Wednesday, July 9, 2008

I'm on my second cup of coffee and I still can't face the day...

It's 4:15 am. I woke up just past 3 with Chloe dog scratching, scratching, scratching. Sigh. I planned on getting up at 4 so I got up then. I hate the dilemma of looking at the alarm, seeing it's a little after 3, needing to pee, and knowing if I come back to bed I'll probably toss and turn, then fall back to sleep just before the alarm goes off. Dear Hubby is on vacation for the rest of the week. HE gets to sleep in 'til 5. He's got commitments all week. So it'll be juggling the babies' naps around for me, hoping to get them asleep before people are coming and/or going. My daughter works strange shifts and is the world's worst night owl. She's either getting up at 9:30 or 11:30. Dylan's such a light sleeper the sound of the shower can wake him up so I try to time his nap to after-Kaitlin's-shower-time. Doesn't always work, tho. Oh well. My days fly by so fast taking care of two now that what does it matter?

I have nothing profound to say. Nothing even vaguely interesting. Nothing at all, actually. It's going to be a hot day and the late-afternoon/evening sun pours in thru the dining room windows about the time I usually write after everything's done at the end of the day. On the days I have the energy to write, that is. I notice the sun's setting earlier already. Isn't it weird how when you're a kid the summer twilights seem to last forever and ever, for what seems like such a long, long time? And then you get older, the seasons pass with alarming swiftness? It'll be the shortest day of daylight before I know it. At the latitude I live at, that's barely 8 hours of daylight.

I'm not depressed. Am I depressed? No. I don't think so. I don't 'get' depressed. But even with my low-dose estrogen patch I have moments of strange melancholy descend on me for short periods of time. I think I'm in grieving. Not for knowing I can no longer have babies. I haven't been what my doctor would consider 'fertile' for a long time. But I think I'm just missing my body parts that were taken from me. I do. As silly as that sounds. Maybe it's the left overs of anesthesia. I don't know. But I'm in one of those short-term funks at the moment. That's ok, tho. Around 6 am when the little guys arrive, some silly antic will happen that will get me to laughing. Or cuddling in the rocking chair with one babe in arms, the other one snuggled up close to my side, will ease this odd void in my heart. And I will gaze out the windows at the incredibly blue sky, watch the east wind whip thru the trees, and I will again be at peace. I'm easy to please.

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