Gracie-loo took my 26 week photo for me. I almost photoshopped out the sock in the doorway, but I decided against it. Socks on the floor are pretty representative of our household at this stage of life. NOT because I am pregnant, but because that's just where everyone who's not me puts socks. Its hard to write that without coming off as a little mom-bitter haha. Oh well. Suffice it to say: the sock stays.
These last two weeks have been heavy and hard. Steve's worked 11 shifts in a row with only one day off. He's so tired he keeps falling asleep on the couch (which is not his jam) at random intervals. Its wearing on him to say the least. Tonight is his last shift in this run, and then things will settle down a bit as far as work goes.
And for me, this puts my focus squarely on trying to keep it together enough that the kids and Steve are fed and feeling loved. It sounds so easy, but it feels so hard. Every load of laundry, every half hour spent planning meals, every evening cooking and making sure my littles get scriptures, prayers, vitamins and medicines before bed: it all takes an incredible force of will. Because I am tired. And my heart is heavy. And I miss my sweetheart.
One night this week Juliette started bawling at the kitchen table and then projectile vomited right onto her dinner plate, still untouched and full of food. Gracie dove under the table like she was doing an earthquake drill. Charlie just wanted to talk about throw-up. I didn't panic or even feel anything, really. I just cleaned up my girl and put her to bed, cleaned up the table and ate with the big kids. I'm feeling again that hard and weighty part of motherhood: that I have to just do it, because there's no one else there to do it for me.
Last night when I lay in bed alone trying to fall asleep, I felt this big blockage in my heart: this massive black boulder of CAN'T. I can't do this. I can't do 14 more weeks, progressively harder as I get heavier and more tired, still feeling sort of sick even with gum in my mouth. I can't take care of my babies alone like this while Steve starts work at a new place (which is going to be hard for him because new stuff just feels SO BIG, you know?) in a city where I know virtually no one. How can I make new friends when I can barely take care of myself and my family? How will I find someone to look after my kids when I go into labor? How can I take on the impossibly terrifying challenge of delivering--which, since Charlie's scary birth, has stricken my vulnerable heart--in a hospital I've never seen, with doctors who have only known me for a few weeks? I can't do those things, when even the logistics of getting the kids to the pool/library/grocery store in my current state overwhelm my brain. Everything feels dark and huge and impossible.
I lay there in our room and tried to pray about all this. Rain was pouring down outside and the blinds kept lighting up with lightning flashes, again and again. I didn't know where to start. I asked Him to carry me. I don't know how He will. The big black boulder hasn't gone away. I know He will get me through, one day at a time.
But I wish it felt easier. I wish it felt more purposeful. I wish there was someone beside me all the time, whispering in my ear, "You're okay. You'll stay okay. This is all on purpose, and it is all good." Maybe there is, but so far, I can't hear it.
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