My Jenn-eration

I am doing something right now that I know in just two short weeks will seem like a ridiculous guilty pleasure. I am sitting in the house by myself listening to the rain. The house is a disaster, I cannot see my feet, and I still haven’t written the kids thank you notes from their birthday presents which they received a month ago. Perhaps best of all, I don’t really care. There is a strange peace here today. The rain feels special and appropriate for this Tuesday which is weird. I’m not usually into rain. If I were I would be all plaid shirt loving on Seattle and Starbucks and singing the praises of Portlandia but I don’t. Generally I’m a sunshine girl. But today I am digging this. It feels cleansing and nice. I’m taking stock of what I have, what’s coming. My husband and I both have strange and oddly matching behavioral patterns whenever we approach major life events. We both retreat to younger versions of ourselves as if we’re not quite ready to face whatever major grown-up thing...

The concept of nesting as you prepare for your child’s birth can take many forms and shapes as you near your delivery date. I remember the day before my water broke with Ruby, maniacally baking and frosting more than 60 cupcakes for Dylan’s Yo Gabba Gabba themed second birthday party. Nothing about this seemed strange to me at the time. I was in a full frenzy of butter cream and party festivities. At the end of the day, I remember plopping myself down in the room that was soon to be her nursery, rubbing my stomach and proclaiming really to no one but myself “It’s okay. You can come out now.” And actually she did. She literally listened to me. My water broke the next day. It’s worth noting this was the first and only time my children ever listened to anything I told them on the first try. But I digress. And so here I am again. It will surely be my last time being pregnant. I am torn between wanting to savor and remember what that wriggling feels like, arms and legs sliding aroun...