After a few years of this, I'm used to the idea that parenting means making sacrifices, but it's still jolting to see how those sacrifices manifest themselves. I've spent the last four months putting together a 20-city tour for CB, the first one he's ever done with a full backing band, and last night marked the kick-off date for this auspiscious run. And I missed it. I popped in for sound check but had to excuse myself before the Marlboro haze descended on the Hi-Tone. Not because I didn't want to snuggle up to my three-year-old with cigarette funk in my hair (she's gotten used to that), but because of the tiny little client in my belly. Yep, folks, I'm on my way to being a Secret Agent Mom of Two.
As excited as I am, it's still hard to retreat back into the mode of selflessness that is required of pregnancy and brand-new-parenthood. I'd just started getting used to the fact that I could eat a full meal or read a book or complete a day's work without constant interruption, and now I see all that being pulled away again. It's easier in a way, though, because now I know how quickly it will pass. Those sleep-deprived, half-starved, entertainmentless months seemed endless, but looking back, I realize they weren't as long as they seemed. And I also know that I won't be a shriveled, fun-shunning curmudgeon by the time they're over, which was another one of my fears the first time around. Not unless I want to be, anyway. I have to admit, getting home and into my flannel pajamas by 8:30 didn't seem like such a bad way to spend an evening. Maybe it's not just the babies who grow up.