For years, every February, April and July, I’d want another baby. I’d find myself dreaming about infants, thinking about how we’d fit another car seat in the car. I realized that on some level, my body, my emotions, remembered being in that state. Being nine months pregnant and so ready to hold my baby. It’s not conscious, it’s not deliberate, but my body remembers. And because it was so huge, because it was everything for me – I feel those feelings again.
And it turns out, when my child is in a car accident, I spend the next few weeks in a heightened level of stress and worry. I panic, a lot, all the time, and exist in this super stressed, impatient and slightly (sometimes more than slightly) angry. Even though she’s fine, and she’s going to be okay – I’m still a heartbeat away from tears most of the time. I could cry right now, and I was completely fine two seconds ago.
When that coincides with Sam coming down with a sinus infection and throwing up for five days straight, and Jessie’s computer breaking the same week as her final papers are due, and Hanukkah and Christmas all happening at the same time… I’m holding it together. I am. Not successfully, not all the time, but mostly. I’m holding it together.
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