Saturday, February 23, 2013

the parenting party

My man is my partner in crime in the parenting party. The Wayne to my Garth. The Ernie to my Bert. Our parenting journey (Journey! swig) has turned us into something on the other side of the young sweethearts we were on the day we married.

We look at each other differently, now.

We exchanged glances of sheer determination and togetherness when it became evident that falling pregnant was to be more of a challenge than we imagined.

Two years later, we locked humbled, hurt eyes as we shared the pain of a miscarriage, and giggled at the leaky pen spoiling the doctor's fancy white leather chair.

I drew strength from his gaze when birthing our babies, all three of them. I saw a change in the way he saw me, and I knew the love was cutting deeper now.

We shared a slightly bemused look as we brought each child home, crossed the threshold and it became real, each time. A bit like the look I imagine you would share with someone about to parachute out of a plane with you.

Lately I've found my darling and I exchanging a glance over the dinner table, or over the kids' heads while we are out and about. It's the look of a well-practiced military team, knowing each others' signals and next move.

I figure this stage of parenting young children is a bit like the best party you ever went to. When you wake up, there will be large chunks that you can't remember with the clarity you would like. There will be things you did that you do recall, but cringe with the memory. There will be stuff you remember (such as dancing on the bar) with fondness for your own awesomeness, but that others don't recall with the same humour. There will be things that seemed completely insignificant to you, but that will be key in the minds of the others at the party. And inevitably, there will be a hangover of epic proportions.

I like parties, but they are best when you get to share them with someone who knows all your insecurities and quirks. Someone to share in-jokes and people-watch with. Someone to hold your hair back and tuck you into bed at your drunkest most vulnerable. Someone who, when all the fun is over, the guests have left and the clean-up is done, will still share a joke and a knowing look.

And hopefully hold hands on the lounge to watch silly romantic comedy films.

So many more steps to come on this journey. I feel humble, loved and unable to express the depth of my gratitude for a true partnership. Cheers, my darling.

Friday, February 15, 2013

blatant self promotion with added giveaway

I have a little business. I sew vintage loveliness, specifically bonnets, using real vintage fabrics. I'd love for you to check out a giveaway I am hosting at Tuppenny Lane.
See you there!

Monday, February 4, 2013

darkness and light

Darkness doesn't exist. It's the absence of light.

So when I feel this grey envelop me, I feel unworthy of it. Like it is making me not exist, too. And that's true, a little bit. At this point, I'm here, living just on the edge of my life. I feel better than I did, and the taste has spurred me on to even greater improvements. Thanks for the virtual rub on the back I felt from comments on my last post about this.  I have in fact received a diagnosis of garden variety depression. I'm treating this the same as I would a middle ear infection. Because depression is normal like that. Normal people get it. To recover, I have to modify things around my symptoms a little, follow a course of medication, and put some measures in place to ensure my whole health. Just like any other illness, right?

I am not deluded enough to be on the search for 'happiness' (whatever that is). I don't believe that happiness is a condition, the opposite condition of depression. I think that depression is poorly named. It should be called something else, something that indicates the temporary loss of ability to cope with the difficult or stressful situations. Because it is temporary (with treatment). I can already feel my treatment working. I'm sleeping a little better, the nightmares and daymares are much less frequent, I'm not as snappy and wound up. I'm excited to do stuff. I'm also exhausted at the end of a day or an outing. Faking it 'til I make it is taking it out of me! Anxiety still has a strong grip- I bailed on a night out with some lovely ladies because I just couldn't. But not as often.

There is no point to writing this today, other than to put a marker in time, to remember how I was feeling at this point, to say, things progress and the river carries me forward.


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