Wow. Yesterday was really a low point. Thank you so much for all of your understanding and sympathy – it says such good things about all of you that no one felt it necessary to tell me to quit complaining and to be grateful for my miracle.
Speaking of miracles:
It would be nice if I could write ONE THING EVER that didn’t contain the line “because of my childhood”, but alas, today is not that day.
Although heck, maybe it’s not because of my childhood, maybe it’s just a personality flaw, but for whatever reason, I tend to get really nervous about STUFF. Having the right stuff and having enough stuff. When we were waiting for Eli, I bought FOUR hooded baby towels and I was worried that wasn’t enough. I am well known for giving too many Christmas presents, making too much food for parties, taking on too many projects. I like to yell out “go big or go home” while I’m picking $37 dollars worth of blueberries. I’m the girl with 46 tank tops, even though I only ever wear the top four on the stack. I like to be prepared.
For this reason change can be really hard for me, and really expensive. What I like to do while I am trying not to spend money on all the things in the world is to worry about how I cannot afford all the things in the world even though I obviously need them. When Eli was on his way, it was not reassuring to me to be told that I did not need a Pottery Barn Kids rocking chair. I FELT as though I needed one, and all I wanted to know was how I was going to get one.
And then of course in the end we had all that we needed and more, and it turned out that things we did not have, we bought. I found a chair just like the one from Pottery Barn Kids from Walmart for $200 dollars, but even if I hadn’t, Eli didn’t really take to being rocked.
And yet, none of that stopped me from worrying about not having those things ahead of time.
This time I am less stressed, in general, because we already have the rocking chair and the car seat and the kimono snap shirts. We’ll find a way to buy a trundle bed and a double jogging stroller. There is lot less worry about BABY things, but I enjoy transferring these feelings of distress and so this time I worried about what in gods name would I wear.
For reasons so varied and mind numbing it would take a year to go through them, I weigh 50 more pounds this pregnancy than my last. This means that my sad collection of maternity clothes from last time mostly don’t fit me, and some of the things I borrowed last time are packed up because my friend is moving, or because someone else was wearing them and I haven’t gotten them back yet (and I am sure they are too small anyway). The minute I found out I was pregnant my non maternity jeans stopped fitting me and this means I have spent the last month wearing two pairs of sweatpants and a pair of paint stained pajama pants. I put hundreds of dollars worth of maternity stuff into my online cart at Old Navy, but right now, we just don’t have hundreds of dollars to spend on maternity sweatshirts. I mean, I could have squeezed one or two pairs of Old Navy maternity jeans into the budget, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. And then I would have had to try on maternity jeans.
Lots of worry about this. Especially lately, when I realized that all I had to wear in Australia were sweatpants and summer dresses. (And you might well wonder how we can’t afford PANTS when we can afford to go to Australia, and the reason is that our tickets were free, and we made the reservations before furloughs were announced, and now we’re going to Australia anyway even though we can’t really afford it.)
Anyway. A few days ago I was IM’ing Maggie about how I was already too fat pregnant to wear my non maternity jeans and how I had nothing to wear and she just casually asked “do you want to borrow my maternity stuff?” and I replied yes as fast as my swollen fingers could type YES and that is how this morning after my walk with Eli I returned home to find an enormous box FULL of clothes on my front porch, more maternity clothes than I could wear in eight pregnancies, like, a million dollars worth of maternity clothes, and Maggie refuses to tell me how much this GINORMOUS BOX cost to mail so I can send her a check, but all I can say is that it is things like this that make me think back to my post about belief and how god provides and feel truly amazed by life. And normally I don’t like to assign these things to God, because I think we can all agree that in this case it is MAGGIE who is the awesome, rather than the LORD, but all I know is that all of those jeans fit me and Maggie is like nine feet taller than I am and today I ate a cheese sandwich and I am not wearing sweats and I am not wearing pajama pants I AM WEARING JEANS and I feel like a human being again and whoo boy, from where I sit, it sure as heck fire feels like a miracle.
There aren’t really words for how it feels when someone lifts worry from your shoulders with nothing more than the goodness of their heart, simply by hearing what you need and making it happen, but I will try anyway:
Thank you Maggie. Thank you so very much.