I shall now begin what is most likely a futile attempt to write without crying. Since coming back to Guatemala from Christmas break, I’ve been a bit of a basket case… though I think I’ve done alright keeping that to myself. For starters- today I turn thirty-three. That feels old. I am not insulting people who are older than 33, but I’ve never been 33 before; in fact, it’s the oldest I’ve ever been. And it feels old. No, let me take that back. It doesn’t feel old… I don’t feel any different from yesterday. But it sounds old. It’s halfway between 30 and thirty-five. I’m heading towards my mid-30’s.
Then, the reality of this whole ‘having a baby’ thing is setting in. Outside of the excitement and joy, there are the normal stresses- financial worries and ‘oh crap, what have we done’ worries and when am I going to get a good night’s sleep again worries. But I’m also missing home. No one else around me is pregnant and as much as I don’t want to talk about it all the time, I would like to talk about it sometimes and that’s hard to do with people who aren’t in the same place as you. And when I talk to the mother-friends I do have, I feel like that annoying friend who only wants to talk about my pregnancy or baby. They’re probably thinking just like I was, “I can have other conversations, you know?” So I try not to bother them too much.
And finally, there is the impending anniversary of my mother’s death. This has been hitting me a lot harder than I expected. I think I’ve handled it well this year but between having my first birthday without my mom and having my own kid in a few months, it’s sort of getting to me. I also realized that I never really went through the Stages. I think I jumped straight into ‘acceptance’ and completely skipped over the other four stages of grief. I knew she was happy and healthy again, smiling down on us and finally free from her pain and sadness. That made it easy to accept. But lately I feel angry- why isn’t she here to walk me through this next stage of my life? Why isn’t she here to meet her granddaughter? What am I even going to tell my daughter about her grandmother? And what do I call her (my mom, not my daughter)? I know she would’ve wanted some cutsey-non-grandmotherly type nickname. But she never told me what it was.
And so that’s the start to my 2011. I have made it through this writing with only a welling-up of tears, but I did stop to check facebook a few times, just to ward off a full-on cry. Dave made me breakfast this morning and bought me these adorable little doggy statues for my birthday. We’re also going to dinner and a movie tonight, and sliding in some baby shopping. I am keeping myself busy this weekend because Monday is going to be hard. But I will focus on the happiness that is growing (and kicking like a soccer player) inside of me and I’ll be fine.
Oops, gotta go check facebook now.