I’m as unpredictable as a teenager these days. I cry daily, sometimes twice. I snap at Thomas. I snap at the dog. I am constantly having to stop mid-sentence to choose words that my child could at least safely repeat in mixed company. Pregnancy is tough enough, people say. Women keep telling me they spent their second trimesters crying. And other women tell me that having a two-year-old is a challenge they never expected. Pile on top of that the seasonal affective disorder that runs in my blood, though I’ve never noticed it affecting me too much, and the simple fact that my introverted self spends all day with a talkative, boundary-less, filter-less, clinging, needy, excited other person (perfectly normal for a toddler), and I know it doesn’t require blood tests or Freud to figure out why I can’t seem to find my feet.
I know the solutions. More time with friends. More yoga. Less junk food. More time outside. More compassion and empathy for my son, more trying to see things from his point of view. And more compassion for myself.
I train for the new job this coming week, and next weekend is my last at the coffee shop. No more job limbo.
I’ve lit a fire in the wood stove nearly every day this past week. Scraped frost off my car last weekend before work. It’s dusky at four o’clock, dark before five. I’ve barely begun to consider Christmas gifts, and I know I’ll feel better if I just write down the plan and get it done. I just want the lights and the candles. I want to string popcorn with my son and watch him choose favorite ornaments. I want to hear him warbling with Christmas music. I need some magic to fight the dark.
The novel tapered off. I can’t seem to find the line between autobiography and fairy tale. I’ll get back to it when I can. I flew through 12,000 words in two weeks and then, last weekend, lost it.
Meanwhile the baby kicks and rolls and wiggles. Nearly a pound now. At the ultrasound, the little one wouldn’t lay still. It (she?) covered her face, squirmed, shifted. I can see my belly move in the bath. The closer we get to April, the more thrilled I am. I remember the baby times. Tough as they are, they are also simple. Snuggle, feed, change, feed, snuggle. Repeat, repeat.