Let me get comfortable on this really high horse for a minute

I was all ready to sit down and write (bitch) about Chicky Baby's birthday-turned-birthweek (clusterfuck) when I heard about this story on the local news. A woman was killed when the car she was driving in was hit head-on when a drunk driver crossed the center line. She was 8 months pregnant. Her baby was delivered by C-section and took a few breaths before dying himself. The man, her fiance and father to the baby, who was driving the car that was hit, is fine... As fine as a man can be who lost the woman he loved and unborn son. And the drunk driver? He escaped injury as well.

If that doesn't put things into perspective, then I don't know what will.

Here I was, trying to find a way to spin a stressful week into a funny story, and a real life tragedy comes along, as they all too often do, and gives me a healthy reality slap upside the head. Who the heck am I to complain that my daughter has serious separation anxiety and that she hates everyone but me, when there are so many worse things that could befall us? She's healthy and normal and (mostly) happy. As long as Grandma or Grandpa, or anyone else but me or the Hubby, don't come within 10 feet of her she's a very cheerful little girl. As difficult as CB's separation anxiety can make things, I really like it when she buries her head in my shoulder when she's feeling shy and when she grabs on to me when she thinks I'm going to pass her off to someone. She needs me. I won't have that luxury forever. And she got a new nickname out her phobia... The Tick. As in, she clings to me like a tick. Yeah, it needs work.

And so what if my living room looks like a Toys-R-Us blew up in it or that Chicky Baby now has enough clothes to start her own Gymboree? Was I really going to complain about that?! We have wonderfully generous friends and family who lavished her with gifts... Not because they had to, or because they were invited to her birthday party, or because they have so much disposable income (because, oh boy, they don't), but because they wanted to. Of course, they could have saved some of that money for, say, they're electric bill and bought her a bag of shiny bows and tissue paper but the dolls and loud electronic toys are good too.

Oh, sure... I was going to be all sarcastic about the mid-week Mother's Group that I hosted. But the 11 women and all 11 of their kids under the age of 15 months (plus a pre-teen niece of one of the women that I was informed was coming an hour before the party got started) were terrific guests and are invited back again this summer when we can keep everyone outside. So there were 25 people in my house that day... So what? I'm a lucky person to have access to that many other women with kids Chicky Baby's age living so close by. I've already lined up her senior prom date. How many moms can say that?

And, lastly, because of the number of people parading in and out, I've had to put in more hours cleaning my house this week than I have in an entire year... But I'm thankful I have a home. I complain about this money pit occasionally, but we have a roof over our heads and four walls to (mostly) keep the cold out. Honestly, the house really did need a full floor to ceiling cleaning anyway.

Just so I'm not misunderstood, I'm not becoming high and mighty. Oh, far from it. There will be plenty of complaining on this blog in the future. I am human, after all, hear me whine and bitch. But for today I need to acknowledge just how fortunate my family is. I've had some bad luck in the past, but as of right now, right this minute, my family is happy and healthy and that needs to be celebrated.

Is it gauche to give some of Chicky Baby's gifts to charity? Probably. Instead I think I will be finding a worthy charity to give other things to. Time, mainly. I think Julia needs to learn early in life just how lucky she is. And I need to remember that as well. Often and regularly. Hopefully, in the future, I won't need a tragedy to remind me.