Here is something grown-ups do: make wills. You can imagine how I felt about doing such a grown-up thing: weird. Since Hubby is a lawyer, he was able to get one of his buddies to help us perform such an adult act (and not F it up). It was even written in language I could understand, so it seemed to be a pretty legit document if I do say so. We brought some witnesses down to the notary and got those wills signed and delivered. So, now they’re real and everything. Baby#2 has a place to go if its world collapses. Our “money” and “assets” have places to be. Even the dog has a home—actually, any dog we have (sorry Puppy#1, but there will come a day…). I feel, well, grown up!
We also did some medical power of attorney documents. I like to call them the plug-pulling papers, but they’re a little more than that (a little). It’s hard to think about having to make ridiculously difficult decisions about Hubby if he becomes “incapacitated,” yet I feel very smart making and discussing such decisions now, under no duress. In fact, I was sitting in some sweats, probably eating a snack. No duress here. But there is a small dark cloud over all the anal planning-ahead going on around here. It’s just that we never got to this point with Wyatt. Poor Baby1 came too early to get any of this special grown-up behavior. He never got to know us as the responsible-on-paper parents we are. It stinks.
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