I don’t really feel like writing, but I decided to make myself because I think it’s what I need.
Today is the first day in a while I didn’t wait until the last possible second to wake up. I’ve been really tired. I’d been letting myself just sleep, because sometimes your body is fighting off a sickness (which I’d just had) or processing something (for me at least sleep is an important step in the processing process). But at this point, sleeping too much has either become the reason I’m starting to feel wonky or starting to feel wonky is why I’m sleeping too much. And either way, you eventually have to set limits for yourself so you can stay healthy.
Life has been… a lot recently.
A lot of good and a lot of sad. A lot of joy and a lot of grief.
I started a job at the beginning of June as a lead teacher for two’s and young three’s at a preschool. I love it so much and I adore the little ones who have been entrusted to me every day. They’re stinkin’ cute. My phone is filled with pictures of them. And we have a lot in common. We have a lot of love to give and want to make people in charge happy but at the same time don’t like being told what to do, have short attention spans, and insist on doing things ourselves even if we’re very bad at it.
When I wrote a stream of consciousness on gut feelings and joy, this job was on my mind (or my gut, I should say). I couldn’t be happier I followed my gut. I feel at home and at peace and well suited for it. It’s challenging in new ways because as a lead I have to plan lessons, but as God told me when I was worrying about whether I should take the job for that reason, “The problem is you want everything to be easy.” But when something is right, then not easy stuff is worth it and not excruciating.
One of my best friends recently gave birth to a healthy and gigantic baby. I got to talk to her on the phone the other day and it was quite beautiful to hear her talk about how much popping him out meant to her and how much she loves his little soul.
Another of my best friends is pregnant and when I see her for our weekly walks she gives me updates about how big the little bug is and what sort of development is going on in there. It’s fascinating and it makes me elated to see her living a dream of hers.
It’s weird though because as much a I can empathize with the joy of my mommy friends, I’ve never identified with the type of motherhood that involves birthing my own child. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to adopt in an instinctual way. That form of motherhood makes me get emotional just thinking about it. Granted the moment I first decided this was when my friend’s older sister told me how babies were made at the ripe age of 7. I vowed my husband and I would adopt because, um, GROSS. But then one day, later in elementary school, I met a baby my mom’s friend was fostering straight from the hospital and who she would later adopt. I would babysit this stinker for years, we would become the best of buddies, and he would be the ring bearer in my wedding. My relationship with him has made it impossible to ignore my motherly instincts to adopt.
I remember one time in college, sitting in some economics class, back when I was basically suicidal, all of a sudden getting overcome with this feeling that I should hold on because someday, somewhere there was going to be a small human who needed a mom. And maybe that was something my brain created to save me, but I’m just relaying the story as it happened.
Those are just a few examples. Really, any time I’m around an adoptive family, my motherly instincts go insane.
I keep waiting for the desire to bear a child to show up, but it hasn’t. Motherhood screams at me, but that doesn’t. Not that I wouldn’t. There’s obviously two people in my marriage who have dreams for building a family and lots more conversations to have about it first. But that’s what’s on my mind, okay?
Enough about that.
I said life was really sad too.
My best friend since preschool’s dad was killed by a semi truck the same week my other friend’s baby was born.
I’m really sad to see him go. He was a mischievous man with a good heart. I’d known him almost my entire life.
I’m heart broken for the family, which included children much younger than my friend. The youngest is 9.
More than anything, it’s heart-shattering to see my friend hurting. To see her eyes look so big and sad and young even though we’re technically grown-ups. To want desperately to protect her from the pain and shock and grief and responsibility that’s been thrust open her because she’s always instinctively protected me from anything she thought she could like a mighty and fierce mama bear.
But I can’t protect her from this. All I can do is share it with her and listen and hug her a thousand times and help open sorry-for-your-loss cards she’s not ready to open yet. Which doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all I got.
So that’s what I would say if we were in a coffee shop catching up and I’d already let you do all the talking you needed to do and I was in a open mood and it wasn’t too loud in the coffee shop because some loud group of college kids decided to sit beside us.