH episode, when I felt a strange Whump. Turns out you had just head-butted me. It would take 12 more hours, but you finally made your long-anticipated appearance - three years ago today.

We treated you a bit like a porcelain doll in those first days as I learned to breastfeed, and your Dada and I got used to the sleepless nights. It's hard to reconcile those days with the three year old who is constantly whacking me in the knees (if I'm lucky) with foam swords, driving race cars through the kitchen and flying Spiderman or the Hulk across the table.

Where did three years go? That question keeps jumping out at me as we've done things this summer, like the swimming lessons with your best bud Marisa. Birthday #3 is turning into a birthday month: a little mini-celebration last week with Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Andy in Wisconsin. Hanging out with Mama and Dada and your new tank and Star Wars soldiers today... and another party with Gram and the rest of the New England family (and Marisa) in a week or so when Auntie June is free from her singing gigs.

You've grown up so in just three short years. I certainly realized it this week when you walked into our bedroom one morning at 3:30am and turned on the light. Way to use your stepstool, but Dude - rude awakening. It's also been the best times of our lives. Happy Birthday little man!