Some Happy Things.

Today we practiced speaking with love and forgiveness, again.

I wrote for a little while after you went to bed.  I found a comforting podcast by some of my favorite bloggers and essayists.  I drank tea in bed while I enjoyed both.

We shared breakfast from the same plate, even tried to sit in the same chair but my belly is too big to let us be comfortable that way.  We played a silly nuzzle-wuzzle game, we colored together, we hugged after butting heads for the twentieth time, we snuggled while reading books, and we napped together on the couch for longer than I thought we could because (again) my belly is so big.

You talked to baby brother without prompting.  You helped me unpack baby clothes, fill the laundry, and empty the dishwasher.  You let me comfort you when bonked and again when you felt upset because I denied you something.  You wanted your own space sometimes and others you wanted to be so close and every day I want to drink you in while I still have only you.  Your baby brother feels strong inside me, too.  I cannot believe how big my heart will become to love you both when I already feel it bursting.

I got to sing you to sleep at naptime, a song that you used to request all the time.  I counted a small “win” every time I drew a smile out of you, especially when you asked me to come back and play more of the air puffing game on the floor.  My body is so worn out but your big eyes and wide smile and glee at a little cause-and-effect made me forget.

By the end of today, my heart and brain felt sapped, too, but you let me kiss you again before you fell asleep and let me comfort you after you got mad at me for leaving the room too soon.  Those little treasures will buoy me toward tomorrow, when I will be back to play some more.  How I love you, little bug.  Rest well.

Some Happy Things.

Some Hard Things.

Separation from family and old friends, in distance, time, and season of life.  Grieving new friends I never got to make and friendships that have not grown (in spite of the deep connections we intuit) because we moved or the timing wasn’t right.  Making myself vulnerable to the friendships I am building, because honesty is the only way forward.  Slowly building a new tribe and feeling so hungry for honesty and depth and reciprocity and hoping I can spot it when it comes.

The strain on my marriage when my husband is working in the field.  A recent and temporary development for which I admit I am not well-suited.  We are tough and we are honest about our goals for our family and we are better at communication now that we are older, but long-distance relationshipping is taxing.

Illnesses and disease affecting family and friends.  Accepting that dying is happening, that death has happened.  Watching friends suffer their own losses, recent and past, mutual friends dying, and feeling so under-equipped to deal with any of it.

Memories of extended family infighting, where one aunt broke up her own family in a terrific mess, where another aunt broke up with our family in another terrific mess, where another aunt was threatened with murder/suicide by her then-husband.

Uncovering in therapy, dreams, and writing that overhearing someone important tell my husband I should consider terminating my first pregnancy because our son’s prognosis was terminal was a large contributor to my postpartum difficulties after my second son was born.  And it remains for me an issue of broken trust with much work ahead.

Remembering the death of our first son as my next delivery approaches.  Understanding I have not fully processed the trauma of that birth and my anger.  Struggling to hang on to my faith, finally giving myself permission to release it and start over.

Trying new things, transitioning with my son as he grows, solo parenting while I’m 31 days from delivering another baby boy (please stay in there until Daddy gets home), feeling done being pregnant (but also please move out) but not sure I’m done growing our family, wishing I were stronger and dreading the recovery from another Caesarean birth, trying to ignore my curiosity about an alternate past, wondering if I really don’t have any regrets about never birthing by canal, hoping for nursing to go well again, and reminding myself to talk one-on-one with this baby boy before he comes, like I did the others.


Some Hard Things.