Ironically the same week the kids start grades 12 and 10 and I see the home stretch ahead of me, Lochlan levels the field by setting off a bomb. I never saw it coming, he now swears it's No Big Deal.
Ha. It is, though.
We should have another baby.
You should get that Tourette's fixed. The things you blurt out.
It was just an idea.
I don't think it was a good one.
Why? Indulge me.
Oh, I'm forty-five. You're really old. Like you'd be sending them off to college when you're SEVENTY. I also had four amazing difficult pregnancies and two deliveries that required entire floor teams of surgeons, lawyers and exorcists. I can't do that again, even if I could physically do it which I probably can't. Besides, I love the freedom of jumping in the car and telling them we're going out for a meal and they can cook at home if they're hungry before we get back. Why on earth would you want to do that all again?
I missed out, Bridge.
You were right here.
Jacob was in the way. Cole was in the way. I faded into the woodwork.
We don't give you enough attention. I get it.
He laughs. Yeah, that must be it.
That will change now. Want me to blend your breakfast so I can feed it to you?
What? No. Gross!
Exactly. Now imagine that coming out both ends at once. Trust me, you're getting the best parts of raising children right now: they can tell you dirty jokes without apologizing first and they finally offer to drive now when we go out.
