Knowing this might be my last summer without a pregnancy belly (and only a fat girl belly), I want to take full advantage of living within driving distance of some of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. Yeah, thanks BP for spoiling that plan…
Either way, I’m dragging my husband to the beach today. It may be one of the last weekends without oil in our bay, and I want some earned Vitamin D. I want a Saturday that doesn’t consist of Bar Prep and work. I want a Saturday that stretches into the wee hours of the morning. Probably the only bad thing about my husband being a recovering alcoholic is that we rarely stay up late anymore – we rarely go out. And tonight… I’m probably trying to force the issue.
Never before have I felt the pressure of the impending finale of our way of life. Just us. Just the two of us. No babies.
So today, I’ve packed grapes and oreos, lemonade and beer, sunscreen and kites and we’re headed to the beach. And I’m going to practice not forcing the issue. Not feeling like Atlanta is burning. Not feeling like it’s a last chance. Because, well, it’s not.