The nostalgia has set in.

I have two more months of this pregnancy (give or take) and I am rounding the corner where I realize my days as a mother of two are numbered. I can't stop thinking about how I will forget what it was like to "just have two." I know I'll forget. I've forgotten what it was like to "just have one." Sometimes I look at pictures of me and The Chief and wonder what it was like, as if it wasn't even my life in the first place, to have one baby.

So I make Chup take lots of photos. Because I don't want to forget. Even though I will.

And I can't get over thinking about how we are living our children's childhood. How all these days, books, movies, walks we take in the evening, all add up to their primitive years. How all these moments are memories. Like the day we drove to Squaw Peak just to see the view.

One day my children will look at these photos and it won't just be a snapshot, it will be their life. They'll say, "This is the day Mom and Dad took us to Squaw Peak just to see the view."

But, me. I am still waiting for the real parent to show up and send me back to my twenties. Or, to bed. Both sound equally relaxing.

(However, I'd miss this guy...)

(and this cookie-loving pinky-fleshed girl.)
And Squishy (the rollicky insider). I suppose.

Even still, throughout these days, these last days (of sorts) I can't help but whisper underneath my huffing breaths, God is great. Praise be to God.

Which is a sentiment, regardless of time or circumstance, I hope to never forget.

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