Not so long ago (relatively speaking), Jenny and I could have normal conversations with each other. We could chat for an hour at a time and not be interrupted once. We could email each other 148 times a day (when we worked in the same office, I might add) about what we bought at Target the night before or what we were doing for the weekend. We were your standard working twenty-somethings.
And then it all changed.
We got knocked up.
Not at the same time, exactly (our scheme to take over the world didn’t pan out precisely as planned), but within eight weeks of each other.
Needless to say, our conversations were suddenly laden with “My boobs are leaking†and “I just threw up in the shower†and the like.
Our “babies†are three years old now. Jenny has even added another baby to the roster. And though from time to time we look back wistfully on the days when we could, you know, go to the movies, one thing is clear…
We didn’t know what we were missing.
