Last week at this time, I was tearfully packing the boys' belongings. That morning, we left for daycare just like every other day. None of us knew that they would never return. In a matter of hours, I would bring them and their belongings to a new home. I still cannot believe it.
One week later, the house is quieter, cleaner, and less kid-friendly. The outlet covers and child-proof locks are gone. Toys and children's books are hidden away. Louie provides the only chaos and cuteness. I can go out tonight without feeling bad leaving Hubby to do bedtime alone with the kids. He can go to work without wondering if everything is okay at home. We can go on a date without needing a babysitter or two.
Everything is different, yet also familiar. We have done this childless thing before. For nearly seven years, we have been married and childless. Parenthood lasted only twelve weeks. Twelve weeks is not very long. Three short (and long) months. A tiny blip in the grand scheme of our lives. Sometimes, it doesn't seem real. We were parents? What? Are you sure?
And yet. We were. This really happened in our living room:
This really happened in our back yard:
We really were this family at the park:
Those twelve weeks really happened. Although our lives may look like they used to, we will never be the same.