I am writing this with Molly strapped to my chest in a Moby Wrap (listening to our three favourite songs on repeat... currently, 'Werewolves of London'). She is fussy for the second day in a row. It's raining. Finn is super stir crazy and the cats are hiding/hate me because we gave all the animals microchips yesterday. I want the sunny, flower blooming part of spring so badly that my heart aches.
And yet... I feel okay? Good, even? I finished an embroidery project yesterday, despite having to hold Molly constantly the entire day. It felt so good to make something (I will share it here soon!). I feel like people were constantly warning me when I was pregnant to sleep/make things/bake/shop/whatever now because once you have the baby you will never do any of those things ever again. And yes, things are different, for sure. But I can still make things. And last night I had a one hour bath with a good book. And I am definitely sleeping better than I have in months, despite waking up every three or four hours to feed Molly.
I can feel myself coming back to life. Sometimes we can't see how bad we felt until we are feeling better. Maybe it's just bad timing that the miserable end to my pregnancy coincided with the darkest part of winter (something that makes me struggle even in a good year). But now I feel like spring is coming, my energy is flooding back, and I am singing in the car, dancing with my baby and the crazy voices I haven't used in years have popped out to entertain Molly.
I've also been working on scanning my baby photo album into the computer and that and some other things (lots of visits from my mom, seeing Jay's dad hold Molly, using crazy voices like my dad always did, hearing Jay talk to her while changing her, etc) have made me feel a connection with my dad, who died when I was 17. I've been trying really hard to channel the sense of humour that he approached everything with to my time with Molly. I wish that he could meet her, but when she is crying and I choose to tease her in some crazy voice and tickle her belly instead of bursting into tears myself, I sometimes feel like he's there.
So things are, as always, good and bad. But mostly good. Motherhood is growing on me.