I am really not sure why I can’t stop crying today. I walk. I cry. I sit. I cry. I carry a towel around to blow my nose and wipe my face and I don’t understand exactly the reason.
Everything is settling on my shoulders and it’s a bit heavy. I miss my mom. I spent half of last night tossing and turning because my wife is away on a business trip this week. I was scared last night that something was wrong with the babies and spent twenty minutes trying to find their heartbeat. I am incredibly lonely. I miss my home and my house and how easy it was to leave it. I haven’t left this apartment in so long and I can’t converse myself to do it – the elevator and the speed and the jarring and it causes me to get vertigo and nausea and it’s not worth it.
There is so many things and I am just sitting on the couch, watching the travel channel and eating hamburger helper and crying. I don’t get it. I don’t get why is doesn’t stop. It’s just there, this feeling that isn’t exactly easy to pinpoint, and it’s trying to slip out of the corner of my eyes.
My body is used to being a hermit. There are seasons of being inside that I find comfort – but I have always been home. I have been wrapped in the warmth of my bed, around my things and altars that mean so much to me, not here. Not in this place. This holding place with odd textures and too much height without any friends who can some check in or a door that leads directly to the sidewalk that I can venture out to.
My body doesn’t like this. It is panicky and uncomfortable and needing a sense of home. My wife offers that in this time of transition. She’s not here. It’s scared and freaking out and my mind remembers the feeling of uncertainty of my childhood.
When I was an infant, barely a toddler, my grandparents took me for the weekend but I got homesick for my mom. We moved a lot, there wasn’t that much stability, but she was always that constant. When we arrived at our apartment and my grandmother got me out of the car, I immediately took off towards the building. Going through the open door and down the steps and through a corridor crying for my mom.
I feel like my body is realizing that it has no home right now. I feel like it’s really feeling it. It’s feeling the lack of home and familiar things and friends and support.
There is nothing here.
Not yet, not right now. It’s a lot to process.
My body isn’t overwhelmed right now. I get that and I am giving myself a ton of grace. Bad movies? I’ll let myself watch it. Marathoning tv shows? Yep, that too. Bad books and I didn’t write anything? That’s okay. I’m just being extremely gentle with myself. Allowing my body to rest when it needs to, keeping it fed, and reminding myself that the world can feel heavy when you’re growing tiny humans.
There are two tiny humans inside of me growing and growing and that’s enough work right now.
It also causes this intense feeling of emotions.
Everything that I felt, a lot, before pregnancy have been amplified. It’s a kaleidoscope of emotions that are a bit too bright and a bit too much and I can handle it. I can allow myself space to cry and feel and be grateful that these things are happening.
I can handle this.
I give myself space to dream about the babies. I give myself space to think of them and call them by names we have chosen and dream about who they are and who they will be. I add things to our registry that I want to pick up later or imagine their montessori inspired space that is filled with constellations and photos of galaxies and everything astronomy and the universe. Because they are made of science and magic and the universe is apart of them.
I am reminding myself this time period is only short and is offering a positive time to be gentle with myself and allowing myself to think and dream and to find my voice again. I was once a storyteller and moments of solitude reminds me of that – sometimes.
I also remind myself that we are so close. My wife gets home in four days. We move into our new apartment/home in five days. And we get to see the babies in six days – we will see them wiggling and alive and possibly learn their sexes.
We meet with doulas starting in six days and over the next week. We get to go to the doctors three times to make sure everything is alright the following week. We get to go see a play and then the 20th anniversary of Rent. We get to explore coffee shops and we get to look forward to things. We get to plan our trip to visit family in Dallas for my birthday and we get to get excited about things.
I will be away from this apartment.
I get to start moving forward.
I get to start living my life. I get to dream and nest and hope.
I haven’t had many bursts of intense emotions during this pregnancy. I control it very well, most the time. Other times it just builds up over a time period and I think, right now, it just needs to be let out.
I can do that.
I can listen to my body and trust it and give it grace.
I have to remember that everything in the universe is science and magic and sometimes – well sometimes you have to remember even science and magic gets overwhelming sometimes and you just have to give it space to expand and be.