We gained a furnace and a fetus. Oberon had bladder and jealousy issues (he apparently doesn't like my new hormones). We discovered a wasp nest the size of a volleyball (abandoned) and the neighborhood trick-or-treating status (decent). Work has been insane for both of us, to the point where it's a perpetual madhouse.
But we manage. The anxiety of having a room dedicated to the new stroller and baby clothes is balanced by the excitement of having finished the Tickle's first sweater (Spousal Unit named it; don't worry, that will change).
|Child's Placket-Neck Pullover by Joelle Hoverson|
The worry of whether I'm eating enough omega 3s is balanced by the joy of steak. (I promised myself I'd pay attention to my cravings in case they're saying something important. To quote Spousal Unit, the Tickle doesn't know I'm vegetarian and doesn't care.)
|Steak AND lobster!|
The stress of whether there will be enough money for three months of maternity leave is balanced by the quiet daydreams of imagining myself out in the garden come springtime, little one in its carrier as we enjoy the sun, however briefly.
The fear of slipping on our now-icy driveway is soothed by a big bag of salt and imagining this time a year from now, when the Tickle is more than just a light flutter, old enough for its attention to be captured by snow.
And exhaustion is eased by Spousal Unit's excitement. That's one of the best things about all of this so far: he's so clearly thrilled and devoted and full of love for this little person who's barely half a pound right now. He tells it bedtime stories, calls me his "pregnant Norwegian queen," and jumps to help with anything at all when I so much as sigh (and he helps with visible joy).
With that in our lives, we will be more than okay.