The Olden Days

I wanted to record our boys on Christmas morning. I went shpelunking through the cabinet for an unused tape, but the three I found were from who-knows-when. I popped one in the camera to see if it had enough space left. What I saw made me wonder why I bother doing this to myself .

Toby was about six months old. We were in our big house, the one we custom built back when I was working. I was holding his hands and "walking" him on a clean, shiny floor. I was tan. I had cutely-styled hair. The couch in the background was new and still holding its shape. Greg was working the camera, making baby talk to get Toby to smile at him. It was insanely perfect.

The worst part was seeing my pajamas. The light blue ones I still wear all the time, because they are new. On the video they were not light blue, they were dark blue. Their spaghetti straps rested lightly on the beautiful shoulders of a fresh young mother, still glowing with promise. I barely recognized her.

I did the mental math. Greg bought me those pajamas on my first Mother's Day four years ago?? Has it been that long?? I looked around for something to prove it possible. Our couch, now disfigured from years as an indoor jungle gym slumped in the middle of the floor like a grumpy bag of potatoes. Our down-sized house looked not-so-fabulous, functionally surrounding a living room scattered with toys.

And me. No longer sparkling with fresh dew, but just... tired.

I reflected a moment, realizing that no price is too high for the two bundles of joy Greg and I have the honor of raising.

Not really. I hid the tapes and ran to the phone to make a hair appointment.