And so we are preparing for a road trip that will take us to Dunkirk, through Germany, to the Czech Republic, back through Switzerland, then home. We will not be taking Josie, mainly because I'm crap at sorting out her pet passport and because it is just too much for her right now, a long road trip. Lately, I've noticed that she is slowing down. She is doing so with amazing grace but she is definitely slowing down. A good walk, a good run she never turns down, but she crashes hard afterwards.
She is getting older and one day, she won't wake up or she'll get sick and I'll have to let her go. And your papa won't let me get her taxidermy-ed either. Which is probably a good thing, because just how creepy would THAT Xmas card be?
I am back at work, in theory 3 days a week, slowly phasing in. But what happens, what is so hard to change, is that I can't shut work off once I open the door. It creeps into everything until it BECOMES everything. I find myself making lists - not fun lists, like what creative things I want to do or where we should stop on our trip, but W O R K lists about accommodation, the office, the corporate flat, who needs what, etc. And I can't stop. My heart begins to race and my breathing comes faster and then BAM! I hit the wall, trip into an anxiety fueled panic. Or, I go to sit down and realize I am so physically exhausted my bones feel like they are being crushed and I think I am going to start tossing cookies.
Add to that that I occasionally, without even realizing, start crying and that my milk (even after the cabergoline and 3.5 months) is still coming in like a bitch, and well, that's life.
The house is in a state. I mean, seriously in a state. And most of the time, I can't even summon the desire to do anything about it. I have serious skills in the compartmentalization and avoidance departments. I can ignore pretty much anything, just retreating into my own mind. There are so many stories in there, so many interesting conversations and music and words that I can go there and just ignore the papers piled, the post waiting to be read, the bills needing to be paid, the floors that need to be mopped. And so your poor father will come and be perplexed by the state of things and wonder if I've gone to far into my own head and I have to reassure him I'm still around.
And there is just so much going on! The weather is warm, is super fine and I just want to have the kind of summer I never had when I was 17. I want to stay up late and sleep through the day and stretch out like a cat. With no responsibility beyond the children's library reading club. I want to drink pitchers of sangria while I giggle with my girlfriends and dance like a fiend; I want to make out with my husband in the back seat of a car.
And I want this so much, I know, because the one thing I really want, I just cannot have. I can't have you. I can't hold you and feed you and feel like the world is crashing down because there isn't one piece of clothing not covered in spit-up or because the diaper genie is so full it is about to explode. Maybe I'll get these things yet (and I hope I do) but it doesn't change the fact that, like the crooner sings, there will never be another you.