Getting it in.

I'm feeling a bit emotional today. It suddenly hit me that this is the last time it's just Elias and I during the day. Soon-- in about a month-- there will be a baby taking up most of my time. Jeremy is taking 3 weeks off of work to stay home with us, which is wonderful. So there is a lot of family time coming up. And that's good. After that, there will be brother-time. And that will be so good too.

But this is the last moments of our time together, just E and me. Making and eating lunch. Taking a walk. Watching Elmo and reading books. I'm trying to soak it up the best I can.

Why can't we fully appreciate the time when we do have it? Why is the threat of its departure the only thing that makes it dear? It feels like such a waste, but then again, I don't know if its possible or even good to fully live every moment, knowing that it's passing. Seems to me like it would be the most constant heartache.

Lots of cuddles today. Lots of taking time away from the I-need-to-do's and focusing on my still-my-one-and-only-baby boy.

The second saturday

Last week we went to the St. Louis zoo to celebrate our first Saturday being done with the house. It was a disaster. The kind of disaster that's funny later, but, oh my goodness, in the midst of it, it was not funny. It was ridiculous.

But this post is not about last weekend. I can write about that later. This post is about this weekend, which started last night, I guess, when Jeremy got home for work, we, as a family, all spent time together. Relaxed together. Ran errands together. It was awesome.

We went and looked at baby stuff, household stuff, toy stuff. This morning we went to the Farmer's Market, where everything is blooming and fresh and bustling. We had breakfast at the local Co-op together and people- and dog-watched. Jeremy and E went to the park to get tired and sweaty while I went to the grocery store by myself (a treat in itself). We even went to a yard sale and got a very used but dirt-cheap double stroller. (You know, because another little boy is coming very soon!)

And it isn't even noon yet. And yes, it's hot outside, and there is still time for arguments and melt-downs and plenty of things to do. But it's our weekend, not the house's. We all get to be home, together. And someday this will totally be taken for granted. But not today.

"finished"

The house has been deemed "finished" by the bank. Our appraisal is back from the appraiser (good news there-- the value went up), and we're getting ready to sign yet another set of papers.

It's hard to believe that it's really over (and why would it not be? This has been our life for three years!), and Jeremy and I aren't really celebrating big. It's been too hard to celebrate, almost. Imagine you're a kid on the playground, and a big bully comes up to you and punches you in the face and you fall to the ground. A teacher sees it and hauls him or her to the principal's office. I mean, you're happy that the bully got caught. You've been redeemed, sort of. But, dang, your face is visibly bruised. Your butt is bruised where you fell. Everyone saw your embarrassment. So you aren't really happy. Just sort of relieved it's over. And hoping that you and everyone else can just move on.

I know that this lack of joy won't last forever. We're planning a big party for everyone who was involved in working on the house for later in the summer. It's an amazing amount of people. There will be lots of food, and showing off the finished product, and it will be lots of fun :-) But right now we're working on healing up from the bruises, and the embarrassment. The lack of rest. The consistent, constant presence of anxiety. Social lives that were permanently put on hold. The lack of purpose for our lives without having to put work on the house first.

But yes, it's really over. The recuperation begins. And for that, I am so grateful.

sleepless

I titled this post "sleepless" and then realized that roughly a month from now I will remember what sleepless really is. Sleepless right now means tossing and turning from pregnancy discomfort, waking before it's time, and having to use the bathroom at least every two hours. Sleepless when the baby comes means, "Oh my gosh I'm going to die from lack of sleep." It means that I won't be able to worry about my own comfort in my lack of sleep, but that I'll have to take care of an infant--not to mention a very present toddler!-- a mewling, wriggling, uncomfortable, incredibly awake infant, in my lack of sleep. It will mean nursing, and eating, and drinking, and reading with no adherence to normal, functioning, blessedly human hours.

That is what sleepless really means. Lord, have mercy.

running

Dinner is prepped: kale chopped, chicken shredded, eggs separated, garlic and onions diced.

Laundry is mid-cycle.

Bills are paid.

House is... neat enough.

And now? To breathe. To veg?

No: Elias is awake, just now. He wakes up now saying "nooo" in a whiny voice. I understand. I say the same thing to myself every afternoon when he wakes up, and all I want to do is "noooo"thing.

My desk in front of me is full of things on the to-do list. A bag filled with a homemade paper mobile for Elias' room that needs to be strung up. An empty ceramic pot, to be filled with basil for my kitchen counter, someday. I've had it for a year. A book on gardening, with info that needs to be siphoned off by me for Jeremy to build some raised garden beds. Curtain rings, for the kitchen curtains. A knit hat that's come unraveled and needs some help from my own mom. And photo albums and E's first year book that need filling out. He's 18 months.

I would need to have the force of a tornado to get through everything on my list. Is this why women are so tired? Not only do they have the days and weeks behind them, to which their energy has already been directed, our will to survive shot like a garden hose at our days, but we have the should-have-dones. The wish-was-finisheds. The oh-gosh-I-forgot-about-thats. It gnaws at me... I imagine it gnaws at most of us.

I don't have an answer for it. I think it will be something I deal with until the day I die. I never understood the idea before now that there wasn't enough time in the day. There certainly is enough time in the day for a teenager, but for an adult? No: whether it's our own fault or someone else's, we just can't get finished.

Some days I have peace with this idea. But not today.

Thankful

Today this verse is reverberating in my head, a reminder brought to my attention over and over:

"He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young." Isaiah 40:11

Gently lead those that are with young.

Thank you, my God, for your kindness and compassion toward me. You know that I desperately need it, and I'm so grateful for it.

Bulging gums

That's what Elias has: bulging gums. His two side teeth (bottom eye teeth) are coming through.

I was visiting the other night with a new mom of a two week old. I told her that it gets better. It's true; it does. And then it gets bad again. I didn't tell her that. No one told us. Eighteen months has been an awakening to me.

I know it's not Elias' fault. This is part of being a toddler, of having so many emotions and fears and excitements that one just can't get it together.

A friend of mine says that she has been teaching her toddler to take deep breaths to calm down, and that many times it works. So I tried that today. Deep in the middle of an all out FIT, I asked Elias to take some deep breaths to calm down. He looked at me like I was insane, tried to mimic me taking a breath, and then went back to screaming.

It's strange being cooped up with this crazy person. Jeremy and I are pretty cool-headed. A service worker once told us that we had the quietest home he'd ever been to, and others, upon visiting our church's small group, said that they had never been to such a quiet group. We like quiet. We like peace. We do not understand temper tantrums, of the adult or child sort. Like, literally. I don't understand them, and so I (actually, both Jeremy and I) are at sort of a loss at how to deal with them. Sometimes we discipline him, sometimes we distract him, sometimes we try to calm him down, sometimes we ignore him.

I bet that if you were to come to my house at any point during the day, I'd consistently have this sort of surprised, shell-shocked look on my face.

Any ideas?

(I made it to three p.m. today before making my chai. Of course, three p.m. also found me with my hand deep inside a chip bag. You win some, you lose some.)