Set One is "What I Say." Set Two is "What Embarrasses My Kids." When they were little, those sets didn't even touch. But the older they got, the more the two overlapped, until it's pretty much one big blushing red circle full of Embarrass. I know this is the natural order of things, for parents to get progressively more embarrassing, clueless and insensitive as they age. Or maybe it's that our kids get more sensitive to, well, anything. One of us is changing, that's for sure. Probably a bit of each.
Anyway, it slowly dawned on me that just having schlepped them around in my abdomen, squishing my internals for nine months, having done the whole highchair/slop/Cheerios/Tupperwares full of lasagna/ bath in the sink/bedtime story/toddling/diaper/preschool/swimming lessons/school projects/Christmas program/sports events/new shoes/CSS financial profile/college application thing with them doesn't give me the right to talk publicly about them. At all.
However. It is my rare privilege to have been pre-approved to share with you the End Result of Phoebe. There's much more to come, of course, but this is where we have arrived at the moment. And I am as gobsmacked as you will be. Bill and I sat in the audience squeezing each other's hands, wondering how this happened. Oh holy night, oh holy cow, that's our girl up there. That's Phoebe. Merry Christmas!