I Don't Want To

I'm having a bad case of the quits this morning. Talia is being... unpredictable. At night. When I am trying to sleep. When Scott is trying to sleep. When families are meant to be sleeping.

Apparently being unpredictable is entirely predictable, especially at 4 months and 6 months and then again around 8 to 9 months... all their blessed lives apparently, with teeny, tiny blocks of relief to keep you from doing real harm to yourself and those around you. So it's nothing to worry about. Thank God, I'm not worried. Angry, resentful, tired, depressed, unmotivated, blaming, unpleasant - yes. Worried? Not so much.

My house is not a complete mess. There are some dishes waiting for the dishwasher and the floor could stand to be swept. The bathroom would be glad of a cleaning but it's not like anything is growing anywhere it shouldn't. I should probably puree some pears, and wipe off her Bumbo seat and tray. There's a DVD due by 9pm, and I need to deposit a cheque at the bank. Scott wants me to hit a one day sale for him before 1pm. Oh, and the chicken in the fridge needs to be cooked or frozen before it becomes a $15 contribution to the landfill.

I don't waa-ant to...

So here's the bitch of it all. I know I don't have to. None of it. I can say no thank you to all of it. The world won't end if I have to throw chicken away. But I don't want to not do it either. I want to want to. Sick huh?

But not really. Because this life is so good. Even with the unpredictable nights. I am just so fucking thankful that I get to taste life this sweet. We have her. Much desired, long-hoped for her. We have a home that is wonderfully warm and cozy. I get to stay home and enjoy it every day because I have a husband who loves me and who works hard to make sure I can be here with the daughter he loves.

She is sitting up. All by herself. She scooches backwards all over the living room and is just so frikkin' pleased with herself all the damned time. She smiles at everyone and she is just fucking lovely. We sat in the surgical waiting room with Karen yesterday, waiting while Josh had his surgery and we were surrounded by Mums and Grandmas all waiting to hear that their sweet ones were okay, and my healthy happy Talia just smiled and smiled and charmed and glad-hearted the whole lot of them. She sat there being proof that God listens to Karen's prayers, all the while all of us praying that Josh would be well. Lord, I must be tired - I am crying my eyes out.

Anyway, I guess I just have to have quiet moments like now to know that despite my dusty floors, it is truly well with my soul. Still.

And just so you know, God heard the part where the surgery had to go well - the surgeon said it went as well as he could have hoped and he thinks they got the whole tumor. It doesn't make any of this over, but it felt like a gift, at least to me, like God had heard Talia and I praying for our friends. Now we keep praying for the rest of the healing to happen, and for little Josh to be restored and made whole, the way his Mum needs him to be.

I think that's enough for now.