My favorite holiday is just one day away. Lovely Thanksgiving, with all its deliciousness and warmth and fun Turkey Trotting to start it off. When I was a working gal, outside the home, of course, I looked forward to this beautiful gift of a three-day-work-week. A bonus Friday off, to boot! A little sorbet of freedom to wash down the richness of the previous day's obligation-filled feast.
I don't, of course, love the nonsensical myth attached to Thanksgiving. Please, like the Pilgrims (pilgrims, thank you) could have afforded buckles, to start things off. Maybe somewhere in the genesis of the relationship between Native People and Europeans back in seventeenth-century/northeast current-day-USA was a benevolent, or even benignly indifferent sense of community. But I doubt Squanto and the Wampanoags really didn't bargain on the next few hundred years of genocide, disease and land snatching.
But I digress.
Our family life, as of late, has taken a sharp right turn and we've been stuck smack dab in the middle of Insanesville for almost three weeks. My whole self has been absolutely consumed with E, and to a lesser extent O, and their emotional and physical well being. Which is not to say I'm some sort of neglectful mother otherwise. But things have gotten INTENSE over here. Double ear infections for both boys, anti-biotics, no sleep, teething, newfound limit pushing, and did I mention no sleep?
I have been trying to surrender, or as C likes to say, let life lead in the dance. It is nearly working. I am walking a fine line between surrendering and feeling steamrolled.
There are certain things I am willing to overlook. Screaming for screaming's sake=mostly fine, as long as no one is napping. Kicking a little brother in the chest=not ever OK. It is difficult to sort these things out and maintain some sense of confidence, that somehow I am not warping these little minds and hearts.
The other afternoon, as I was driving the boys to have their pictures taken, a song came on that just knocked the wind out of me. It took me back to a time almost three years ago now. Then, E was ALMOST sleeping through the night, an older infant. I was starting marathon training in the frosty winter, looking forward to finishing and then trying to get pregnant again. My life, while at the time seemed overwhelming, was so simple and naive and easy. Every time I hear this song I can picture where exactly I was on my long run, slipping through the snowy streets, huffing and puffing and singing under my breath:
And so when, on the Thruway the other day, it came bouncing out of the speakers, I was taken back and I mourned my old self. I mourned my girl who hadn't yet been conceived but was so imagined and wished for. Part of the plan that unravelled before it could even be put into place.
When I was pregnant with Calla I remember wanting to run up until the Turkey Trot, which put me at about seven months pregnant. I smugly ran the 4.97 miles that Thanksgiving morning in 2009, thinking I was well on my way to a healthy delivery in a few months. Then January 2010 came and smacked me in the face, knocked me on my ass and screamed "HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCH?!"
I need things to settle down here, because the last thing I can think about is my sweet girl. I miss visiting her in my heart, having the luxury of a few minutes of peace to remember her dark curls, her sweet, silent face, her tiny fingers and toes, her perfect mouth.
Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, wherever you are.