Are pumpkin lattes worth all this mess?

My health has undergone a trio of hits recently (and I’m only a fan of one threesome), though I suppose it’s only fair to blame one of them on the weather change. First, there was the form of revenge that would have made Montezuma proud. Then came the news last week that I had developed a fun little ovarian cyst (a condition easily solved with Sandra Fluke-levels of birth control). Shortly after I popped that pill I came down with a chest cold that leaves me gasping for air as if I’m Honey Boo Boo’s mom on a treadmill. Oh, and I just stubbed my toe.

Meanwhile, the neighbor next door lost his wife on Friday to a combo platter of Alzheimer’s, double strokes, and a brain hemorrhage. The cars line the street as I cough. And breathe. And try to remember that this life is a gift for which I am never grateful enough.

I think about it often, their long marriage ending as The Husband and I have just begun our family, our story next door. I think about it when I am tempted to think about other things, like hopping into the car and driving down to the beach without telling anyone, especially when the sun hasn’t yet risen at 7 am but I have, hiking The Kid up on my hip and making his bottle and feeling oh-so-tired and put upon by all the things I prayed for, all those years. I am tired and rundown, yes, but I am here. Here, where I wanted and waited to be for so long. And then I remember that the beach getaway wouldn’t work because my two favorite people wouldn’t be there, and what’s the fun in driving three hundred miles without coos from the backseat and someone else’s soda to steal sips from?

I am in danger every day of ruing the life I was made to live as a story.

On Sunday morning, TH and I dressed TK and ourselves in cute outfits and shoved Puffs into the diaper bag and TK into his carseat, bib-clad because if he wasn’t he would puke all over the jumper RC gave him, and we drove to a pretty park to have our picture taken. At first, the smile felt fake–I hadn’t slept the night before, TK was starting to act like an asshole, the light was in my eyes, my diamond shoes were too tight. Then they took a shot of The Niece planting a kiss on TK (after she had been bribed with food), and just after the click TK screamed and threw himself back onto the blanket in tired, angry tears. What a mess, I thought, checking my watch. Then they showed me the picture.

It wasn’t a mess. It was just right. And it had been the whole time.