… and winter is still holding on a bit. We have earned spring, though. Like it’s some lusted-after prize won in a back-alley fight club match, we’ll gladly accept it even though we are bruised and bloodied. And sneezing. Because this spring is murder on the head.
They ended, of course. But it sure didn’t seem like they were going to.
Weathering the storm(s).
This week the clouds dumped roughly three thousand inches of water onto us over the course of several days, and I was very grateful for a roof over my head. I spent some time in the basement at work as a menacing cell moved through Downtown. The sun is out today. All around us and especially to the south, there are enormous amounts of carnage and destruction. The death toll was still in double digits when I went to bed. No more. It’s an awful reality to wake up to today for many, many people.
This video has been making the internet rounds and it is truly amazing. I don’t understand tornadoes. I can look at explanatory diagrams and illustrations all the livelong day and I will still never be able to wrap my mind around why the sky needs to get so pissed off and reach down and sweep the ground like that. It’s barbaric. We will never outcivilize that. Toward the end of that video, you hear the guy whimpering in horror and complete disbelief of what he has seen. It’s like he’s caught a glimpse of the true face of God and it ain’t beautiful. It’s an unwieldy, hideous monster.
And then, as is customary, we appeal to God for comfort in the aftermath. That’s the circle of life, I suppose.
Speaking of other circles of life, the baby plumped up to plum size this week, and I have read that its facial features are becoming more defined. One feature it can be sure to look forward to is insane eyebrows. Mommy and Daddy are both afflicted with this sickness. Daddy especially because he is Polish.
I’m starting to imagine what it’s going to be like to not be able to maneuver my body in ways I’m used to. Already I find pants to be an annoying barrier between me and a life well lived. Well, moreso than I already did. For a month now it’s been uncomfortable to lie on my stomach at all; it literally feels like there’s a plum in there. Do you think the Princess and the Pea was actually a cautionary tale about pregnancy? Just putting that out there, Universe. Discuss.
We met with a midwife on Tuesday. She’s every bit as kickass as I had been led to believe, so that’s encouraging. She sent me home with a packet of information and a nice, confident feeling that home birth is what I want to strive for. I know enough about The World AKA The Internet to know that even saying that aloud invites lots of unsolicited input on the matter. I’ve been on the crinkle-your-nose-at-the-thought side of that fence too. But that’s okay. Getting used to unsolicited input is the first rule of motherhood. Learning to say, “That’s nice but kindly fuck off” is the second rule.
I am starting to have visions of what the nursery should look like. I keep waffling on whether or not I want to bother painting, even though I’m tired of the brown-ish neutral in there. The process is going to require a lot of shuffling and a lot of purging. The packrattery will hopefully be overpowered by the nesting. I foresee spring cleaning, lasting until, oh, October 31 or so.
Enough already, eeeesh.
A gross day.
It’s cliché to say and hyperbolic and patently untrue, but my God, this winter has felt longer and more soul-deadening than any winter ever before, in the history of Earth winters. I swore I wasn’t going to be one of those people already wishing for spring in the middle of December, and I more or less kept to my promise. But I can’t keep quiet anymore. I’m sick of it. Go. Just go.
I’m not ready to see hoodie weather evaporate completely, but I sure as shit am ready for my yard to stop looking so depressing. More than anything else, I long for a bedroom that isn’t automatically ice cold every night that it’s below 60 degrees outside.
And now begins the portion of the year where I spend a good deal of time 1) hoping a tree or large parts of a tree don’t fall on my house 2) in the basement at work, fidgeting as a siren blasts in my ear and deadline nears 3) pretending that either of those things are anywhere near as terrifying as the prospect of an actual tornado coming across that river and fucking things up.
Lifelong Tornado Alley resident here. But this aspect of spring never gets any easier, no matter how many times you run through the drill.