It's almost time to say buh-bye to 2012. I'm neither particularly happy, nor particularly sad, to see it go (not like the end of 2009, which I wanted to drop-kick as far away from me as possible). This has been a pretty normal year for me: you know, one involving pregnancy, childbirth, those lovely first few months postpartum, and struggling with baby weight. That has literally been the recurring theme in my life for the past, oh, eight years or so ... no matter what else accompanies it.
But this coming year is going to be different. There are no more babies to be had. No more baby weight to be gained (yet a whoooooole jiggly bunch of it to be lost. Ugh). Now I can direct all my maternal focus on ensuring that the ones I've already got grow up to be halfway-decent dudes. Like, seat-putting-down, manners-using, no-criminal-record-having, real-job-holding, non-two-timing men. Who have good personal hygiene and clean up after themselves around the house. And who are not, generally speaking, selfish assholes.
In the (not-so) grand tradition of the past few years, Curtis and I have absolutely zero plans for New Year's Eve. In years past, our celebrations may have included copious amounts of alcohol and a thumping beat and motel rooms and other such fun and exciting things. Once, we even spent it running through weird backstreets of Heidelberg, Germany while dodging airborne firecrackers and beer bottles (true story!)*
*But don't ask me to tell the rest ... my mom reads this blog, yo.
Yes, in the past eight years we've gone from firecrackers and beer bottles to graham crackers and baby bottles. From being out until dawn, to struggling to stay awake until midnight. And on most days I'm totally and completely fine with that. But on New Year's Eve, I'm always kinda like, :( ... because even if we did have plans, and we did go somewhere and party it up like a couple of twentysomethings, the fact remains: we're actually thirtysomethings. With four kids and a mortgage that we didn't have a decade ago (not to mention a lower tolerance for both alcohol and all-nighters).
So I'm thinking that New Year's Eve 2012 will go pretty much like this: we'll tell the kids they can stay up until midnight, maybe crack open a bottle of sparkling grape juice and let them drink out of something that isn't plastic, and when they pass out draped over various spots on the couch at like 10:30 we'll carry them, limp and drooling, to their beds. Then Curtis and I will sit on the newly-vacated couch together and eat something that will go straight to my thighs and watch something ridiculous on TV (I hear there's a Honey Boo Boo special on) and pretend we're not nodding off like total oldsters. And then we'll count down to midnight, share a New Year's kiss, and then, grateful that it's all over, we'll go to bed. Because no matter how late we're up, the kids will start out 2013 at the crack of dawn ... just like they do every other day of the year.
But I guess how we usher in those first few moments of 2013 isn't important - it's what we do with the rest of the year that counts. And I'm not imposing any strict resolutions on myself, because I'll just feel bad when I don't get half (okay, three-quarters. Or more.) of them accomplished. So I'm just going to do my best to improve where I can; not to be perfect, but to be the best version of me.
Happy 2013, y'all!