California born, Nashville living, lots of babies, lots of lifestyle. Hang around and let's be friends!
Dear Bo and Luke,
You’re sleeping now. Finally. And I’ve poured me the last few drops of my favorite french white wine over ice. And I’ve calmed down. Because tonight was a little frustrating. Motherhood can do that to a mama. And so I wanted to write you a letter. Because I love you so. And so here it is.
Currently: Sex And The City is on. Paris part 1 and 2. If you know you know. I know. I know all the episodes. Sex And The City for me, in my 20’s, was religion. It was like we went steady or something. We were always together. Laughing and crying together and deliberating over men, shoes, and how we can maintain our level of commitment to our vital social life with our girlfriends. I know all the dialogue. And I watch all the re-runs. Case in point tonight. And the episode as you may know, is about Carrie deciding to leave New York City behind, and begin a new life with a man she loves. I did this too. And here’s what we both learned.
We look so young here. And hungry. For life and each other. You can see it in our faces. There is an innocence to our love, to our souls and to what marriage felt like 3 hours in. Sexy, like the velvety roses he would buy me for Valentines. And don’t worry, he still occasionally buys me flowers, but let’s just set the record straight. Love and marriage is not Valentines Day. And here’s why.
