Crying into my keyboard

I'm normally a pretty upbeat person. There have been few times in my life that I haven't bounced back fairly quickly from whatever's gotten me down. I tend to complain loudly and frequently and then get over it. But it's not going so well right now. And I haven't been blogging as much because seriously, how many times can you post about how bored/lonely/pregnant/tired/sick/frustrated/homesick/fat/sore you are? And Facebook statuses too, although I think I may be approaching the record there.

It's really hitting home to me what's coming up in a matter of weeks here. I am going to give birth to my third child in this color-less, impersonal apartment, with no private place to be as noisy as I want to be. No hidden yard to pace during contractions. No friends to run over to see him when he's just a few hours old. No grandmas around to take care of Sofi and Judah. No pregnant friends to compare notes with.

I know people from Geneva and St Paul's will come and visit and probably graciously bring us meals and help with whatever I have the nerve to ask for. But most of them will have a hard time remembering my kids' names and none of them remember when Judah was born, or Sofi. None of them will be able to join in and oooo and aaah over how much Jamie looks like Judah, or doesn't. None of them know what a crazy miracle this pregnancy and birth is to us. None of them know my story.

No one will be able to understand why my eyes will fill with tears on occasion when I look at my son, as I remember a daughter-- not my own, although I loved her dearly-- that I held so recently and then helped her mother to lay at the feet of Jesus so unexpectedly. And I will not be able to join the circle of women around that mother, supporting her, and show her my new son, the Peace that God has sent our family, and encourage her that yes, God is faithful, and life still holds beautiful things and precious new babies.

There's no one here to go shopping for tiny things with me. No one to come with me to my "today-is-my-due-date-and-there's-NOTHING-going-on" pedicure appointment. My sewing machine and my yarn is in storage and the truck is still in the shop, so I can't buy my rocker yet.

Sofi has made a few friends, but Judah has no one but me to play with. And it's getting harder and harder for me to get down on the floor and wrestle with him. He asks if he can go to Lillian's house, or Gabe's, or Noah's. He asks to go to the mall and get pretzels and ride the carousel. There probably is one here somewhere, but I don't know where and the last time I tried to find a store I'd not been to before, we spent an HOUR driving up and down Semoran Blvd trying to find it-- despite our GPS.

Last night my crockpot cut off halfway through the afternoon, surprising me with a pot full of raw potatoes to feed my hungry family. My vision of a healthy, on-time dinner followed by a quiet evening of reading to the kids and an early bedtime was replaced by a frantic dash out for take-out pizza, grouchy/hungry children and a 9 o'clock bedtime (for the kids).

This morning Judah got into my body lotion and smeared it ALL. OVER. his arms, face and pjs. And I got up too late to fix J's breakfast, so I had to send him out the door with an apple and a fruit smoothie. No coffee.

Tonight the school is giving a dinner to meet the new teachers. I will be the only largely pregnant woman there. I have nothing to wear and I can't even have my usual pregnancy half-glass of wine, because I don't know these people well enough to risk the censure. At five o'clock the heartburn will strike and I'll spend the rest of the evening trying to smother the fiery burps in a napkin and still carry on intelligent conversation, while hiding the fact that I can barely remember my own name, let alone literary and philosophical minutiae I haven't studied in ten years. If ever.

And now, having gotten that off my chest, I will return to blog silence until I get my attitude straightened out and can "have a cheerful heart" (as we tell our kids).