darkmother

This seems so unfair.  I just got myself settled in with a (hot!) coffee and the laptop here on the dining room table in hopes of putting out a post for this non-blog.  Sure enough the little man stirs.  It does not seem like it will be passive, momentary stirring either.  He wants out of that car-seat hell, and now.  *sigh*

The season is upon us.  I realize how funny that seems, coming from one who used to believe that you haven’t felt the X-mas spirit until you’ve wondered mindlessly through the flourescent aisles of the local drug store with 20 dollars in your hand, hoping for salvation 10 minutes before closing time on Christmas Eve.

Every year I say it will be different.  And slowly, year by year it has become different.  I realize that if I want to make gifts for people, August is really the (latest) time to start.  I am again flying in the face of that wisdom this year.  Each year I tell myself I want the gift shopping done before December 1st – so at the very least I can allow the worst of the consumerist melee to go on without me.  I wonder whether I can make that goal this year?

I finished the baby blanket last night.  It took as long to make as the baby did.  Haven’t blocked it yet and I need to finish weaving in/trimming the ends.  It is not the sense of satisfaction I was anticipating.  There’s a sense of loss I suppose.  I guess that project was in a way the last thing connecting me to the pregnancy.  I need to take the time to process/scrapbook/journal his birth story I think.

I need to move on.  I am very aware that my mat-leave is past the half-way mark, that that is alarming.  I resent the volunteer work that I was doing that ended so unceremoniously and fruitlessly.  It makes it almost impossible for me to consider continuing any work with this group of people and my inability to make a clear-cut decision about this matter has caused me endless strife over the past few weeks.  I think I may just need to call it since I can not seem to pull a new effort forth from what is left of this – and every day I spend ruminating is a day/hour/minute more wasted.  Disappointment is a terrible thing.