Remember when it was just us?
Remember when laundry was a discrete event, rather than an equation that approaches infinity?
(Remember when I actually remembered my math?)
Remember when we slept in on Christmas and we opened our presents then sat around looking at each other being like "This is lame"?
Remember when raspberry wasn't a verb?
Remember when I wouldn't have been ok with finding long blonde hairs on your clothes?
Remember when we had so much time alone together that we'd run out of things to talk about?
Remember when our bathtub had no toys?
Remember when we used to judge parents and we didn't know what we were talking about?
Remember when bowls weren't hats, bathrobes weren't wings, and nobody ever jumped off of anything in our house?
Remember when kid-snot tracks didn't grace my shirt as motherhood epaulets, when spit and spit-up were not my campaign ribbons?
Remember back when there was no chance, in our house, of stumbling across some tiny shirt, some never-worn diaper, some miniscule sock or leftover pacifier, that would make me gasp from cuteness and say "Hey Pater Familias, remember when...?"