The best days

For those of us who have had a rough pregnancy, it's safe to say, the state of being pregnant must feel a LOT like bipolar disorder. Heaven help the ones who love us when we don't get enough sleep. It must be like being partnered with Sally Field in Sybil. 

Today I woke up feeling pretty happy. 

I sent Amanda off to work, steaming thermos of fair trade coffee in hand, and set out to clean. 

By noon, I was blank & grey as midwestern snowfall. I looked around the house, and all I could see was filth. I looked at the animals, and all I could see was trouble. I wanted to burn everything down. 

By four o' clock, nothing had changed, except I had cried several times, and cleaned all of the picture frames with windex and coffee filters. 

Whoever says nesting comes right before labor lies. The entire nine months, I have been cleaning weird random shit I never would have considered cleaning otherwise.

Now it's nearly eight. I have a sense of calm about me that is almost euphoric. I am covered in a fine sheen of perspiration from pureeing root vegetables for a soup, and hanging up new baby clothes. I have even tinfoiled the corners of the couches to keep the cats from scratching. 

Life feels so glorious, I need little else at this moment to survive. 

Every night before I go to bed I wish silently for myself that tomorrow will not bring hours full of tantrums, crying spells and completely unjustified & angry rants. I just wish for peace. And Every few days I am granted a break from them. Those days are the best days.