All week I’ve felt like I should have something profound to say about the past year but it’s escaped me. Mostly, I’ve just felt tired.
Tired and overwhelmed – by the holidays (whoops, forgot to send out cards), major work changes to contend with, a baby who still doesn’t sleep, a pigsty of an apartment, an overwhelming to-do list (1. Get passports for the kids before Jan. 11 trip…), writing that feels totally uninspired lately, and a pair of hips that oddly seem to get bigger and not smaller postpartum.
I managed to get the girls off to grandma’s so that Nate and I could have some semblance of a New Year’s Eve, just in time for him to learn that he has to work tomorrow at 6:30. That’s AM.
As I was sitting around feeling a little too mopey and self-pitying, I got the most wonderful, delightful email. A friend with some potential pregnancy woes got some most excellent, excellent, positive, best case scenario kind of news.
I sobbed in one big flood of catharsis. I cried for her. For me.
At almost exactly this time last year, I had similar kind of news arrive about a baby that I didn’t know would survive to see the light of day.
And she’s here.
She’s sweet. And she smiles. She eats like a mofo. She’s strong as a horse – a horse who can benchpress another horse.
Edited to add: I can now be less vague – feel free to congratulate Catherine on her great-so-far pregnancy news.