Words words words

Words are wonderful things. Tonight I am not "sad" but woebegone, lugubrious and melancholy.

By definition, these words are synonyms, yet each word tastes slightly different on the tongue. Of all the flavors of sadness, tonight belongs to melancholy. I am not depressed. Nor am I despondent. I am melancholy. You can throw in a touch of somber and a hint of glum. Stir them together and you can taste the exact flavor of my mood.

I spent far too many hours reading the cheapest kinds of words while I was on bed rest recently. Cheap words are flat, lifeless ... like stale white bread, they have no flavor or substance. I like words that cost me a moment's hesitation--processing, feeling, understanding the subtle implications of why that particular word may have been chosen.

I love old, boring, slow-moving novels because they spend more time feeding my soul than stuffing the greedy tastebuds of a bored mind. I couldn't help myself when I was on bed rest--my brain took a 10-week vacation and refused to process anything but the simplest of words, so I read the simplest of books.

Yesterday morning, I sat staring through the light and dark contrast of my window blinds, wondering if I would ever rediscover my love of literature after feeding myself on the sugar and spice of young adventure novels. I thought sadly that perhaps there are times in life when we discover we have simply changed and lost a taste for what we previously valued. I thought perhaps I'd never truly enjoy E. M. Forster or Charles Dickens ever again.

Then, as I sat brainlessly scanning the saved programs on my DVR a few hours later, I settled on a recording of Hamlet that my husband had recorded. It was brilliant. Beautiful. Emotional. The flow of Shakespeare's words filled me up and awakened something that had been lying dormant.

I feel as if I'm coming home to myself after months of mental drudgery and cognitive coma. And even if I'm feeling mournful and melancholy right now, it feels good to be able to express it with just the right words.

The Momifier

Fell asleep after a couple hours of baby tears. Realized this little easy-to-soothe baby is actually an easy-for-MOM-to-soothe baby. She refuses to be soothed or fed by her father, which we figured out after I tried to go to bed early to catch up on some lost sleep. Around midnight, I realized in tears that this little girl will accept no substitute for the Momifier. (See, it's like Mom + Pacifier....)

I'm half flattered to finally have a child who is a real Mama's Girl and half terrified that I will never leave the house alone ever again.

Woke up this morning to the sound of Elijah throwing up in the bathroom. Second time this week. No symptoms of illness other than a first-thing-in-the-morning vomit. Huh.

So has it been a bad day? Baby getting more difficult to soothe and a barfing five-year-old?

Nope.

Someone near and dear to me underwent surgery today in a crucial step in the process of in-vitro fertilization. As I read about all the shots and medicine and doctor's visits and expenses, I cried for her. Parenting is so hard--even before you are a parent, for some people. Pregnancy is so hard--even before you are pregnant, for some people.

I want to get in the car and drive away from here to be with this person, just so I can buy her flowers and show up on her doorstep with a great big, tangible symbol of my love. But I can't, so I sit here and send text messages and positive vibes. And I hug my slightly-more-temperamental-than-before baby and feel grateful for all the goodness of life, especially the hope that the IVF will work and there will be another new baby to love sometime next year.

Baby Love

~ My new baby, Eden, arrived a couple weeks ago on a date that was void of mathematical poetry or numerical beauty. The day was, however, one of the most beautiful days of my life. ~

Watching my husband's car pull out of the driveway into the rain. My emotions flood me.

I'm not ready for this. Just me and four children. Four children. Four.

And now my husband is pulling away from the house, leaving just me and my surgery incision to care for the kids. I'm not sure which is flowing faster--the raindrops outside or my tears inside. The decision to become a parent is always a scary one, one which overwhelms me and turns my world upside down.

So I guess you could say the whole nurturing and mothering thing has never come to me automatically. It's an acquired skill. I adore my family with all my heart and I am--finally--really, truly happy to be a stay-at-home Mom with ambitions that swirl all around raising a happy family. Amazing that I've finally gotten there, left previous ambitions along the roadside and winked at the possibilities of other ambitions that are waiting down the road. Right here on the journey, I am happy.

I'll tell you a secret: happiness is not always independent of being really, really scared and overwhelmed. Happiness does not preclude being totally freaked out.

I have learned for myself that we are sometimes closest to God when we are in way over our heads. And we cannot grow spiritually bigger unless we are stretched. And I am happier when I am growing and becoming a better person. That doesn't mean the process is comfortable, though. It hurts.

So right now I'm home alone with my kids for the first time since baby arrived a couple weeks ago. It's finally hitting me that a year ago I was really THRIVING in my life. And now I'm back to SURVIVING. It's really painful to realize the full impact of what that means--the sacrifices, the family upheaval, the emotional ups and downs. It's pretty heavy.

It's pretty exciting, too. And miraculous. And it's taking all my willpower to not run into the bedroom to go stare at my new little baby, Eden. She's a delight. A heaven on earth. I cry every day as I stare down into her innocent face.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to her hungry cry and thought, "I cannot sit up. I cannot feed her. Too tired. Too hard. I can't do it." Of course, I did it. And then my husband swaddled her up to go back to her bed and I should have been grateful to get back to sleep, but I asked him to hand her to me. Just to say goodnight one more time. And I couldn't let go. We just stared at each other. I smiled at her inquisitive eyes and tiny, pursed lips. She stared at me and I told myself she's liking what she sees. I hope that's true.

So that's the story of my new life. My old life is buried behind months of bed rest and sleep deprivation and pregnancy blah. I haven't been Juliana for a long time, now. It hurts to miss the old me that had freedom to go shopping without kids or visit friends or do paper-crafting or, of course, blog more regularly. Now those things are the precious little bits that I have to fit into a world of baby chaos.

And somehow, as I type this, it's okay. It's okay to be overwhelmed by my crazy life and it's okay to feel inadequate--that's all part of the process.

Four kids. Wow. I'm taking a deep breath. Here we go.