I’m curled up on the couch presently, appreciating Jacob’s nap and with barely the motivation to tilt my head up and drink the hot tea beckoning me. I’ve just got a simple little cold but the headache doesn’t feel so simple, so I am chilling out. Finally sat and read leisurely through blogs I love.
Me, posting, here… It’s not in me lately, sorry. On the surface all is well in my little world. My house is lovely and tidy and only little pockets of disorganization challenge my massive sense of accomplishment. My town is beautiful and intriguing and full of things to enjoy and lovely weather, too. My baby is so funny and cute with this little fake cough that he thinks is hilarious and his eager little birdie mouth when I feed him bananas and avocados from a spoon. My husband is amazing and talented and awe-inspiring and I am vicariously enjoying all he’s embarking on and his bad-ass new office in which I’ve timidly begun to play the organ again when he’s away.
But deep down in my soul my best guess is that this move is wearing hard on me and everything is a struggle and nowhere do I find joy like I’m accustomed to knowing it. One thing in all this I know: I miss the Sunday words that have been my strength and identity. I have to learn how else to rely, and I’m so accustomed to Elijah’s company that I don’t find strength without it.
Eventually I’ll write again. For now, a few things I enjoyed this morning.