A new neighbor of ours had a baby recently, and my boys and I went to visit and bring a Costco pizza for dinner because I’m that good of a cook. I fell in love with the baby boy of my neighbor’s, whose little presence catapulted me back in time to my little wonders, swathed in quiet sleep and a beauty only a careful recipe of breastfeeding hormones and insomnia can filter into superrrr good memories— the wonderful smells of baby skin and singing lullabies in the middle of the night. All of a sudden my ovaries started spitting out eggs like an Easter Egg factory on Sponge Bob Square Pants. For two days I could sense my need for more children surge and flow. (which I lack on any regular, irregular or upside down day.) And two days later, I texted my neighbor to tell her that her two year old little girl had called me on her cell phone to chat. Her two year old, who is this angelic creature, called me and chatted me up for like fifteen minutes the day before. It was awesome, and I thought my new neighbor mommy had probably had to take care of the little one… and mischief was taking care of this little doll. Like I said, we’re becoming friends, but we’re not super tight or anything yet—although I adore her! I thought the call was precious! My new friend, of course, had no idea it had happened. I remember those days, but my point was merely that I felt very special her daughter had called me and told me all about the crying bundle, who I still yearned to mother secretly. She laughed (text-like) and it was a forming friendship moment. I put the phone down to enjoy dinner with my family, and she writes me back quickly, “When will you be home? I am pumping right now.” And then the “other” memories came rushing back. This would indeed be another blossoming friendship moment, and there was no way I was just going to sweep it under the rug. It’s just not my style. I wrote her back that she probably hadn’t meant that for me. But I was super happy for her. I flashed back again to ole memory lane to find different memories emerging, including embarrassing moments. I remembered ME being dumber than dumber and having about fourteen memory lapses a day. My kids might have been switched out anytime in the first year of their lives, and I wouldn’t have known the difference. I remembered poop up their backs and my shirts filling slowly with milk whenever my son cried… and little pads that you put on your hooties to keep the shirt from filling up with milk. How sexy was that?! I remembered a bunch of crap that went along with all that joy, and my ovaries quickly shut down and put back up a “Bankrupt” sign. I was back to normal. And as for my new friend, she has shown to be surprisingly calm, classy and terribly amazing, given the birth of her new child. I kinda hate that about her, to be honest. Guess not all mommies are created equal. Cheers to my new friend, texting the wrong person, to all the good and selective memories. It’s not that we’d give any of them up, but we do tend to categorize them in a way that pulls inconsistently. Big happy thoughts to my neighbor who will help me relive both the magnificent and the traumatic of being a new mom!