I'm out.


Well, no, not really. But don't you wish sometimes that you could just say, "See ya," and then find yourself a nice cozy world where it is not storming and there are no assassinations and nobody is asking you for anything?

I think it's the kind of day I'm having. It's a day when every movement makes me even more nauseous. It's a day when suddenly being pregnant and expecting my fourth child, who will be born before my oldest turns six, seems overwhelming. When nine months seems vast. When I can't get comfortable. Already.

A day to be a whiny child. Along with my whiny, not-quite-feeling-well children.

Today is a day when my to-do list is slapping me in the face like a wet fish, when I am ignoring it and procrastinating, lying on the floor trying to feel better. (Have I ever mentioned just how much I love lying on the floor? Sometimes I wonder if I'll still be lying on the floor when I'm sixty-five. Probably.)

Today is the kind of day that reminds me of days in the past when I used to hole up in my room with a book and a large bag of chips. Or maybe a cake. I would love to do that now, minus the food. But now I am a mom, and I'd better get used to it. And now I have work to do.

I'm trying to lay down some of my working roles, and in doing so, I seem to accumulate even more work- things that need to be done before I can fully lay them aside. It's killing me. I feel like my life is one big deadline. For example, right now I somehow need to magically open up a high-interest bank account. I have no idea how to do this. I need to get tax receipts out. I need to get my computer fixed. I need to send out some communications. I need to work on updating a website.

I feel like I'm having a panic attack.

Maybe what I really need is to pray.

Breathe into me. I'm lost and lonely. I'm growing to hate numbers. I want nothing to do with this.

It's you that I serve. This is not for nothing. You are not harsh. You bend me but don't break me. You made life and we are glad. We are safe. The storm hasn't killed us. We have so much.

I'm tired. Please make me free again.


(Here's a photo of me in my sister-in-law's room, wondering why my belly looks like I'm three months pregnant. Photo credit for both photos belongs to Chinua the great, otherwise known as the beautiful man with the great-smelling face who brought home steak tacos tonight.)