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I’m sure I’ll snap out of it one day.

June 14, 2010

I’m not even sure I can put together a coherent post these days, anything more than daily progress reports and I’m just out of my depth. I cannot reach the words to describe what I’m feeling.

Every room I go into in this house has something to remind me of what we’ve lost. There’s the rocker in V’s room, the jolly jumper and exersaucer in the office. The breast pump and pram bedding in my craft room, bottles in the kitchen. Boxes and boxes of toys and clothes and diapers and maternity clothes ‘for the next one.’  None of which we’ll ever use again. All stuff that I know I have to get rid of, but I can’t yet bring myself to even start listing it. Because really, once that’s done it’s final. We don’t have the ability to conceive again and we wouldn’t have the ‘stuff’ that comes with a baby. On top of the physical items are is the future. B and I need to sit down and talk, we need to have a follow up with the RE. We had been looking at bigger/different houses anyways, but now there’s a hint of ‘why bother’ attached to my MLS browsing.

I was dreading work today and I didn’t even know how hellish it was going to be. I divide my time between two offices in town. Today I was at my old office and had the excruciating experience of listening to my co-worker back from her first day of mat leave. All day. And when I thought it would taper off after lunch, she went home to visit him at lunch and got all baby-coo’y again after lunch. I don’t begrudge her her child, I’ll celebrate it – just not yet.

Tonight V and I went to Home Depot, looking for some gardening supplies.  V calls it the paint store, which of course leads me down the path of the thoughts I’d already had of re-decorating my craft room, and how we’d set up the new baby’s room. I *know* I wasn’t pregnant long, but holy hell hope’s a bitch, and a real bitch when she’s gone.

Speaking of V, she’s trying my patience as only a 2.5 year old can. I  see her for an hour and a half in the morning and three hours at night, and I keep telling myself that I have to cherish these moments, but I don’t think I can take another evening of her fingerpainting in yogurt instead of eating her snack. It’s not like we don’t play together, so why everything has to be so drama filled I don’t know. On the weekend she decided that she needed to squish her grapes rather than eat them. Once snack was done I asked her to go to the bathroom to wash her hands, and reminded her not to touch the walls. So she proceeded to touch the floor, and the doors and the trim and everything that wasn’t a wall. Smart? Ya. Smartass? Doubly.  Getting dressed and putting on shoes could take hours if I let it, but after the 3rd ‘me do’ with no progress, mama steps in. This generally results in tear and snot trails down at least one of our faces. And most frustrating of all? Get her teacher to stand beside her, and she’s dressed or unshoed in no time. She can do it, she just refuses to for me. Good times. Oh, and her new best trick? If I ask her to put away this stuff (say the basket of hats and mitts she spread around the hallway she’ll stand there saying, ‘what stuff?’ and once I point it out, she’ll have to verify that each item was included in my blanket ‘stuff’ statement. Just stab me in the eye with a fork.

Hubby has a job interview tomorrow, and if he gets it he’ll be back on a regular day shift asap rather than at the end of August (which is when his current acting assignment runs out). Dude really, really needs to ace that interview!

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