East Tennessee and I are in autumn.  We’re in that part of the cycle where things are dying.  I know this death happens so that life can, but it still hurts.

Yesterday the sky was light gray, a temperate wind rustled the dead plant matter and it rained every so often.  I woke up and noticed that all the trees through the window were bare and that the bark was the same color as the power line running through them.  I thought that I’d put away the baby’s new things from our baby showers so  I gathered up a basket of his charming gifts and headed to his room.

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Of all the things I might be qualified for in this new role of parenthood, I thought putting together a sweet little nursery would be it.  I thought I’d be good at it.  But, in 8 months of pregnancy, all the nursery prep I’ve managed to do is sweep the floor.

I can’t muster the optimism and creativity to domestically cope with accommodating an infant.  I exhausted my DIY-no-budget-decorating and organizational vigor a little over a year ago and this latest task is proving to be the first frost that kills the last of summer’s energy.

I spent hours in the nursery yesterday and there is no noticeable progress.

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And now it is today.  It has stopped raining and the sky is still dark.  I can hear the drips pinging on metal.  I don’t know what today is for.  I know the things that I should do today but I don’t feel capable.  What I want to do is spend the day in bed, watching Netflix.  I’d also like it if Levon would serve me food.  Perhaps I would take a walk, but I’m not sure.

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I’d like to hibernate under winter’s blanket of snow.  I yearn for a quiet pause and a retreat from active living.  Maybe, if I can get out of the way of myself, I’m being prepared to do this very thing with our darling little one who will be here very soon.