I feel like I am nine months pregnant today. I am moody and irritable. I am barely sleeping. I am nesting like crazy, and so, so anxious for our little one to get here.
Sometimes I feel like I’m handling this wait with grace. And other times . . . not so much. Like today, when I decided that I had to remodel the boys’ room before Keanan gets home. (Did I really just say “boys’ room”? As in plural? Wow. That feels weird.) I tried to patch some of the pain on the walls, only to use the wrong color and make a bigger project for myself. Then I went to Home Depot and bought a 6×6 area rug of astroturf to try to replicate this kitschy look I saw on apartment therapy, only to find an hour after placing it that Karis was crawling around the perimeter pulling “grass” pieces off the side and putting them into her mouth, rendering the carpet a certifiable choking hazard. It was a Bad News Bears kind of morning, that culminated with me calling my best friend in tears because I don’t have a maternity bra to wear (left them all in Haiti) and because I can’t fit the borrowed carseat in the car (left the carseat in Haiti) to get to the mall to get a new bra.
Don’t judge me on the bra. I took it off because I was hunkering down for a good night’s sleep out on the lawn of the embassy. . . little did I know I would be that way for the next 18 hours.
And really, we all know I wasn’t crying about those things. I was crying about the earthquake, and the stress, and missing my son, and how tired I am, and how much anxiety I’m feeling. But those were the things that seemed unsurmountable in the moment. The bra. I was crying about a bra.
And not 15 minutes later, a friend showed up to take Karis and India. And another came and got Jafta. And another brought me a bra. And another brought me a carseat.
And then I cried some more.
Then this evening, a whole crew showed up and got all Extreme Home Makeover in the boy’s room. We painted it bright green. With robots. IT IS AWESOME. And another friend put together some IKEA furniture, which might be the biggest sacrifice one friend can make for another.
And a little more crying. And some wine. And now . . . sleep.
I’m hoping tomorrow is gonna be a big day.