Ordinary Days

I've had a bad attitude for the past two weeks. I'm not going to lie--it has been really hard for me to talk myself into getting out of bed every morning, knowing that I'm facing a day of being exhausted and queasy, with the potential of spending quality time with the only piece of porcelain in our house. I hate morning sickness, and I hate depression, and I hate when they combine. And they have, and I totally succumbed to them, the devious duo, and have been having quite the pity party in my head (and probably to Steve--sorry honey).

And then a combination of small things whacked me unceremoniously over the head so that as I was driving home with Gracie from co-op today I suddenly realized that I needed a serious attitude adjustment. Because guess what? This feeling of endless nausea is not going away, probably not for a good 4 more weeks at least, and meanwhile I have a crazy good life.

I watched this today and broke down into those heaving/choking sobs, like Emma Thompson at the end of Sense and Sensibility. The thing is, I feel the same way. I love our ordinary days; they are the biggest and best gift life has to offer. I loved yesterday, laying on the couch around 5 o'clock, Steve practicing piano in the office, and Gracie coming over to climb up beside me on the couch. She sat with me for ten or fifteen minutes, crawling on me, answering the questions I asked her about her day and our baby and what she loves. I love how she comes up to me with a book in her hands, holds it out and says, "Lap?" as if that settles the matter, and how she loves to tell us who each seat belongs to at the table--"Gracie's, Daddy's, Mommy's!" I love that I get to wake up next to Steve every morning with our hair all crazy and hear about his weird dreams, and listen to Gracie talking to her stuffed animals in her crib on the monitor. And I love that I'm (subconsciously, since I really can't control it) hard at work bringing another sweet little life into this world.

And that, my friends, is what I need to think about when I start wondering what on earth I've gotten myself into. I already know, but I just need to hold on to it: Yes, true, several long, long, weeks of feeling like a landlocked little girl suddenly thrown onto a pitching, rolling ship in a storm. But after that, heartbeats, the first flutter of movement, kicks and punches, and by Christmas, bringing our new little someone home.

I have GOT to keep my head on straight. Game face. Let's go.