Summer-time in the Pacific Northwest is an interesting animal for me to witness. After months and months and months and...so on of rain, rain, rain, and mud (of course) we now have months and months of dusty drought. I feel like I'm watching Discovery channel episodes about some African country where there is "the rainy season" and the...not-rainy season; like some monotonous narrator is going to tell me that "this once fertile river bed" is now so dry that the zebras (et al) have to trek hundreds of miles South for a drink of water and green pastures. Yes. It hasn't rained since...well early July at least, which is when summer unofficially begins 'round here.
I'm told, by my very sweet neighbor-fella, Carl, that it'll probably start raining on or after September first. Which means it won't stop until next June or July, I guess. And so the grasses are either watered daily or crunchy, though the flowers retain their brilliance (so many royal hydrangeas!). And, in these verdant self determined days of spousal supported unemployment I continue to have moments where I feel like a pre-teen (this was before the term "tween" existed) at summer camp, sans the horseback riding, which I'm told is a no-no for preggers ladies.
I'm almost 5 months pregnant, which actually means I'm almost done being 4 months pregnant. People measure time in weeks at this stage of life, which neither Hadj nor I are inclined to adopt. We have the name chosen: it's unisex and a secret. I've recently begun wondering if what to do about my mom. Again. I want to wonder if that is solely due to my return to therapy sessions, but I know not to do so. I have always had a contentious relationship with my mother and her family, and this baby business, along with my jump to across the country to live in love with a new man, seems to have ramped up my need to assess the divisions between ME and them.
My tendency to really want everyone to love or at least like me, my tendency to want to please others, is getting in the way today. I have an irrational, but genetically predetermined, fear that I'm going to break my mother's heart. I'm guessing the fact that she has dramatically told me more than once in my life that I am "breaking her heart" has something to do with this. "It's going to be a process" my therapist, of course, told me. I have to, once again, extract the years of negative input from my psyche in order to, once again, root out what I want. I miss knowing what I want. A year or more ago I had a lock on these really satisfying feelings of developing what I wanted my life to look like. I loved writing in my blog because things would flow out of me and I would have clarity and direction and excitement. I would be able to envision the things I wanted. Then I got them; those things became cherries in the palm of my hand and I ate them up.
But, life happens. We shuffle. I spent a winter and a spring (of rain, of course) showing Hadj my skeletons and dark corners, because when you're unemployed with your beloved in a small apartment in the rainy woods for that long, you just can't help it (well, not if your like him or I, you can't). While I do feel that our behavior had some moments of less-than-healthy traits, I also feel like those months really strengthened us, prepared us for a life of honest togetherness. But sometimes, lately, I also feel like I took out all the contents of my psychological house for show and tell, and then forgot to put them away. So I'm cluttered, and my path to the door of what I want and know to be true for myself, is hard to get to.
Maybe it's no coincidence that my actual house is hard to move around in right now too. We are unpacking boxes that have been in storage for months and years, in order to see what we have duplicates of (can openers and strainers), and further blending our previously separate lives into cohesion. I'm in the well known pregnancy phase of "nesting." Nesting is something I happened to have had a pleasant purchase on before getting pregnant, so I'm basically enjoying my days. I'm not anxious about the past or the future so much, and I'm getting better on being here now. Which is another reason, probably, why I suddenly realized that my conversations with the satisfying place of sure knowing in me had become far too infrequent for my liking. Also, pregnancy contains in it a lot of urgent feelings, like I need to hurry the hell up and become all the things I want myself to be, before the baby arrives. "It's a process," my head clucks.
I thought I'd sit here and quickly say a bland hello to you readers, to me the writer, but it seems I had more to pour off than I thought. That is satisfying. There's a glimpse of that fulfilling "knowing" that I used to feel when I sat to write. I've been missing all the internal affirmations in my life, and this little post feels like a great big yes.