We had a date night the other night at Barnes and Noble, and while the Boy Toy perused some photography books I brushed up on a stack of baby-birthin’ books.

And had a mild panic attack.

Not really. It’s not so much the birthin’ part of it that scares me…. it’s the next eighteen years to come after I bring this kid home from the hospital.

Have I mentioned that when THIS one starts kindergarten, Annie will be starting middle school, and Katie Beth will be driving?

And when THIS one is driving… Katie Beth will be TWENTY-SEVEN?

And that for SEVENTEEN YEARS STRAIGHT I’ll be dropping off a kid at the elementary school?

I can’t do this.

*panic attack commencing… *breathing into a paper bag… 

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