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.
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.
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.
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.