Family Magazine

Pregnancy and Grief, Or How To Get Nothing Done

By Molly Thiersch @crazedkitchen
This post is the latest in my "Way-Back Wednesday" series (on the third Wednesday of each month, I revisit one of my favorite posts from the past). Enjoy!
You know those days where you have to keep reminding yourself how much you love your spouse, or you'll end up killing them?

I think my husband is having one of those days.

Pregnancy and Grief, Or How To Get Nothing Done

Oh well, at least Ryan gets me.

I have to admit, I've been a bit of a mess lately. I'm 30 weeks pregnant, so, thanks to hormones, my mind and body don't always feel like they are totally under my control. (This explains why I frequently walk like an old lady and sometimes call my kids by the cat's name.) We also happen to have a lot going on right now, including buying a bigger car, filing our taxes, dealing with an incompetent cable/internet company (I'm looking at you, AT&T U-Verse), and preparing for an upcoming family trip. I'd say I was juggling a lot of balls, but that would only be true if "juggling" meant "kicking around a bunch of balls and occasionally maybe throwing one up in the air and hoping it doesn't hit anyone in the eye."
It's a lot to handle under normal circumstances, but unfortunately there's even more: Late last week, my beloved great-aunt Ruthie--whom I have always considered a third grandma--died unexpectedly.
So, on top of the day-to-day absurdities of everyday life (seriously, AT&T? Thirty-five minutes on the phone to resolve NOTHING?), I have been flooded with grief and memories of my Aunt Ruthie. And, because my Aunt Ruthie and my mom were so close, I am also being flooded with memories of my mom. I am missing both of them so much right now it sometimes physically hurts. And the juggling thing? Those balls have rolled under the couch and are collecting dust and cat hair.
I haven't written much about my Aunt Ruthie on my blog, but back in October I wrote about my memories of my mom and our frequent trips to visit my grandma (Aunt Ruthie's sister). So while I get a broom and attempt to knock those balls out from under the couch so I can get them back up in the air again, go ahead and revisit this:
Arizona Memories, Or How I Learned My Grandma Is A Stone-Cold Killer
And while you're here, I'd appreciate any ideas you have on how I can apologize to my husband for my sub-par juggling skills. It'll get better...probably.

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