when it’s okay to be wrong.

These pictures are from the spring when I had only one color of hair and it was cooler outside. But I still find them important and relevant because of what they teach me.

I am not who I thought I was.

I don’t remember specifics, but I had this idea of who I’d be as an “official” grown up. I’m 31-soon-to-be-32 and I guess I’m an adult now. But when I was younger, say ten years ago, I had this vague idea of the kind of mom I would be. And the kind of kids I would have.

And then God laughed, Chris winked at me, and I was pregnant.

Yes, in that order.

I was never going to be the mom that painted her girls nails. Actually, I thought all my babies were boys until those fateful ultrasounds where there was no penis. And I was shocked each.and.every.time.

I was never going to be the mom who dressed her kids in matching or color-coordinated outfits. But now, it really gets me excited if all four of us can match. That’s just the bee’s knees.

I was never going to be the mom that said “bee’s knees” either but I guess I was wrong.

My daughters have completely destroyed who I thought I would be as a 31 year old. And I mean that in the best possible way.

Sometimes I like being wrong.