Dear Future Me...

I read an awesome article today about a young mother of four who is constantly told to cherish "these days" with her babies because they will be gross teenagers before she knows it. Okay, that may be a loose paraphrase. Anyway, it inspired me to write to my future self in an effort to remind me of these golden days. I figure it's also a great way to jog my memory of important things, like Brady's emphatic distaste for potty training, and with the "Future Me" titles, I'll be able to easily find these relics in my archives. So, without further ado, the first of what will be many installments of "Dear Future Me:"

Hey there, Future Me,

Regardless of when you read this, you'll be wishing for the 2012 you. You'll have had less wrinkles, less gray hair, and probably a thinner waistline than you do right about now, but that's neither here nor there. The point of this post is to remind you of a few things that have happened recently:

1. Zach had another successful Coaches Clinic and you're super proud of him. You're also super excited that despite the Radisson's name change, they still make their ridiculously delicious carrot cake and because the in-laws watched Ella and the Barones watched Brady, you were able to partake in the cake and adult beverages and have a romantic sleepover with your husband.

Tired from all of his hard work. Can't rotate it and I'm too tired to care.

2. Speaking of Ella's sleepover: she was surprisingly wonderful. PapRick is always calling her a sweetheart and you're always shaking your head, but you're beginning to realize it's true. You think the girl is a sweet, sweet baby. The fact that you're even coming to this realization makes you ashamed because you swore up and down that you wouldn't let Ella get that "girls are a bitch" rep like every.single.woman in the family. From this day forward, Ella is an angel. Who just learned to clap and it's so freaking adorable you want to eat her up.

3. Brady hates, Hates, HATES potty training. Nothing you've tried entices him to drop drawer and have at the frog toilet that, originally assumed, would excite him like a ride at Kennywood. Negative. At this point, you are perfectly willing to let him wear diapers until he's 7.

4. Even though he is still forcing you to clean up man-poop from his butt crack, you love Brady to the moon and back. Tonight, he brought over a blank piece of paper, pretended it was a letter and read it to you: "Dis says, 'I yuve Mom and Dad and I will give you yots of hugs and kisses.'" You teared up and hugged him so hard he asked you to stop. It was awesome. He's been playing make-believe more and more and just the other day, he introduced you to his friend Mississippi (no idea...) who lives in his bed and talks to him when he wakes up. No wonder you've been hearing, "Good morning! How are you?" over the monitor...

Singing to Ella. And again, I can't seem to rotate it...

5. Your good friend and colleague just told you that she's pregnant with her third, a family friend brought her 2-month-old over today, and Beyonce and Jay-Z had what is destined to be the most sought-after baby EVER. The latter doesn't really matter; all it means is there is baby news everywhere. As a result, you have baby fever. You've been telling yourself that you want to wait until Ella is at least 2-years-old because of how difficult it was the first few months with 2 little, little ones. However, right around 7 months, it just got...easier. You love having two and you want one or two more and your husband will oblige because if he doesn't, you will start bringing stray dogs home. You want the house to be filled to maximum capacity, have the complete chaos of little ones underfoot, and eventually, have those little ones care for you and Zach when you're old and decrepit. That's only fair, right?

And, as if he knew what you were writing, Brady is upstairs loudly boycotting sleep. You've gone up 3 times to turn his music back on (damn Scout dog, can't you play for more than 10 minutes at a time?!), threatened him with the normal "you won't be big and strong if you don't sleep" routine, and are about to indulge him in the "one book, pee-eeeeeze" he's been whining for. You have bags under your eyes and your patience is thin. But the weird old ladies from the article are right: you should appreciate these days. In just a few years, there will come a time when your children will not want to be seen with you in public. And they'll be demanding privacy instead of inviting you in to read Green Eggs and Ham for the 234th time this week.