I am tired.
Muscle and mind and heart and hands tired.
Tired like I’ve battled sea waves with only a breaststroke in my arsenal.
Tired like I’ve scaled peaks, scraping limbs and carrying cargo all the way.
Tired like I’ve spent lifetimes under hot sun.
Tired like we don’t seem to have stopped since I learned of this life within me.
Tired like I shoehorn all of my work into three days of the weekend,
all of the digging and carrying and standing.
Tired like I have not been on my own and awake, save in this moment, in as long as I can remember.
Tired like I am creating an entire new life within my own humming, working, proud body.
Eight weeks down, thirty-two to go.
I am tired.
… except that it is about the world into which I have brought one child and will bring another.
Sometimes the world clobbers you with stories and ideas along the same theme. Sometimes you can’t help but sit down and wonder why. The day we came back from England, I learned about Robin Williams and Kevin Ward Jr. Today it was Lauren Bacall and Michael Brown. Today the main character in the novel I’ve been reading (Woolf’s The Voyage Out) was struck down by an unexpected fever, and tragedy struck in Gaza on the West Wing episode I watched with my husband, multiple killed and injured. An online mom group I’m a part of is having a mini spat about politics, not about specific issues but more about whether we want to invite discussion of political issues into our group. I have the unshakable feeling that the universe is trying to say something, but I haven’t processed enough to know what, yet, exactly.
And then there’s this, too, which feels linked all the same, an article on the values of our current culture and what that means for us as individuals, on the way that a market-driven free economy is not “free” or fair.
Maybe it’s all just coincidence. Maybe it’s just life, thousands upon thousands of people dying every day on this planet, even if we don’t notice a vast majority of them.
I feel like I ought to be paying closer attention. I feel like I don’t have nearly enough time or focus to sort through the galaxies of “information” available to me in order to really know what’s going on, what can be helped and how. Does this make spending time with my husband and son, meeting with friends, taking time to run by myself more or less important? What does all of this being human stuff mean?
I miss college. I miss being not only encouraged but required to dig more deeply and think through more thoroughly all of these ideas. I miss the community of people with whom I could discuss it all, in person, over coffee or at parties or in class. I have trouble maintaining the steam to press on all by myself, when there are dishes to wash and bills to pay and a toddler to eye and a baby to grow.
Another. An other. The size of a chickpea, a heart no larger than a poppy seed, but the promise of so much more.
It is unreal as yet. Despite the frequent hunger and constant thirst, despite how tired my whole body feels most of the day, despite the breathless rolling mood swings, I still have trouble believing it. We had only begun to allow for the possibility of pregnancy. A lark, a laugh, a midsummer dare, we left caution behind six weeks ago, and four weeks later every test was positive.
I don’t consistently put much faith in astrology, but Thomas is so clearly a Libra that I was soon curious about this future love: An Aries. A spitfire, a rebel, impulsive and blunt and passionate. Due at the start of April, on the opposite side of the year from the first, a fool in the making. Oh, this little one! What challenges and adventures will it bring? From the start I called Thomas the trickster; who will this one be?
I’ve no desire to knit in this heat. We have most everything we’ll need, at least at the start. I haven’t even called our midwives yet. Instead I read Virginia Woolf and think about picking up the Greek again. I want to clean our house, though that could just be the result of coming back from a week of travel. I savor time with my growing boy, his body lengthening, his songs more elaborate, his person so charming. Less than a month left of summer, the grace period before the school year and pregnancy proper and more editing work. Two of my husband’s brothers with their wives and children due to visit next week, wanting to be at the farm, wanting to swim, wanting chips & pico, spicy ginger ale, shooting stars, date nights. Wanting to enjoy this time of we three before we are four.