You don’t need me to tell you how to make pudding. You might need me to tell you how to make French macarons, and tell you that tights are not pants, no matter how functional and/or comfortable they may be as leg coverings. Pudding, though…you’ve undoubtedly got that one covered.
Maybe I just need to remind myself how to make pudding. Or to remind myself to actually make pudding.
And then I thought, if I need a reminder to make pudding, maybe you also need a reminder to make pudding. Because with so many amazing dessert recipes out there to try, who says “maybe I should just make pudding?”
So let’s make pudding.
And I’m not talking about Jell-O Instant Pudding, which, yes, is delicious in its own right. I’m talking about real, homemade pudding. With sugar and milk and chocolate. The kind of pudding that your grandmother used to make for your mother. The kind of pudding that makes you wait three hours for it to set. The kind of pudding that reminds you of evenings around the family dinner table and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and catching fireflies at dusk.
In case you missed it, it’s my birthday week! (or is it birthweek? Is that a word?)
So long, 27. We had some good times, didn’t we?
And hello, 28.
There’s nothing particularly special about 28, really. It’s not like 21, where you become a card-carrying, bona fide adult. Or 25, where you celebrate being alive for a whole quarter of a century. I mean, that’s kind of a big deal. Or 30. I’ve been told 30 is big. I’ll let you know how I feel about that one in a few years. Or 50 or 100 or any of those really monumental birthdays.
It’s just 28. Just another year.
And yet, I believe there’s always something special about a birthday.
It’s a celebration. It’s a tangible milestone in this adventure we call life. It’s a chance for reflection and goal-setting and maybe even a little bit of dreaming. It’s an opportunity to look at your life, figure out exactly where you are right now, and do a little thinking about where you’d like to be in the next year.
And so, because it’s just what I do, I give you a few random thoughts and lessons from this brand new 28-year-old.
This is the last summer we’ll spend as a family of three.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around this life-changing thing that’s happening in just a few short months. Sometime this fall, our three will become four and our whole family dynamic will change forever. And if we’re being brutally honest, that’s just as scary as it is exciting.
Two kids. Two boys, actually. Mother of two. Party of four.
With my first pregnancy, it was nine solid months of preparation. Shopping. Cleaning. Cooking. Decorating. Reading. Researching. More shopping. Daydreaming. More shopping. I was entering a whole new world, this world of parenting, and you better believe that I was going to be prepared. And not just prepared. Over-prepared.
Then pregnancy number two comes along, and there’s just so much going on with raising a toddler and living in the city and potty training and swim lessons and playgroup and running a household and cooking and cleaning and laundry (so. much. laundry.) that there just isn’t a single moment left in the day to even think about preparing for another baby. And besides, how much preparation does the second baby really need, anyway? I’m thinking we buy some diapers, set up the rock ‘n’ play, and call it a day. Amiright?
But don’t believe for a second that I haven’t been thinking (and dreaming) about how life will be different this fall. How this new tiny human is going to impact our family, and our individual lives, in a big, big way. How my sweet, rambunctious toddler is finally going to have a playmate his own age to play with (read: boss around). How my husband will have two boys (boys!) to teach how to play baseball and to take on camping trips and to sporting events. And how my life is going to look drastically different as a mother of two.