I'm back. Again.

Just how many times do you think I can make a comeback? I'll let you know someday. 

So the last few months, I have gotten involved in two different mom groups. I have gotten more involved in our neighborhood. I am leaving our bubble. And it's awesome. 

Before Charlie, there's no way I would have had the guts to walk up to a group of women I met online and introduce myself. No way, Jose. Yet here we are. With a full calendar and many, many new friends. 

For this, I owe Charlie. My sweet, giggly, happy, puppy dog-loving, boy. Every day I'm so grateful I get to stay home with him. Even when he wakes up ridiculously early, has as fussy butt day, refuses to nap, and makes a massive mess... I love my days with him. When Bob is home, he is 1000% hands on and amazing. But when he and Charlie have breakfast together and naptime or bathtime and bedtime, I miss my baby. I find this so surreal. I can be with him all day long, patience tested, hair pulled (by him and me), yet if I don't get those breakfast giggles or bedtime snuggles, I'm sad. I know it's only going to get worse rhe older the gets. And I suppose I'm okay with that. I don't want to say I didn't love him right away, because I absolutely did. But somehow I still love him more and more every day. It still just amazes me. He amazes me. 

Had enough sappy blabbling? Okay.  Here are some pics instead... 

Why, hello there.

So you may be asking yourself... what could possibly bring her out of her life-imposed blog silence after two months? The answer: EBOLA. E-freaking-bola.

In the 4th grade, I did a book report on Ebola and Bubonic Plague. Literally ever since, I've been obsessed with it. When Ebola broke out in Liberia, I knew about it before US news stations caught wind. When there was a single case of Bubonic Plague in China this summer, guess who was following it? This girl. (Btw- no one else got it besides the one guy.)

Being the wife of an airline pilot has it's own inherent risks. I've always been concerned with Bob's potential proximity to recycled germs. Now that Ebola has taken to the skies, my paranoia has taken my heart rate to stupid levels.

My husband, being the good Southern, well-mannered boy that he is, will stop and help anyone in the airport. They ask, he helps. They look lost, he helps. They're bleeding from their eyeballs and puking everywhere, he better not stop to effing help. We had to have this conversation this week.

This morning before he left for a trip to Texas (yay, better than Cleveland, I suppose), we had a frank discussion about Ebola. I'm not afraid of us getting it. I'm scared shitless of Charlie getting it. Is it unreasonable for me to be this afraid? Probably. But that's not stopping me from worrying about it. For the first time in my life, I'm responsible for someone's health other than my own. Holy crap.