Brian and I have stayed up two hours past our bedtime two nights in a row discussing infant baptism. This fact alone confirms a. we really don't have much time to just sit and have a conversation, and b. we are dorks.
In other news, my mind has already begun the transition to a third baby. We're in the process of selling our (beloved! beautiful!) station wagon and accepting the fate of all large(-er than two-kid) families. Yes, we're shopping for a van. This fall we're also combining the boys' rooms, which will probably be completely fine, but of course gives any mom a plethora of minutia to fret over.
I also have Silas on the waiting list (which the preschool expects to be short) to start Mother's Morning Out two mornings a week. The idea of putting Silas in school brings its own anxiety. The thing is, even though Silas has had more opportunities to be away from me and with people he knows well than Asher did at his age, Silas gets more anxious about it. He doesn't cry when I leave, he just ... well, frets. In short, the boy loves his mama. He also tends to pick up every random strain of strep throat within a mile of him. He also has food allergies. BUT - he is the most social and playful little boy I know (case in point: last night a waitress looked at Asher and said, "What's your name?" "Asher," he whispered. "And my name's Silas!" his brother announced proudly. No fear, that boy). In terms of personality, I can't imagine anybody who would love preschool more than Silas. If they can keep him out of the Goldfish. And if he can stay well. And if he can adjust to being away from his family. Sigh. See? Endless ways to worry.