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…