That's me. I am the cobra sobbing on your shoulder about the unfairness of it all.
I mean, really, though. Who among us HASN'T had a Defcon-1 meltdown in any given aisle of Meijer during a sale week when something that was CLEARLY REPRESENTED in the sale flier ISN'T THERE and what do you MEAN YOU'RE NOT GIVING RAINCHECKS?!?! NO IT IS NOT OKAY, AND YES I AM GOING TO NEED TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER, PLEASE. *dissolves into incomprehensible sobbing mingled with what sounds like apology for all the insanity, but it's difficult to hear and understand through all the...well...insanity.*
I mean. That's everyone's Tuesday, right?
There hasn't been a lot of blogging going on because really? Who needs to read that? Who WANTS to read that?!
Plus, I reserve my Constitutional right against self-incrimination.
The real problem?
We have a week before Baby Wes gets here.
And then baby is here and NOTHING is done!
Okay, trying not to go to that place.
Because that's an exaggeration! Our kitchen is painted, our living room is painted! We have clothes and bed and diapers and all kinds of things.
We even have this groovy baby monitor that actually clips to baby's diaper and monitors breath movements. Nifty!
I feel very unready.
And my hormonal brain takes that feeling and freaking runs a marathon of worry and public spectacle with it, which is making me NO FRIENDS right now, I can tell you.
I feel unprepared for nighttime feedings and colic and breastfeeding and by the way? The prospect of bathing a slippery-as-soap newborn with my HANDS sends me into a mild panic attack.
I'm not afraid for the birth because I've DONE that part. I KNOW that part. No problem. And I breastfed for...three days. So I have a TINY bit of experience with that. But that's it. I know NOTHING else. And focusing on the stuff that I feel like I NEED to know and SHOULD know keeps me from obsessing about how all of this is going to play out- if this is information that I'm really even going to need in the future, you know?
And I miss my mom. Desperately. Especially in times like this. I just want my mom to come over and kick my "rear in gear" (one of her favorite phrases) to get the house finally finished and then hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. Because no matter how old you get and what you go through, you mama is always your mama, and sometimes you just need her smell and her arms and the feel of her hair on your cheek.
And I miss my bestie and my sister, both of whom are far away and dealing with their OWN lives and things. Not that they wouldn't be willing, but it seems unfair for me to expect them to be on call 24 hours a day to talk me down off of whatever ledge I've gotten myself (or the produce manager at Meijer) onto that minute.
And I miss my daughter, who I would desperately be trying to get excited for the baby to come (since she'd only be a year and eight months old right now) and trying not to panic about the responsibility of raising TWO littles so close together. The longing for that path that my life could have gone in sometimes hurts so much that I can't breathe.
So I'm in survival mode because...we have a week. A week with our boy before he makes his grand entrance and I get to be properly introduced to the little squirmer who's been giving me heartburn and cravings for cheeseburgers and spaghetti. And an obsessive need to eat ice cubes. His bag is all packed for the hospital, but I just can't bring myself to pack mine. Because that's very, VERY real.
So, instead, I cry sad tears about songs on the radio.
I cry happy tears at the rain that falls on the trees and our skylights and makes such beautiful, whispery music.
I cry frustrated tears at the grocery store because I wasn't able to get what I wanted because I wasn't feeling well enough to be up and about earlier in the week.
I cry confused tears over nothing that makes sense, and those tears feel the best because they seem to come from deep, secret place deep inside me that doesn't have a name that doesn't burden itself with a label but exists only to bring healing.
The other day, that first really rainy day that we had, I danced up on my tippy-toes in the rain on our deck, twirling and twirling and twirling around with my hands cupped to catch the drops so I could really feel as many of them as possible. Because it felt like the world just needed a good cry, too, and I wanted to be a part of that. So I cried along, and the sky's tears dripped off my nose and the leaves on the trees, and for a minute I didn't feel quite so alone. Being covered in tears, mine and the world's, was cathartic and beautiful, and made me feel less like a pariah in a world where everyone around me seems to be mostly happy. I shivered in the rain, but I accepted it the way I wanted my own tears to be accepted by someone- just unapologetic, and matter-of-fact, and with a hint of me-too.
So that's what I'll probably be doing with the rest of my week:
Trying to do as little damage to innocent bystanders (and grocery store displays) as possible.
And crying so as not to think.