I'm supposed to be out Christmas shopping right now. Obviously I have decided against that.
As an alternative, I told myself that I would stay home and clean the bathrooms. I've obviously decided against that as well.
I don't know what is wrong with me, but I just cannot get it together these days. I am feeling the last minute crush of consumerism even though I have 99% of all of my shopping done. Weird, right?
I'm not in a Bah Humbug kind of mood - I actually feel quite content most of the time - but I have no desire to do anything else. At the beginning of Advent I had great plans for fun things to do with the children, and here we are, burning the pink candle at both ends, and almost none of the plans have come to fruition.
We have our tree and we are fully decorated, but that's about the extent of the preparedness. There are no Christmas cookies, I missed BooMama's Christmas home tour, laundry is everywhere, the larder is empty, and there is not a paper product to be found in this house. I've been reading blogs, but not commenting on others or posting to my own. I'm usually a wastrel with those two cents, my friends.
I have absolutely no energy left, and I have a sinking feeling that it has nothing to do with the physical side of being 33 weeks pregnant. It's a little more cerebral. Okay, it's a lot more cerebral.
I've seen this before, and the end result has always been a little renewal of my friendship with my pal Sertraline. She's a nice girl - quiet, steady, dependable - and she has always been a good friend for the 10 months or so that I need her. The problem is that I would rather not need her at all.
Ever the punctual girl, I like to get a jump on my post partum depression and start the downward slide while I'm still pregnant. I hate to be late to a party, you know. After three bouts, I can almost start to see the symptoms, although it usually does take an outside observation (Rob, that's you, mmkay?) to put me on the right track to the doctor.
For me, the difficulty comes in the discernment. Am I just tired? Am I just lazy? If I am recognizing the symptoms, does that mean I'm actually still in the clear? Are all of these homebody feelings God's way of telling me to throttle back before the baby comes?
I don't know anymore.
I am trying to pray about it, but even those efforts seem clunky and sluggish. The "one day at a time" principle has always been a hard one for me to swallow. I am the girl who is simultaneously cleaning the kitchen cabinets, folding the laundry, and sorting outgrown clothes. while I've got the grilled cheeses lined up in the pan for lunch. Why do just one thing at a time when the HomeFront motto is Go Big or Go Home?
Maybe this is the best way for me to prepare for having four young children in my home. I have to face the facts and let some things go. Things like an empty laundry room, and a kitchen floor that is still clean 24 hours after I wash it. No one remembers that kind of stuff anyway.
This is such a short season in my life; this season of babies and toddlers and crumbs and stickiness. I'm reminded of that everyday when Francie finds her way out the door, completely dressed and fed under her own steam. If I concentrate on the brevity, I find that I am not as concerned about all the things I have left undone.
So maybe there is hope for me after all. But the prayers don't hurt either.