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In the movie Lost in Translation there is a scene in which Bill Murray's character explains that, upon having your first child, "your life as you know it is gone...never to return." The movie has been one of my favorites for years. I just wish that I had known he meant my life.

In early 2010, I gave birth to the world's most perfect child. (Is there a parent who doesn't think his/her child is the world's most perfect?) In addition to being beautiful, he is brilliant and sweet and funny and hands-down the best thing that will ever happen to me. This kid is my entire world. I had somehow suspected through most of my life that he would be, which is why I fought very hard to have him. But about the post-childbirth apocalypse, I had absolutely no clue.

To say things have changed would be misleading. EVERYTHING has changed. Most of it has been good--some not so great--but everything is without a doubt different. And now the world changes once again. My little family and I find ourselves journeying from the big city to beautiful, calm Montana. Will the change be for the better? As with anything, the answer is sometimes "yes," sometimes "no," and always sought with massive quantities of hope. Come with me as I navigate the roads from fast-paced, big-city lawyer to Montana Momhood. Is there a line that can be walked? We'll see. But I can guarantee, at a minimum, it will be an adventurous road trip....

Monday, March 28, 2011

Rewriting History

I have been extremely blessed to have had the world's most incredible friends enter and (thank Goodness) stay in my life.  Through thick and thin we have all been through quite a bit and it seems that these days are as turbulent as ever.  But I am grateful for each of them and always will be.

Originally posted on
heyguys.co.uk
Aug. 12, 2010
One group of such friends are the tight-knit clan from our college days.  Primarily consisting of the coolest geeks around, we were inseparable and I have remained close to them in the years that followed.  Much to my delight, I have seen a good number of them having kids recently--the delight stems from a daydream that involves our kids going to college together and repeating our glory days.  And last night while washing dishes I found myself once again thinking about how great that would be.  They could room together, as we did.  They could study together.  They could ski together.  They could...OH MY GOD.  Suddenly it hit me.  These tiny, precious little things would some day grow up to be the complete morons that we were.  I almost dropped the glass I had in my hand.  How is that possible?  Could it be that this sweet boy who delicately pats his Grandma's head when she has a headache and is lying on the couch could one day grow up to have the life goal of a 3 story beer bong?  The thought makes me as ill as I was upon fulfilling that particular goal.

The funnier part of the equation is what do I tell my friends' kids?  Case in point: one particular friend is a guy who is hands-down one of the kindest human beings I have ever met.  He would lay his life down for his friends and in college his dream was to do just that for his country.  He grew up, appropriately married one of the coolest chicks around, and recently they had a gorgeous little boy.  The problem?  I very clearly recall a time when this little angel's daddy was lying in his underwear, drunk out of his gourd (to use one of his phrases) in a pool of blood because he thought it would be more prudent to break and climb through his window than call a locksmith.  And trust me folks, this is the milder of the stories I recall.  So what the heck do I tell this kid when he asks about the good old days?  Or my kid for that matter? 

I guess I am hoping that the old memory is fading significantly by the time those questions are uttered.  If not, I suppose I tell them the truth:  mommy and daddy were just the angels you are now.  Because even they don't want to know the real story.  And it's good for kids to have goals.  Maybe this generation will even live up to them.
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