For someone who has lived a fairly charmed life, I find it hard to feel justified in sadness or depression. I have been blessed with much happiness and support, and been touched by little tragedy and sadness. Maybe that's why I'm finding this time in my life so hard right now.
For one who is always up and at 'em, being confined to my house is numbing. I haven't been able to leave the house in weeks. I have good days when I can make an appearance downstairs for an hour or two. Then I have days where it takes everything in me just to get to the bathroom. Some days I can manage to read a bit, others I can even get onto the laptop. Then there are hours that go by when all I can do is lie in bed staring at the wall. My garden is overgrown and I will not get to plant this year. The kids play table that is nearly finished is standing against the wall in the kitchen - I was just about the put the last coat of varnish and nail on the legs when I fell ill. A baby blanket is half sewn and stuffed into my sewing drawer. Nothing I've started will get finished, and nothing I planned will get started.
The illness is taking its toll. Just feeling sick drains energy, and so feeling sick day in and day out zaps even more from me. It's painful just to be sick.
But worst of all is having to just listen to my boys downstairs. These eight weeks I will miss out on them completely. I will miss out playing with them. I will miss out on Caleb's first words. I will miss out on Colin's preschool graduation and tour of his new school for next year. I will miss out on the mornings of running in the backyard and adventure hikes around the city. I will miss out on just getting down on the floor and playing trains and cars and cooking. I will miss out on singing and dancing. It's all going on just within earshot downstairs, and I don't get to be a part of it. It's so heartbreaking.
I know it's only eight weeks - two months. In the grand scheme of life, that's not very long. But eight weeks can mean so much change in kids so young - especially for a toddler. With Caleb's pregnancy I missed out on Colin learning to walk. When I fell sick he was crawling. by the time I was better he was running through the park and going for long walks with his grandma. Now I'm missing Caleb as he learns to talk. He's got a few sounds that we can make out as words, but over the next few weeks I know it will all explode into real communication.
Now I feel sad about being sad. I feel like I want to just kick myself to get going, tell myself to buck up, cheer up, and just get through it. I know it won't last forever, and in the end I will be blessed with a beautiful little baby. But really - why can't I just have one of those pregnancies where I've never felt better, have energy to spare, and burn through the nine months as happy and cheerful as ever? Come on.