The inside of my head feels like a chipmunk's den-- a mess of cotton fluff, dried up clovers, and little bits of paper everywhere with scribbled reminders of appointments and last week's grocery list. There is the list of magazines and credit cards, the zoo and various insurance companies that need a change of address submitted-- all floating around and bumping into ideas for baby names, and questions to ask my midwife.
There are the things we need to do to the house before we move in next weekend. So many things every day-- Paint colors, a new couch, a dripping faucet, the bathtub guy to resurface and repair and clean the grout. Tyler working around the clock in between teaching his classes; removing the weird temporary wall in the living room, cutting more molding, fixing a floorboard, staining the kitchen cabinets. And the fire alarms won't stop chirping.
There is a dead worm that has been in the downstairs entryway since the first day we saw the place, and still I have yet to dispose of it (Violet is now calling that room the worm room.
And then our apartment-- a donkey kong of boxes. Boxes yet to be packed. Boxes already packed. Boxes filled with stuff for the new house, and boxes filled with stuff to donate. And my cats keep packing themselves. I keep finding stuff; there are literally millions of bobby pins everywhere.
Of course normal life also doesn't really stop: There is Violet's schedule, soccer, ballet, school. She grew an inch and needs all new pants. Also, it's wedding season, and shoe orders are rolling in-- hooray! But where did I put my jar of Q-tips and masking tape?
Then there is the pregnancy which refuses to be taken lightly these days. My iron levels dropped which made me feel as though I were swimming through pea soup for a few weeks. I started getting pretty strong and frequent Braxton Hicks contractions-- which are not fun and have made me take a step back from my weekly exercise routine (which makes me feel even more like I'm sinking into pea soup).
BUT, really, life is great and exciting. Overwhelming at this moment in time, but good and moving quickly forward.
It's easy to feel swallowed up by it all. Last week I locked myself and Violet out of the house. She missed ballet class, and stood shivering in her leotard, dress, and tights in the driveway until our friendly neighbors took us in-- and I felt like a horrible mom-- trying to remember a million different things at once; forgetting the only thing I needed to remember in that moment (my keys);
Forgetting to take things bird by bird.
Bird by Bird. It's the title of Anne Lamott's writing guide and a saying of hers-- which has gotten me through more than just writer's block. Here's what she says:
“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report written on birds that he'd had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.”
I say it as I fall asleep at night-- Just take it Bird by Bird. It's the only way to get through these massive days. Only 12 more weeks and my arms will be filled… and that makes every other task seem like a cake walk.
