I wrote about the importance of community on Scottsdale Moms Blog today. So be a good friend and give it a read.
You guys. Both babies are napping and I just made myself a cup of coffee and I’m sitting down to write.
I don’t think you understand how unprecedented this is. For the past ten weeks, I’ve been running around like a chicken with its whatever-blah-blah or staring blankly at the floor because I’ve been either too exhausted to lift up mine eyes to the heavens or stubbornly ignoring my scolding self-concious that says “Get up! You don’t deserve to sit down! There are dishes to be done, crumbs to be swept, and these things can’t wait!”
They can wait, you big meanie.
I’ve been going through these highs and lows of ENERGY! and I NEED A NAP OR EVERYONE WILL SUFFER! like a clueless hormone monster. Brandon will get texts from me on Monday that say “I’ll be a waddling sack of lard forever!” and by Wednesday I’m back to “Skin and bones, I tell you! All I’ve eaten today is a piece of popcorn and I found it in the couch! I’ll never again have time to eat!” It’s a good thing that I married the most gracious man ever. He encourages me too much. But I need that, apparently.
What I also need is to slow down. I need to eat when I’m hungry and eat well instead of going going going until both kids are asleep, then eating three potato chips because I’m too faint to stand up and make myself a meal. I need to take that nap when it’s there for the taking and, after waking up, stay in bed and just stare at the little life lying next to me. I need time to write. I need time to think. I need to leave the stroller in the car and teach my almost-two-year-old to stay near me while we’re in the store. How can I expect him to behave well if I don’t do the same?
Someday, you may have a kid, and then you may have another kid. Three weeks after this other kid is born, you may wiggle your head and marvel at how three weeks can simultaneously feel like three days and three months. You may feel physically incredible, not unlike one of those miracle healings, considering you just squeezed a small person through your pelvic bones. So incredible, in fact, that you purposely try to find something negative because this is supposed to be a rough time and women are starting to look at you sideways when you tell them how great you feel. You walk past a mirror and there it is — negativity’s best friend, your body. You can’t help but smirk a little, the same smirk you’d find on the face of someone who had just spotted an old fling. It may be negative but it’s familiar. Your eyes narrow toward where your shirt pulls in places it didn’t used to, but when you say “pulls,” you’re really grasping here because the reality is that out of the thirty pounds you gained for this pregnancy, you maybe, maybe have ten left to lose and it’s only been three weeks.
“But it’s a floppy ten pounds,” you say to yourself.
In a search for something negative, you can always count on your trusty body. Just look down and it’s there. Look down at the way your thighs spread a little wider on the couch, at the way you can’t quite button your hot pants yet. Yes, look down and find something to bitch about. Forget about the fact that your son came on his own and your labor didn’t have to be induced. Forget about the four short hours of labor that made you feel like Warrior Woman and the five minutes of pushing with only one tear that healed in a week. Forget about how your newborn regularly sleeps for six straight hours at night, a feat that enables you to enthusiastically engage and love your toddler during the day. Forget about how your fridge has been full for weeks because of the generosity that overflows from your community. Forget about the two paid weeks your husband was able to take off of work so the four of you could really get used to being just that — the four of you.
Forget all the good stuff, then walk by that mirror again and focus only on yourself because that is much easier to do than to live your life in gratitude for the four hundred blessings you’ve just received.
You could snap out of it. You could lift up your eyes and look around at your beautiful life. You could recognize that, even if it’s always at the last minute, He always comes through for you. You don’t deserve any of this. None of it has been gained of your own accord. If it were up to you, you would revel in your own pathetic depravity because you know you don’t deserve any of this. But you’ve been adopted and with that adoption comes the most magnificent inheritance and abounding grace in the form of health and babies and food and love. Stop looking at your body because your body does not matter but this grace and these people are forever.
I know. I should be writing.
It seems like the only things I want to write about are personal. And I don’t get personal.
Not because I’m too stuck up to get real. Well, I might be a little stuck up. But the people I want to write about will read what I write. And I wouldn’t be writing the most flattering things. And then I’d have to deal with that. So there’s that.
I’m not out to get anyone. It’s not a question of who is right and who is wrong. It’s just feelings. Stupid feelings.
See? I’m already discounting my opinions. And being cryptic, and cryptic shit is annoying unless it’s super poetic but I’m not poetic these days, I’m a big pregnant lady planet.
It’s easy to put off thinking about real life while waiting for the impending whatever to happen. This baby, in my case, is the whatever. I make lists of things I still need to buy, wash all of Elliot’s old clothes, organize them by age and season. I buy only our immediate needs at the grocery store so I’ll have an excuse to go back in a few days just to have something to do. I talk to the people I like and only the people I like because I could get into an uncomfortable conversation or have to face unpleasant people and consequently disrupt my pleasant little life.
Maybe I’d like to get a little uncomfortable. Maybe I’d welcome those rough conversations.
Maybe after I’m done being a planet. And then I’ll write about it.