So I'm sitting at home, rather than out on my weekly writing date with Colleen at Traditions, with a gross head-cold. I have so much snot coming out of my sinuses, I've had to resort to using a sundress as a hankie for more room. Gross.
I know it's been a long, long while since I've updated, and for that I'm sorry. I'd like to commit to more~let's say once a month, to start. So here's August 2012's post.
Giving thanks. Counting your blessings. Being grateful. This is where I'm living today.
This morning in my sick-haze I was in the bathroom tending to my sore nose, and I glanced around at the mess---the true disaster that is my bathroom. Pile of dirty clothes. Cotton balls, tissues that have missed the trash. Empty hair color box on the counter. Countless personal grooming products littering the counter, rather than going on the shelves. Stray hairs. Disgusting.
Usually this is a cause of great anxiety, desolation, and shame. For reasons I won't go into, I have a huge problem with a messy house. It starts with a tight ball of dread in my stomach that slowly but surely grows and grows to take over my entire body until I feel like I'm choking. My heart rate jumps, phantom aches and pains make themselves known, and I become immobilized with terror and panic.
When you have a very small house like I do, 2 indoor cats and an almost-2-year old, a messy house is pretty inevitable. So you can imagine the state I live in most of the time.
But today what came to me was, this is okay. Yes, this is a mess and I hate it, but I wouldn't trade it in for pre-Owen life. I was filled with such overwhelming gratitude for this child, this little person who chose me as his mama, I nearly cried. I get to make him laugh. I get to snuggle up with him at night. I get to listen to his crazy dream cries ("Grover!") and be the person he kisses first thing in the morning. I get to help him grow into the person he is meant to become.
So in the process, if my house is a little (okay, a lot) torn up, who the F cares? Why should I focus on the disaster instead of the miracle? Can't I allow myself to wallow in the wonderful fact that I have a son?
Who knows how long this will last--I probably won't make it through the rest of the day, honestly. But even still, I'm counting my blessings. For sure.
|My little munchkin-butt|