Change, they say, is good. Change, I say, is okay. I might like it better if I only made changes in tiny increments. Alas, that has not been the case in my adult life. Like this:
•Not simply, "We're getting married!" but "We're getting married and immediately moving to Washington, D.C., where we don't know a single person and where everyone wears sad blue suits!"
•Not just, "We're having a baby!" but "We're having twins, and unbeknownst to me, I'm going to have abdominal surgery during the fifth month of my pregnancy!"
•Couldn't stop at, "We have 18-month-old twin girls!" but had to add, "And another baby on the way, though we don't quite understand how because, really, who can manage to have sex after chasing around two toddlers who spend their days scaling bookshelves, bumping into table corners, and massaging yogurt into their hair?"
And now? Well, now the twins are starting preschool, I'm giving up the services of my frighteningly patient and impossibly chipper three-times-a-week kidsitter, and the two-year-old will either 1) spend the mornings howling over the loss of her other two partners-in-crime or 2) go into shock at the realization that because her sisters are at school, she no longer has to claw her way to the top of my attention radar by delivering blood-curdling screams or ripping off her diaper and running nekkid through the house. Oh, and I'm heading back to the gym after a 4-year hiatus.
I don't know about this, people. I don't know.
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