I was writing a post about New Year's resolutions, but I didn't finish it, and when I came back to it, I was in a different mood, a different place, a different person. That's the danger of not finishing something -- I either wait until the mood comes back around again, have to force myself back into it, or let it go.
I will finish the post about New Year's resolutions, I will!
But suddenly at 4:00 yesterday afternoon, the weariness set in. I don't know how else to describe that kind of tiredness that makes you wish that, more than anything, you could just lie down. And when the baby wemers from his vibrating chair to nurse two minutes after I've plopped into a mostly-prone position on our deteriorating couch (which was not so comfortable to start with), I feel a little dizzy propelling myself up again. That kind of weary.
So as soon as someone else was available to look after Elan, I took to my bedroom. I hadn't done this in a while, but it brought back memories of night after night of terrible first-trimester sickness, when I'd hide out in my bedroom from the smells of food, and later in the pregnancy-that-went-on-forever, when I'd collapse into bed in the early evening, my body exhausted and sore from the rigors of a day spent defying gravity.
I got into bed with the baby, nursed him, watched a bad TV show on hulu. Let myself ignore the state of my messy downstairs, my father-in-law's visit (I knew he'd understand), Elan's bedtime. My body, so much more active than it was a few months ago, or even a handful of weeks ago said: Retreat. Rest. Lay down.
And so I did.
And then I took a very hot bath, drank water, ate chicken coconut milk soup, and socialized a little bit.
It's a lesson I really did learn from the pregnancy-that-went-on-forever: sometimes you just need to retreat.
And watch some bad TV.