This thing that happens.

There’s this thing that happens with your dear mommy friends.
You have babies and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, so you lean on each other.
You make calls like “Do you think it’s OK to feed the baby a stage 3 food a week early?”
or “Is it OK for the baby to sleep in the carseat all night?”
You are in the trenches together. You celebrate and mark your baby’s milestones and each others’. You sit on the floor. You are covered in spit up and you don’t always have clean hair. You put out fancy snacks in nice bowls for playdates.
You are consumed by your children.
And then something happens. Time goes on. You learn to adjust, to roll with the punches, to not freak out over ever boo-boo or later-than-others-milestone-meeting. You start to breathe a little bit.
And then this thing happens. You get together and you go out at night. You get dressed up. You drink. You stop talking about your children. You talk about your marriages. You talk about jobs. You talk about home decorating.
You start a home decorating blog. Instead of sending texts about your baby rolling over, you send photos of your new wallpaper. You walk into a house and say, “Where did you get that fixture?” You hang out during a playdate, without having brought a thing. You ask if it’s OK to run outside to spray paint a basket really quickly (this really happened). You fold laundry together. You look at paint swatches and rug samples.
There’s this thing that happens. You trust your kids. You trust yourself.
And you care a disproportionate amount about light fixtures.
I guess this thing is growing up.

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