Spring is here

My house is super quiet. My husband is taking a nap and the toddler who reluctantly went into his room, somehow found his way under his covers and is fast asleep. I tried to nap as well, but I am a bad napper. Always have been. My mind can’t seem to calm down enough to do so. Too many to do lists going on in that head of mine and I need to think about that stuff. After 20 minutes of trying to sleep, I got up and took the most awesome shower ever. It’s a great feeling when you know you can have the bathroom all to yourself for 30 minutes. No barging in, no asking me when I will be out, no peeking in the shower to see what I’m up to…just solitude. And I love taking a shower. Actually my idea of heaven is a sunny bathtub. If I could just find a house that had a big beautiful bathtub right next to a sunny window, I would be one happy gal.

We are in the process of selling our house. It’s the beginning stages, but we are figuring out what we want to clean up, fix up or forget about to get top dollar. There isn’t much to do, small cosmetic touches at this point, to get the house ready. It’s just getting it ready that is the hard part. I am having some conflicting feelings about selling. This is our first home. We have lived here for 13 years. We put so much love, sweat and tears into this house, especially in the garden (my favorite) that I go back and forth about selling. I want someone to love the garden as much as I do, I want someone to take good care of my peonies and roses and all of the little cottage touches we so lovingly added over the 13  years. I told my husband that if/when we sell, I can’t go back and ever look at the house. I will most likely cry. I don’t want them changing the paint color (charcoal gray) or the funky door (persimmon)—there is a whole other door story here.

OK, fine SIDE NOTE: 4 years ago I was feeling VERY depressed about never having a child and my husband was trying his best to uplift me every chance he got. We decided to give our front door a new look, so I picked out Orange, no Persimmon, at least that is what the color swatch said, and hoped that painting the door and adding some new flowers outside would make me feel a little bit of brightness. He took the door off the hinges, got me all settled on some saw horses and brought me every tool I would need to strip the door of it’s ugly burgundy color. I get a little methodical and nit-picky when I do projects, so stripping this door was a b*tch to say the least. The prior owners (since 1962) had painted this door every color under the sun. Stripping, sanding and scraping was pissing me off and I let everyone in the neighborhood know about it. After finishing one side of the door, I decided that the other side looked sort of cool how it was worn away and sanded and wanted to keep it as is. It was the interior portion anyway, so in my mind it was a conversation piece and I am not into typical or traditional–so it stayed. The exterior was scraped and painted and looks awesome. During this whole time my poor husband left me alone. I was not fun to be around. Pissy was my middle name and I didn’t care who got to see it. My poor neighbor/friend came over to see if I was OK (I think my husband might have asked for a pity check in with me) and I burst into tears. I was angry, livid really—hot, my cheeks were on fire and more angry. No explanation for all of this anger, but she understood since she had issues with her girl parts and we had spent hours commiserating over feeling like less than women since we couldn’t bear children. We chatted for hours that day, she from the safety of the opposite side of the fence, and me with paint brush in hand. I cried for hours, she listened. The sun was shining and it was absolutely beautiful outside. I remember questioning myself–why in the world could I be so pissed off when it is so absolutely beautiful outside and my life is so good. Oh right, I can’t give my amazing husband a baby.

Well…the pissiness never went away. In fact, extreme exhaustion was added to it and nausea. The notion of being pregnant never entered my mind. I had taken 400 pregnancy tests in the past 10 years and not once had they been positive so why would it be now? I took one. It was positive. I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop shaking. I ran to the phone and called my husband and he told me to take a picture and email him right then and there. I did. Then he told me to take another picture, just to be sure. And on top of that–he wanted me to take another test to make sure. I did. It was positive.

That was the weirdest day of my life. For being so angry all the time, I finally felt some happiness. Such a bizarre feeling. Your body being controlled by someone else, all of your emotions, your ability to keep your eyes open, your appetite…such a weird feeling. I would love to say I will know that feeling again some day, but I am no spring chicken and our perfect boy is a miracle. I would love a little girl for him to watch over, but time is not on my side and my body is a difficult one to get pregnant. The only thing I can do is move on, make the right decisions for my body, be healthy and love myself and family as much as possible. I am trying to do that daily.

So I suppose right now while it’s quiet I am doing the best thing I can with myself, spending time alone and sharing some of the most important parts of myself with you-whomever you may be.

 

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