Well, since last November, a lot has happened. We moved in late September from my in-laws’ house to a daylight basement apartment about an hour away. Bonus: it has a huge, huge yard for the kids to gallivant in and for me to have a garden. A real life garden! And not in pots!
We also lost another child. The last post was about expecting number 5 (again). We were happy and excited. All seemed to be okay as we passed the 12th week (the danger zone for our previous two miscarriages). But, shortly before Christmas, our little James was born at 16 weeks, already dead. We buried him in a cemetery nearby, one that has Handsome’s family in it. Am I okay? No, not really. But, also, yes. I can go through my day dealing with whatever madness my hellions throw at me without breaking down into hysterics. But…you know…it’s also hard. Unexpectedly, it hits you that you had to leave your little one buried in a field. And you can’t hold him in this life.
But the winter is edging off, and we have hints of spring shining through. That will be good for everybody. The kids are restless to get outside and get dirty. And there is plenty of good, red Virginia soil to get dirty in! I remember that dirt was the bane of my mother’s laundry room when I was a kid. I’m not sure if she swore at it when we weren’t listening. I would.
Speaking of swearing, I had no idea that an ADHD 5-year-old boy could make me come so close to using choice words. I mean, seriously!! I do not swear! The worst thing I say would be “Oh crap, he screwed up!” But a few hours with that boy awake can do wonders in bringing out my inner sweaty, swearing sailor.
But, besides almost swearing, we’re good. We’re alive, we’re in our own home.
What more could I ask for?