Thursday, January 2, 2014
"And no new babies," he said.
"And no moves," I said.
"And no job changes," he said.
Our glasses clinked and we agreed that this year our resolution was to settle in and breathe. In the four and a half years we've been married we've lived in three different places, worked in five different jobs, attended four different schools, received two degrees, had three pregnancies, and are raising two babies. More than anything, we would like some time to rest.
How often does that actually happen though?
After downing our glasses of cheep sparkling grape juice, I began to feel sad. No, not sad. Dread. I felt dread blow in like a bad storm and settle right over me, pelting my head with heavy drops of mockery and drudge. You see, this new year as we celebrated the lack of events, I realized we were celebrating a year of monotony. I thought back to Saturday when my baby scared me to death by violently throwing up for a few hours. I recalled the excessive tears my daughter produces during a tantrum. I thought of the poop-- soooo much poop-- that I smell and clean up everyday. I felt a pit in my stomach when I remembered how alone I feel up here in Salt Lake City, and how I count down the minutes until Paul comes home so I can talk his ear off recounting the story I told Andrea before her nap and how many times Sam drooled on my toe (five, in case your wondering). I thought about how hard I am on myself and how I hate being criticized but can't stop picking at my own faults. Suddenly, 365 days of that sounded rather bleak, and I wanted nothing more than to stuff my head in the couch like an ostrich.
My sweet husband, who is also a superhero, could tell I was not feeling well. He hugged me tight and asked me what was the matter. "I'm just having a hard day," I whispered.
"I noticed," he replied. He kept his arms around me and gently rubbed my back as I absorbed his scent. Breathe, I thought. This is a year to breathe.