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I never pictured myself being at this point of time, heart broken and empty handed.

Over twelve months of waiting and praying, crying and anger at not being on the same page as my husband when it came to adding another baby to our wonderful family of five.

Twelve more months of being on the same page.

Twelve months of waiting and praying, crying and anger that finally turned into depression and indifference.

The internet and church, lands of pregnancy and newborn baby minefields, waiting to ambush me and break off another piece of my already weakened heart.

Happiness for friends.

A walled up heart.

Blessed to have my three healthy babies, who are no longer babies.

Trying to come to grips with God’s timing.

Not my timing.

My picture of a complete family may never be realized.

My soul aching to have this month be the end to my waiting and next month be the beginning of someone fresh and new.

But it’s His timing.

It’s been a year of trying.

A year of hoping and praying before that.

A lifetime of yearning.

Number four.

One day.

Soon.

Please?

And into the real world.

Sort of.

This summer is kicking my ass.

I’m either extremely busy, over scheduled, running willy nilly without a moment to catch my breath…

OR

I’m sitting in the recliner, lethargic, reading a chapter or two from the Black Dagger Brotherhood series, switching to some recorded TV where I am 3-7 shows behind or crocheting.

Internet land has taken a back seat, whether I’m high flying or highly unmotivated.

I’m tired of being in observer mode.

Watching and waiting.

Molding myself into what I think others want me to be.

I just want to be myself.

Whoever that is.

Wholly me.

Whether you like me or not.

Haven’t I said this before….

Yes, I fell off the internet.

I think I’m ready to get back on.

Apparently I use “adult” language when speaking with my soon to be three year old.

We were dining at Sunny Side (or is it Street?) Cafe for lunch.

Alex was coloring his kids menu with the traditional red, blue, green and yellow crayons.

I noticed that his blue crayon was going to be snapped in half if he continued to draw the way he was.

My words of wisdom:

“Alex, don’t hold your crayon like that. You are going to break it.”

Alex:

“What?”

Me:

“You’re putting too much pressure on the center of that crayon and you are going to snap it like a twig.”

Alex:

“What?”

My Mom:

“Why do you use words like that with him? He has no idea what you are saying.”

Me:

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it.

Alex:

“What?”

Me:

“Nothing buddy. I like your picture.”

I ooh and ahh over our babies. Call them little pet names and adopt their baby talk words as my own. I still say I’m going “nigh-nigh” and I will forever probably say I need to go “potty” while I’m in the presence of grown adults with no children in sight.

But..

When my children start speaking full sentences I start talking to them like they too are my age. Thankfully my swearing is at a minimum, unless you count “crap” and “pissed off”, I say those phrases A LOT.

I will go into lengthy explanations and sometimes I see their eyes glaze over and know that I’ve “lost” them but it’s almost like I have no clue on how to make it simple and easy.

Am I the only one who speaks in “adult” sentences when speaking to their children?

And how many more “quotation” marks can I use in a post?

At least I took a breather on  the “exclamations”, I know I tend to use an over abundance of those little bats and balls (at least that is what Alex thinks they are!!!!!!!!!

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes I get caught up in taking on too many projects.

I want everything to be perfection.

Juggling so many things, one or two, maybe even three are bound to fall to the earth and shatter.

I’m forgetful.

I’m overwhelmed.

I’m tired.

I’m scared.

I’m numb.

I think that last one is the worst of all.

The lack of feeling, that spark of motivation you need to get things done, accomplished. That spark that makes living a joy.

My pilot light…..

Hot and strong one moment, bright with blue light, pure happiness. I’m proud of what I’m doing and getting done. I’m proud of who I am.

But it flickers…..

It fades to nothing.

The flashing cursor at the top of a pristine white page, so much potential and preconceived notions of not being great enough force my fingers to bring that little white arrow to the bright red box and banish my failure from my sight.

So much yarn, the time drain of crocheting, sore wrists and cramped fingers.

The house that never stays clean.

The children trapped inside, day after day of rain until we all just want to tear our hair out. Grumbling in the ranks, fights breaking out on a constant basis and temper tantrums from a 30 year old woman (sigh), soon to be 31 (double sigh).

The countdown of summer.

21 days to go.

It signals freedom.

Or maybe it signals laziness.

I’m not sure.

I just wish my fire would burn brighter and stay lit.

The flickering is hard.

The numbness that crowds out the life I want to live, the happy I want to have.

It’s lonely.

Yes, I want that fire.

Every day.

Is that too much to ask?