I really like hanging out, too. But mostly I like being alone. I eat more vegetables when I’m alone. Obviously I am in the constant company of a toddler, but when said toddler came from inside of you and can’t put together more than two syllables, it’s pretty much like being alone.
I do have close friends. Three, to be exact, and I am surrounded by a super church community. I see my parents regularly and they see me regularly. But at the end of it all, if I had to check a “yes” box or a “no” box, I’d check “no” to all of them. Why?
Because our life is finally our own.
Because we finally have a home.
Because that is where these moments happen. Not the staged “oh my gosh this is happening right now let me get my camera where is my camera oh no i missed it!” moments that we’re supposed to take pictures of. I mean the mundane mornings spent coloring with coffee cups in hand, when I come out of the bathroom to find E sitting in a pile of books, turning page after page, content with our little rented space and all the things that will happen here. Here in our home.
So, I’m not eager to get out of the house. I don’t get stir crazy. Not yet. I could sit on this carpet and play with these plastic dinosaurs from breakfast to dinner, just my little monster and me. And I think that’s okay.