School is starting, and I'm waking up to the fact that I'm still at home.
We are mostly settled into our new apartment. Pretty much all (??) of the little annoying administrative pieces of moving are taken care of. Vehicles are purchased and paid for and registered. We have our Texas drivers' licenses. I have an OB. Our health insurance situation, now that Jacob is self-employed, is finally sorting itself out. And my days are filled with little bits of laundry and loading and unloading the dishwasher and watching a toddler and feeling...weird about it all...and...not fulfilled.
Oh. I said it. That felt good.
I've never felt strongly about staying home with my kids nor have I felt strongly about working outside the home. Life just sorta happened. When we had Jake, I had part time work that was a perfect fit for our needs in LA. Now we're in Houston, and I'm not working. Instead, I'm waiting for the time to tick by before I move in with my folks in five weeks where I will spend three weeks playing Cribbage with my grandmother while I wait for labor to start.
This is just a season. And unlike many seasons, I can see the end and I don't have to do anything to help it approach. A baby will come and disrupt life irrevocably, and I will abandon these frustrations for completely different and more legitimate ones. I know all this, but I'm still having trouble living this season well.
I spend my free time trying to feel productive, but instead of embarking on the dozens of little projects that have waited patiently for this exact kind of moment in my life, I bumble around on the internet trying to find the answer to my funk but I end up just feeling lost, reading blogs, playing Candy Crush.
We're in a difficult place I suppose. I'm not living in a space that I'm inspired to make beautiful because we will only be here temporarily. Jacob's work is slowly picking up, but it will be a while before we feel the financial boon of that. I'm stressed about money; I'm worried that I'm letting whatever semblance of a career I had just sort of fizzle out; I'm not sure how happy I am just staying at home with tiny people, and I feel guilty about that.
I mean. I have like the awesomest kid in the world. I have moments when I look at how beautiful his face is and I can't hardly stand that I get to be around something so beautiful all the time. I get to be around someone who when he wants to get out of his high chair and will call out: "I'm stuck! I'm stuck!" and then after we get him out, will say: "I'm fixed!"
A kid who used to eat his food and then ask me where it went. Now he's figured it out of course and says proudly: "I ate em all. They're in my belly button!!"
But then the next minute I'm completely bored at his neediness, and I'm doing everything I can to get him to play alone with his motorcycle so I can go and waste more time on the internet. I used to live for the reprieve of nap time, but now nap time is a black hole of What The H am I Doing With My Life meets Place Holds on All the Library Books.
So there you have it. I bet you never imagined how exciting it would be when I finally posted more than twice in a week. Wonder no more.
(But please come back. I promise I won't always be like this. I really only did this so that next week when I'm out of this funk and finally succeeding in making the world's most beautiful loaf of sourdough, that I will photograph on a wooden cutting board next to some rosemary and glowing in the orange of evening, you can all marvel at my phoenix from the ashes trick.)
But until then. Until that blessed day.
I feel ya, little bud.